chapter 6

Chapter 6 The Ghost at My Door

​I leaned my forehead against the cool glass of the window, watching the rain blur the streetlights of Queens into messy yellow smudges. In the next room, I could hear the soft, rhythmic breathing of my son. Leo was finally asleep, tucked under his dinosaur duvet, safe from the monsters I had spent five years running from.

​But the monster wasn't running anymore. He was standing right outside.

​"Nina! Nina, I know you're up there!"

​The sound of Lucius’s voice sliced through the quiet of the apartment like a rusted blade. I flinched, my hand flying to my chest. My heart was thumping so hard I thought it might bruise my ribs. It was a sound I used to love—a voice that used to whisper promises in my ear—but now, it just sounded like a threat.

​"He’s still there," Marcus said, stepping into the kitchen. He looked at me, his eyes filled with a mix of pity and readiness. "He’s making a scene, Nina. The neighbors are starting to peek through their curtains. Do you want me to go down there and end this?"

​"No," I whispered, my voice trembling. I took a deep breath, trying to summon the "Phoenix" I had worked so hard to become. The billionaire CEO wouldn't hide in a dark apartment. The woman who owned half of Manhattan wouldn't cower. "I'll handle it."

​I pulled on my oversized grey sweatshirt—the one I had kept since the divorce, the only thing that still smelled like the life I had lost—and walked down the creaky stairs. Every step felt like I was descending back into the past.

​When I pushed open the heavy front door, the damp air hit me, smelling of wet pavement and regret. And there he was.

​Lucius Valentine. The King of Wall Street. The man who had called me a "placeholder" before tossing me into a storm just like this one.

​He looked pathetic. His expensive suit was soaked through, sticking to his shoulders, and his hair was plastered to his forehead. He wasn't the untouchable god I remembered. He looked small. He looked broken.

​"Nina," he breathed, stumbling toward me.

​I stayed under the small overhang of the doorway, keeping the shadows between us. "You’re waking up the neighborhood, Lucius. Go home. Go back to your Manor and your 'real' queen."

​"I don't care about the Manor," he said, and for the first time in five years, I heard his voice crack. He didn't sound like a CEO; he sounded like a man who was drowning. "I saw him, Nina. I saw the boy. I haven't slept since the boardroom. Every time I close my eyes, I see his face. My father’s face. My face."

​"He isn't your face," I snapped, my voice hardening. "He is his own person. And he is mine. He’s the boy who survived the rain you threw us into. Why are you here? Is your ego bruised because you missed out on five years of a legacy?"

​"It’s not about the legacy!" Lucius shouted, and then he did something I never thought I’d see. He sank to his knees in the dirty, oil-slicked puddle on the sidewalk. He didn't care about his $2,000 trousers or his pride. He just went down. "I’m sorry. God, Nina, I am so sorry. I’ve lived five years thinking I was a king, but I was just a ghost in a big house."

​I looked down at him, and for a second, my heart betrayed me. A tiny, foolish part of me wanted to reach out and smooth his wet hair. I remembered the way he used to hold me when I had a nightmare. I remembered the way we used to talk about the future.

​But then I remembered the doorman’s pitying look. I remembered scrubbing floors until my fingers bled while Leo cried in a plastic playpen because I couldn't afford a babysitter. I remembered the night I almost lost the pregnancy because I was too stressed and underfed.

​The pity in my heart turned to ice.

​"Get up, Lucius," I said, my voice as cold as the rain. "You’re embarrassing yourself. You think a few tears on a sidewalk make up for five years of silence? You think being on your knees erases the nights I had to choose between buying milk for Leo or a bus pass for myself?"

​"I didn't know," he choked out, looking up at me through the rain. His eyes were bloodshot and filled with a desperation that turned my stomach. "Nina, I swear, if I had known you were pregnant, I never would have let you leave. I would have protected you. I would have—"

​"You would have kept me out of obligation!" I yelled, the anger finally breaking through my mask. "You would have treated me like a trophy wife you were forced to keep! You would have looked at Leo as an heir to be groomed, not a son to be loved. You would have turned him into a version of you—cold, calculating, and empty."

​"I can change!" he pleaded, reaching out to grab the hem of my sweatshirt. I stepped back, pulling the fabric away as if his touch were poison. "I’ll leave it all. I’ll sign over every share of Valentine Holdings to you tonight. Just let me come inside. Let me sit in the same room as him. Let me hear him breathe."

​"No." The word was final.

​"Nina, please! I'm his father!"

​"You're a stranger," I corrected. "To Leo, you're just the 'man with the mean eyes' from the big building. He doesn't know your name, Lucius. He doesn't know your history. And as long as I have a breath in my body, he never will. I’ve spent five years building a world where you don't exist. I’m not letting you back in just because you’re feeling guilty."

​"I love you," he whispered.

​I let out a sharp, jagged laugh that hurt my throat. "You don't know what love is, Lucius. Love is staying when things are hard. Love is choosing a person over a pedigree. You chose your mother's approval and a bank account. You got exactly what you wanted. Now, enjoy it."

​I turned my back on him, my hand on the doorknob.

​"Nina, wait!"

​"Go home, Lucius," I said, looking over my shoulder one last time. "And if you come back here, I won't just foreclose on your company. I’ll make sure the world knows exactly what kind of 'man' the King of Wall Street really is. I have the recordings. I have the proof. Don't test me."

​I stepped inside and shut the door, the click of the lock echoing through my soul. I leaned my back against the wood, my legs finally giving out. I slid down to the floor, burying my face in my knees.

​I didn't cry. I was done crying over Lucius Valentine five years ago. But my chest ached with a weight I couldn't describe.

​I looked up as Marcus walked into the hallway, his face grim. "He’s still out there, Nina. He’s sitting on the curb."

​"Let him sit," I said, standing up and wiping my face. "Let him feel what it’s like to be on the outside looking in. He wanted a placeholder? Well, he found one. He’s the one holding the place for a family he’ll never have."

​I walked back up to my son’s room, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. He was safe. He was mine. And as the Phoenix, I would burn the whole world down before I let a Valentine touch him again