Chapter 5: Happy Homecoming
793 Words
The blue light of the tablet reflected in Lucas’s eyes, as cold and unyielding as the man himself. He stared at the headline—The Titan’s Dirty Little Secret—without a single muscle in his face twitching.
"The city has a strange way of saying 'welcome home,'" he muttered, tossing the device onto the leather seat of his car.
He wasn't panicked, but he was bothered. This was his night—the night he was to be officially crowned the heir to an empire. He pulled out his phone, his voice a low, dangerous rumble as he dialed a private number. "The 'Night of No Return' story. Kill the trail. I don't care what it costs, just bury it before the first bottle of champagne is popped. I want it gone from the internet and the minds of my investors."
While Lucas was a statue of calm, the Hargreeves Manor was a furnace of anxiety. Richard Hargreeves, the patriarch, was pacing the length of the grand living room so aggressively he looked like a caged predator.
"Thousands of calls, Evelyn! My phone hasn't stopped vibrating for three hours!" Richard roared, waving his arm toward the window as if he could see the paparazzi circling the gates. "Six years of silence, and now this? On the night of the transition? This isn't just a gossip piece; it’s a targeted strike!"
"Richard, breathe," Evelyn said, though her own voice had a sharp edge. She reached out to touch his arm, but he shrugged her off with a snarl.
"I won't 'breathe' while our stock price is sweating!" he barked. "If this 'secret child' rumor gains traction, the investors might start pulling."
The tension snapped when Joe, Lucas’s personal assistant, burst into the room. "Sir, it’s done. The major outlets have taken the story down. Our legal team threatened a blackout, and the 'source' has been flagged as a ghost. It’s handled."
Richard froze, took a long, shuddering breath, and straightened his tuxedo jacket. The storm had passed—or so he thought.
Evelyn smoothed her dress, her eyes returning to their icy composure. "Go, Richard. Be the face of the company. I’ll ensure the staff has this place looking like a palace, not a crime scene. We have a legacy to protect."
By 8:00 PM, the manor had been transformed into a mesmerizing dreamscape. Crystals dripped from the ceilings like frozen rain, and the scent of expensive orchids filled the air. The "who’s who" of the business world arrived in a sea of silk and diamonds, their whispers about the morning's scandal silenced by the sheer, suffocating opulence of the event.
Then, the music swelled.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," the announcer’s voice boomed, echoing off the marble. "The future of Hargreeves Dynasty: Lucas Hargreeves."
Lucas stepped into the light. He was a master of the mask, swaying the room with a charm that felt like a warm velvet glove. He accepted the title of heir with a short, clinical speech that promised growth and stability. As he moved through the crowd, shaking hands and sharing dry jokes with billionaire partners, he looked invincible.
But the facade cracked when Joe leaned into his ear, his face white as a sheet.
"Sir," Joe whispered, his voice trembling. "We tracked the IP address of the leak. The anonymous message... it wasn't sent from a café or a burner across town."
Lucas stiffened, his glass of champagne pausing halfway to his lips. "Where?"
"The location was tracked to this house, sir," Joe swallowed hard, glancing around nervously. "Your house. Someone inside these walls sent that article at midnight."
Lucas didn't wait for an explanation. He felt a sudden, suffocating heat in the room. The golden boy’s eyes turned to flint. "Find out who. Now."
He excused himself from a confused senator and strode out of the ballroom, his mind racing. Who would be bold enough? Who would be stupid enough to strike from within the belly of the beast?
He turned the corner toward a quiet hallway leading away from the noise. He needed air. Looked like the party was choking tool.
Suddenly, a door creaked open.
A woman stepped out of the restroom, smoothing down her black-and-white maid’s uniform. She looked up, her eyes meeting his, and for a second, time didn't just slow down—it stopped.
The scent of her—the faint, lingering memory of something floral and frightened—hit him like a physical blow. The way she held her shoulders, the sharp curve of her jaw, the haunting depth of those eyes...
His memory clicked.
"You," he breathed, the word caught in his throat like a jagged shard of glass.
Gabby stared back, her face unreadable but beneath, a mask of undiluted rage.
- Writer
