27. I Am Lucien Hayes

The boardroom emptied in waves. First the older executives, muttering under their breath. Then the younger ones, phones already pressed to their ears.

I stayed by the wall, watching Lucien.

He stood still at the head of the table like a statue carved out of exhaustion, hands braced against the polished wood, staring at the empty chairs.

For the first time ever, he couldn't own the room.

He’d called it an acceptable risk. One hundred per million. Like those hundred lives didn’t matter because they were statistically insignificant.

Now it was just us in the room.

Lucien straightened, pulled his car keys from his pocket, and tossed them at me without looking. I caught them on reflex.

“You’re driving me home.”

A command, not a request.

I should’ve told him to call his driver, but my two left legs followed him out instead.

The underground garage was cold and echoing. Our footsteps bounced off the concrete as we walked to his black Mercedes—sleek, expensive, soulless, like everything else