Chapter 2

Chapter 2

ANDRIAN POINT OF VIEW

Sunday comes with gray skies and steady rain that matches my mood perfectly. I stand before the grand oak doors of Grandfather's estate, rain dripping from my hair despite the umbrella I carried from car to porch. The mansion looms over me, three stories of old stone and dark windows that have scared me since I was a kid.

I check my watch. Ten minutes early. Grandfather hates when people are late but thinks arriving early shows you're too eager, another weakness in his eyes. I wait, listening to water gurgle from the gutters, putting off what's coming.

My phone buzzes. A message from Elias: *Still thinking of you. Call me after?*

My thumb hovers over the screen. What can I say? That my stomach is twisted with fear? That I'm terrified Grandfather somehow knows about us?

I type: *Will try. Might be late.*

The door swings open before I can knock. Ellis, Grandfather's butler for forty years, stands there with his weathered, unreadable face.

"Master Adrian," Ellis says with a small bow. "Mr. Lancaster is waiting in his study."

I step inside, handing over my wet coat. The house smells the same as always, furniture polish, old books, and the faint smell of cigar smoke that no amount of cleaning can get rid of.

"How is he today?" I ask quietly.

Ellis's face softens a little. "Determined."

One word that sends ice through my veins. Grandfather determined is like a storm gathering strength, unstoppable and destructive.

I walk the familiar path to the study, my footsteps echoing on marble floors. This house was my first home after my parents died, before boarding school at eight, before the downtown apartment that's now my only safe place.

I pause outside the study door, straightening my tie, smoothing my hair, putting on the face Grandfather expects. Then I knock, three firm taps.

"Enter."

The command is sharp despite the door between us. I push open the heavy oak door and step inside.

Grandfather sits behind his massive desk, papers spread before him, reading glasses on his nose. He doesn't look up right away, making me wait, a power move so familiar I almost smile at how predictable it is.

"Grandfather," I say, keeping my voice steady.

He finally looks up, piercing blue eyes studying me from head to toe. "You're wet."

"It's raining."

"An observation, not an excuse for poor preparation." He removes his glasses. "Sit."

I take the hard-backed chair across from the desk, deliberately uncomfortable so visitors never stay longer than necessary. I sit straight, one ankle crossed over the other knee, hands relaxed on the armrests, the confident posture he drilled into me.

"You look tired," he says. "Late night?"

The question hangs between us, loaded with unspoken accusations. I keep my face neutral.

"The quarterly reports needed review before tomorrow's board meeting."

He nods, seeming satisfied with the lie. He opens a drawer, takes out a crystal bottle and two glasses. He pours amber liquid into both, sliding one across the desk to me.

"Twenty-five-year-old scotch," he says. "A gift from Senator Harrington."

I take the glass but don't drink. Grandfather offering alcohol at the start of a conversation is never good.

"You've done well with the Asian expansion," he says, swirling the liquid in his glass. "Better than I expected."

"Thank you." I keep my voice level, hiding my surprise at the rare compliment.

"The board is impressed. The shareholders are pleased." He takes a small sip. "You're becoming the man I always hoped you would be."

My grip tightens on the glass. The praise feels like the calm before a storm.

"The Lancaster name carries weight," he continues. "Respect. History. Responsibility. It's not just a name, Adrian. It's a legacy."

"I know our family history, Grandfather."

"Do you?" His eyes narrow. "Then maybe you can explain why you're risking everything we've built over something so... temporary."

My blood turns cold, but I keep my face blank. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"Don't insult my intelligence." His voice cuts like a knife. "Elias Voss." He spits the name like it's poison.

I take a drink to hide my reaction, the scotch burning down my throat.

"A colleague," I say when I can trust my voice again.

"Don't lie to me, boy." His fist slams down on the desk. "I know everything. The apartment meetings. The weekend in Vermont three months ago. Did you think I wouldn't find out about this disgusting relationship?"

The room seems to spin around me. Someone has been watching me. Reporting back.

"Who told you?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

"That doesn't matter." He waves his hand dismissively. "What matters is that this sin stops. Now. God didn't create men to lie with other men."

I set my glass down carefully. "My personal life is my own business."

"Nothing about your life is your own business," he says sharply. "Not while you have this name. Not while you take the benefits that come with it."

"Benefits?" I can't keep the bitterness from my voice. "You mean the childhood in boarding schools? The constant judgment? The impossible standards?"

"I mean the wealth. The position. The respect." He stands slowly. "Everything you enjoy comes with duties."

"To whom?" I stand too. "To you? To dead ancestors? To strangers who don't know me?"

"To the name." His voice drops dangerously low. "To the company. To the five thousand people whose jobs depend on our stability and reputation."

I turn away, moving to the rain-streaked window. Outside, the gardens stretch wet and gray in the downpour.

"So what now?" I ask. "You want me to end things with Elias."

"It's already ended," he says from behind me. "But that's not enough."

I turn to face him. "What more could you possibly want?"

