Lucien did not believe in loose ends.
It was a principle he had built his life on—every decision accounted for, every outcome calculated, every chapter of his life closed with precision.
But something about this… wasn’t closed.
It hadn’t been for a long time.
He stood by the window of his penthouse, his phone still in his hand long after the call ended. The city stretched endlessly beneath him, alive and indifferent, but his thoughts were elsewhere—caught between the past he thought he understood and the present that no longer made sense.
The baby survived.
Aira’s voice echoed in his head.
Soft. Controlled. Careful.
But undeniable.
His jaw tightened slightly.
Because that meant one thing.
The letter had been a lie.
His grip around the phone hardened.
Lucien didn’t react immedi
