Chapter Four

Lucas's POV

The board meeting was a complete mess—I frowned as I stepped out of the boardroom.

My suit, tailored to perfection, hugged me in all the right places. It clung to my frame like it had been stitched by hands that knew the body it was made for. My physique wasn't playing subtle today; it was loud, dominant, impossible to ignore.

I wanted to appear professional—calm, composed, in control—but my appearance had everyone staring like I was on a damn runway. Not that I blamed them.

My face remained cold, straight, unreadable. But unlike usual, it didn’t intimidate. No one flinched. Maybe I should’ve gone with a darker shade. I glanced at my brownish suit and navy blue tie. Black might’ve done the trick, I mused.

I walked down the halls of NOVA Media—my mother's empire. My own empire.

The building gleamed with its usual elegance. Cream and dark blue danced across the walls and ceiling in harmony. The open space was vast and functional, with NOVA as breathtaking as ever.

Mother could bet on me any day to lead. And I’d win. But today... those board members made me question myself. I exhaled deeply.

How the hell were these people appointed as board members? They couldn’t even investigate before tossing blame around like confetti. The thought made my jaw clench. I rolled my eyes. These good looks weren’t made for frowning—fuck’s sake.

My shining brown shoes echoed softly as I approached my office. I liked them bold, loud, extravagant.

Then it hit me again—I told the magazine team not to publish unverified celebrity gossip. I made that crystal clear. Yet here we were. Why should I take the fall?

Anger simmered to a boil. My face flushed red—like one of those rage emojis. A damn emoji!

And who the hell made Mrs. Diana the acting chairperson? For fuck’s sake! She was all over the place. No structure. No professionalism. Throwing around that “son advantage” crap like it was a business card.

What do you expect from Brentford’s sister? Blood is thicker than water, they say.

Whoever gave the green light for that story would take the fall. I nodded, sealing the mental verdict. They’d face the defamation suit, not me. And sure, the victim would probably want money again. Typical.

I sighed.

Just as I was about to open my office door...

“It’s Anthony!” a voice called from below.

I froze and turned instinctively—like I was being called. Maybe I was.

I moved toward the balcony of the top floor—my perfect view.

Below, a young woman stood proudly, ID card bouncing against her chest, holding up a book like she’d just won a trophy.

Whispers followed fast.

“This Anthony guy is so fuckishly good, don’t you think?” she said, eyes sparkling.

I wasn’t the curious type. I usually tuned out gossip—especially boring ones. But something about this “Anthony” pulled me in. Damn it, I sounded like a desperate bitch. I flinched.

Even though I hated the rumpled, mismatched two-piece she wore—blue and purple? Really?—I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

To be fair, I paid enough for my staff to wear killer corporate looks, my instinct argued.

Another woman behind the counter, grabbed the book from her. “He released a new one?” she asked, practically bouncing. “Man is on fire!”

It was clear they were talking about Anthony’s latest novel. But what I couldn’t understand was... why did I care?

Their voices got louder.

“Why do you think Anthony remains anonymous?” the woman asked. “He’s a hot pick. If only he knew how many women would kill to meet him... he’d show his face already.”

I adjusted my tie. Hot pick? I smirked. Not even close to me.

Jealousy curled around my neck like a noose.

“But why stay anonymous?” the woman behind the counter said, frowning. “Even after the honorary award? Not a word from him. No acknowledgment. Nothing. What’s he hiding?”

Damn it. Why was I curious? I shouldn’t give a damn about this mystery author. But I did.

“I don’t even care,” the first woman slurred. “All I want is to get inside that dude’s head for a second. He makes romance so hot... I swear, I get wet sometimes.”

I nearly choked. Wet? What the hell is Anthony writing these days?

That was enough.

I cleared my throat—loud enough to cut through their chatter. Within a second, they were back to pretending they had work to do.

I turned to my office door.

The gold-lettered "CEO" reminded me who I was—my mother’s son. The one carrying her legacy on my shoulders.

I opened the door... only to find someone already inside.

My brows furrowed. “Who let you into my office?” I asked, eyes narrowing as I registered the face.

“Rita...”

My voice cut through the air like a blade.