"Damage control." He puts a hand on my shoulder. "The Moreau contract is almost finalized. Three hundred million in joint development along the waterfront. The largest deal in our company's history."

I shake my head, confused by the sudden change in topic. "What does this have to do with my personal life?"

"Everything." His grip tightens. "Philippe Moreau is traditional. Family-oriented. A God-fearing conservative like myself. If he learns that the Lancaster heir is involved in this... sickness, he'll walk away. The contract will fail. Hundreds of jobs will be lost."

I step away from his touch. "So I'm supposed to hide forever? Live a lie?"

"No." His smile sends dread through me. "You're going to marry his daughter. You'll become a real man, the way God intended."

The words hit me like a punch. I stagger back.

"What?"

"Celeste Moreau." He walks back to his desk, picking up a folder. "Twenty-six. Business degree from Wharton. Currently managing their European acquisitions. Beautiful. Accomplished. Suitable."

I stare at the folder but don't take it. "You've lost your mind."

"I've secured our future." He sets the folder down. "The wedding will be in June. The announcement goes out next week."

"No." I shake my head. "I won't do it."

"You will." His tone leaves no room for argument. "Unless you want your... friend's career destroyed."

I freeze. "What?"

"Elias Voss is talented, from what I hear. Rising quickly at Morrison. Such a promising future." He settles into his chair. "It would be a shame if certain rumors reached his firm. If certain clients were warned away."

My hands curl into fists. "You wouldn't."

"To protect this family? This company?" He raises an eyebrow. "I would burn the world to ashes."

I believe him. I've seen him destroy competitors, throw away loyal employees, crush anyone who gets in his way.

"And if I refuse?" My voice sounds strange to my own ears.

"Then you lose everything. Your position. Your inheritance. Your name." He picks up his scotch. "And Mr. Voss loses everything too."

The walls of the study seem to close in around me.

"Why are you doing this?" I ask, hating how desperate I sound.

"Because I love you enough to save you from yourself." His face hardens. "Because I won't watch you destroy your soul with this sin. Your father would have been disgusted by this path you've chosen."

The mention of my father, a shadowy memory of warm hands and laughing eyes, sends pain through my chest. Would my father have demanded this of me?

"She doesn't deserve this," I say quietly. "Celeste. Being trapped in a marriage with someone who can never love her."

"Love grows from respect, shared goals, common values." He waves dismissively. "The sinful lust you feel for this man is temporary. Proper marriages last. Legacy lasts."

I stare out at the rain, feeling each drop as a separate loss, freedom, choice, happiness, love.

"Does she know?" I ask. "About this arrangement?"

"Her father has spoken to her. She understands the advantages for both families."

"And if I tell her the truth?"

His eyes harden. "Then Mr. Voss will suffer the consequences of your selfishness."

I close my eyes, seeing Elias's face, proud, hopeful, loving. Elias who built his career from nothing, who has no family name to protect him.

"How do I know you won't hurt him anyway?" I ask.

"You have my word." He stands. "Marry Celeste. Be the husband she deserves. And Elias Voss will be left alone."

I stare at him, seeing my future collapsing.

"When do I meet her?" I ask, my voice hollow.

"Dinner. Friday night." He smiles. "The Whitelaw. Eight o'clock. Philippe and I will leave after drinks to give you young people time alone."

I nod like a robot, already feeling dead inside.

"You're doing the right thing, Adrian." He comes around the desk, putting both hands on my shoulders. "Someday you'll thank me."

I meet his eyes. "No, Grandfather. I won't."

I turn and walk to the door. At the doorway, I pause.

"Was there ever a moment," I ask without turning around, "when you thought about my happiness over the family name?"

The silence stretches so long I think he won't answer. Then:

"Happiness is a luxury, Adrian. Security is necessary." His voice sounds tired. "Your grandmother taught me that. My father before her. Your father never learned it, and look what happened to him."

I turn, startled. "What do you mean?"

His face closes off again. "Nothing. Go home. Rest. Prepare for Friday."

I stand frozen, knowing there's something more, some key to understanding my father's death.

"Tell me," I demand.

"Not today." He turns away. "We've had enough truth for one afternoon."

I step into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind me. The sound echoes like a prison door closing.

Ellis waits at the end of the hall, my coat over his arm. The old man's face shows nothing, but his eyes hold sympathy that almost breaks me.

"Will you be staying for dinner, Master Adrian?" Ellis asks.

"No," I say. "I need to end something first."

Outside, the rain has stopped, but the sky stays dark. I stare at my phone as I walk to my car. Three missed calls from Elias. Two texts asking if I'm okay.

I type: *We need to talk. Tonight.*

The response comes immediately: *My place. 8pm?*

I close my eyes, seeing the future stretching before me, empty, cold, fake. A life of duty without joy. Of obligation without love.

*I'll be there,* I type, then add: *I love you.*

It will be the last time I can say those words truthfully to anyone. As I drive away from Grandfather's mansion, I feel something breaking inside me, not just my heart, but my will, my hope, my belief that life could be anything but a series of prisons, each more beautiful than the last.