His Greatest Exception

CHAPTER 1

"Mr. Ashford, the board members are already waiting."

I didn't bother looking up from the documents in front of me.

"Let them wait."

My assistant went quiet for a few seconds before speaking again. "Sir, they've been waiting for almost twenty minutes."

"Then another ten minutes won't kill them."

I heard her sigh softly.

"You're in a good mood today."

That made me look up.

"Do I look like I'm in a good mood?"

She shook her head immediately. "No, sir."

"Then don't make comments."

"Yes, sir."

She turned around and was about to leave when I stopped her.

"Wait."

She looked back.

"Coffee."

"Black?"

"You already know."

"Of course."

She left, and I leaned back against my chair.

I looked at the clock on the wall.

Nine twenty-three in the morning.

My day had barely started, but I was already tired of everyone.

Maybe that was one of the reasons I preferred working early. At least before eight in the morning, people usually had enough decency to leave me alone.

After eight, everyone suddenly had a problem.

The company needed my approval.

The board needed my decision.

My father needed something.

My mother wanted me to attend another family dinner.

And apparently, the entire world had decided that I was responsible for fixing things I hadn't broken.

I picked up the next document.

"Ashford Holdings."

My family name was printed on almost everything I owned.

The company.

The hotels.

The properties.

The investments.

Even the damn restaurant where I had dinner last night.

Sometimes I wondered what it would be like to introduce myself without saying my surname.

Just Lucien.

No Ashford.

No billionaire.

No heir.

Just me.

Then again, I had no idea who that person was anymore.

I had been raised to understand one thing very clearly: an Ashford never depended on anyone.

My grandfather made sure of that.

He was the kind of man who believed emotions were liabilities. He taught my father the same thing, and my father passed it down to me.

Don't trust too easily.

Don't give people enough information to use against you.

And never let anyone know what you truly care about.

It wasn't exactly the kind of advice you'd expect from a loving family, but it worked.

At least for me.

My phone suddenly rang.

I glanced at the screen.

Dad.

I let it ring twice before answering.

"What?"

"Good morning to you too."

"I have a meeting."

"Then cancel it."

I frowned.

"You called me to tell me to cancel a meeting?"

"No. I called because I need you at the house tonight."

"I can't."

"You can."

"I have work."

"You always have work."

"And?"

He was silent for a moment.

Then he said, "Your grandmother is coming."

I closed my eyes.

That was low.

"You should've started with that."

"I knew you'd listen."

"That's manipulative."

"That's parenting."

I almost laughed.

"Six thirty?"

"Six."

"Six thirty."

"Six."

"Six fifteen."

"Six."

I sighed.

"Fine. Six."

"Good."

He ended the call.

I stared at my phone before putting it back on the desk.

Family dinner.

Just what I needed.

My assistant returned a few minutes later and placed my coffee on the desk.

"Your nine-thirty meeting is ready."

"Tell them I'm coming."

She nodded.

As I stood up, she looked at me.

"Sir?"

"What?"

"Your mother called earlier."

I stopped.

"What did she want?"

"She said to remind you not to forget tonight."

I stared at her.

"Does everyone in my family think I'm incapable of remembering?"

She smiled.

"I didn't say anything."

"Good."

She walked ahead of me toward the conference room.

I followed, already preparing myself for another two hours of numbers, arguments, and men twice my age explaining to me how my own company should be managed.

The meeting lasted three hours.

By the time I stepped out of the conference room, I had already rejected two proposals, approved one investment, and nearly lost my patience with a man who apparently believed repeating the same argument five times would somehow make it more convincing.

"Sir, should I schedule another meeting with Mr. Reynolds?"

"No."

"He said he wants to discuss the proposal again."

"Then he can discuss it with himself."

She tried not to smile.

I looked at her.

"What's funny?"

"Nothing."

"Then stop smiling."

"Yes, sir."

I walked back into my office and loosened my tie.

I hated days like this.

Not because the work was difficult. It wasn't.

The problem was people.

Everyone wanted something.

Money.

Approval.

Connections.

A favor.

Access.

It made it difficult to tell when someone actually wanted to know me and when they were only interested in what my last name could give them.

Maybe that's why I stopped trying.

Relationships were complicated enough without adding money and power into the equation.

Romantic relationships were even worse.

I had never understood why people willingly gave someone else the ability to ruin their peace.

I'd watched it happen too many times.

People fell in love, trusted each other, made promises, and then eventually hurt each other.

My mother once told me that I was too cynical.

Maybe she was right.

But I preferred being cynical to being stupid.

At around five in the afternoon, I finally shut my laptop.

I had completely forgotten about the family dinner until my phone buzzed.

Mother: Don't be late.

I stared at the message.

Then another one appeared.

Mother: And please wear something decent.

I looked down at my black shirt and trousers.

I was dressed fine.

I replied.

Me: I'm always decent.

Her reply came almost immediately.

Mother: That's debatable.

I shook my head.

For someone who raised me, my mother certainly enjoyed insulting me.

I grabbed my coat and headed toward the elevator.

The lobby was already busy when I stepped out.

A few employees greeted me as I passed.

"Good evening, sir."

"Good evening."

"Good evening, Mr. Ashford."

I nodded.

Nothing unusual.

Until I reached the entrance.

Rain.

Heavy rain.

I stood beneath the building's awning and looked at the street.

Great.

My driver pulled the car around, but traffic was already terrible.

"Sir," he said as he opened the door. "It might take some time."

"How long?"

"Maybe forty minutes."

I looked at my watch.

Five thirty-eight.

My mother was going to kill me.

"Fine."

I got into the car.

Twenty minutes later, we hadn't even moved three blocks.

I looked out the window.

Cars were barely moving.

People were running through the rain, trying to find taxis or shelter.

Then I saw a woman standing near the sidewalk.

She was holding a folder over her head, apparently using it as protection from the rain.

I didn't know why I noticed her.

Maybe because everyone else was running except her.

She was just standing there, staring at the road like she was waiting for something.

Then a motorcycle passed too close to the sidewalk.

Water splashed all over her.

She froze.

I watched as she slowly looked down at her soaked clothes.

Then she looked toward the motorcycle disappearing into traffic.

"Unbelievable," she muttered.

I heard it even through the closed window.

I almost laughed.

Almost.

She wiped her face with one hand and looked around.

Then she noticed the car.

More specifically—

she noticed me looking at her.

Our eyes met through the rain-covered window.

I expected her to look away.

She didn't.

She simply raised an eyebrow.

Like she was asking me what the hell I was staring at.

I looked away first.

What the hell was I doing?

I leaned back against the seat.

"Sir?"

I looked at my driver.

"What?"

"Do you want to take another route?"

"Yes."

He nodded.

As the car began moving again, I glanced through the window one last time.

She was gone.

I didn't think about her again.

At least, not until the next morning.

When I walked into the office, my assistant was already waiting for me with a folder in her hands.

"Good morning, Mr. Ashford."

"Morning."

She handed me the folder.

"This came from the legal department."

I opened it while walking toward my office.

"What's this?"

"I'm not entirely sure. They said your father requested that you review it personally."

I stopped.

My father's name again.

I opened the folder.

The first page was a legal document.

At the top was a name.

Aurora Hale.

I stared at it.

Something about the name felt familiar.

I just couldn't remember why.

I turned the page.

And that's when I saw the words that would eventually change everything.

CONTRACT AGREEMENT.

I had no idea then that the woman whose name was written on that paper would become the biggest complication of my life.

And if I had known what was coming, I probably would've walked away.

But I didn't.

I kept reading.