LUCIAN
I was still agitated with a rage that sat low and dense in my chest by the time the elevator doors slid open on my floor.
“Good morning, sir,” my PA said immediately, rising from her desk like she’d been waiting for the doors to open.
I didn’t slow.
“What’s on my schedule.”
She fell into step beside me, tablet already in hand.
“Conference call with the Zurich board in twenty minutes.
Delacroix Renewables wants final approval on the acquisition timeline, and legal flagged three documents that need your signature before noon.”
”Push the call back an hour,” I said.
“And tell Isaac to see me.
Now.”
She hesitated for a second.
“But sir, the Zurich team specifically—”
I stopped in front of my door, hand still on the handle.
“Now,” I repeated.
Her throat bobbed.
“Yes sir.”
The door shut behind me, sealing off the hallway and the noise.
The office was immaculate.
Steel and glass and money.
Floor-to-ceiling windows, skyline laid out like a conquered thing.
My desk was already covered in neatly stacked files, contracts flagged, pages marked with color-coded tabs.
But none of it touched the pressure in my head.
I shrugged out of my coat and tossed it over the back of the chair, then stood there, staring at nothing.
The silence didn’t calm me, it only made space for thoughts I didn’t want.
Her.
Ms.
Sterling.
Corinne.
She hadn’t recognized me.
At least… I didn’t think she had.
And if she had, if that sharp tongue and that heated gaze had all been an act, then she deserved awards.
Standing ovations.
A standing fucking legacy.
Because no one had ever spoken to me the way she did.
No one had ever questioned my decisions about my children to my face and lived to finish the sentence.
And yet she had.
Worse, she’d been right.
That realization scraped against something I’d been ignoring for years.
I’d expected fear or the usual careful politeness people wrapped around me once they learned my name.
I got none of it from her.
To be honest, I’d been surprised by her outburst to really gather my thoughts together and when my thoughts did assemble, what did I do?
Instead of shutting it down, instead of reminding her exactly who she was speaking to, I offered her a job.
“Fuck.”
The word left my mouth as my fist hit the desk.
Papers shifted and something clattered to the floor.
I didn’t bother looking down.
A knock came almost immediately.
“Come in,” I groaned out.
Isaac calmly stepped inside with that unreadable face he’s had for years and closed the door behind him.
“You sent for me, sir.”
I leaned back in my chair, staring at him.
Chicago flashed through my head for half a second.
When I left headquarters and came back here to clean up the Brooklyn mess, Isaac was the only staff I brought with me.
Not because he was the best on paper, but because he knew how to keep his mouth shut and he never questions orders.
“I need you to look into someone.”
He didn’t react.
“Business or personal?”
”A client?” He asked again when I didn’t respond to the earlier question.
“No.”
I reached for a scrap of paper, my hand tightening around the pen as I wrote her name down slower than I meant to.
I slid it across the desk.
He picked it up.
“Corinne Sterling,” he read aloud, then glanced at me.
“That’s not ringing any immediate alarms.”
”She teaches at St.
Alderidge Preparatory,” I said.
“Homeroom teacher.
Lower primary.”
Isaac nodded once.
Waiting.
“She also works nights.
Underground club.
Alias is Lux.”
That earned a pause.
He folded the paper neatly and slipped it into his pocket like he was filing her away already.
“What do you want to know?”
”Everything.”
”Where she came from.
Where she’s been.
Who she was before now.” I stood up, moving toward the window without looking at him.
“Every job.
Every address.
Every name she’s ever used.
I want a clean line from the beginning to now.”
”And if it’s not clean?” Isaac asked.
I smiled but there was no humor in it.
“Then tell me where it breaks.”
I need to know which one of them is real.
Corinne… or Lux.
Because they don’t feel like the same woman pretending.
They feel separate.
Fully formed.
And that doesn’t sit right with me.
What were the odds, really.
That the woman I’d almost made an irresponsible mistake with when I was at my lowest in Chicago would be standing in front of me three years later, looking straight through me like I was a stranger.
With no flicker of recognition.
Is this just coincidence…or am I the fool for pretending it was?
What is making her dance for strangers when she seemed a bit too passionate about her day job?
She didn’t act like someone doing it out of desperation, so it can’t just be about the money.
If it were, she would’ve taken my offer without thinking twice.
***
”Come work for me.
At my estate.”
She stared at me like I’d spoken another language, blinking too many times, lips parting then pressing together again.
Not flustered exactly.
More like recalibrating.
Like she was deciding whether to laugh or walk out.
“I’m sorry?” she said finally.
Yeah.
Same.
There was no pulling it back now.
The words were already sitting out there between us.
“As a tutor,” I added.
Her brows knit.
“A tut… what?”
I folded my arms and fixed her a dry look.
“You seem to think you know how to handle my children better than I do,” I said.
“So do it. This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
Full time.
Name your price.”
There it was.
The part that usually works.
She went quiet.
For a second, I thought I’d misjudged her.
Thought maybe she was calculating, weighing the numbers, picturing the estate, the luxury.
Then she laughed.
Soft.
Disbelieving.
Almost tired.
She stood slowly, palms lifting in front of her like she needed space between us, like this conversation had crossed some invisible line.
“I think,” she said carefully, “there’s been a misunderstanding.”
Her tone was too polite.
Sarcastically so.
“As much as I appreciate your very generous offer,” she continued, emphasis biting just enough, “I’m going to decline.”
I straightened with a sneer.
“You want more than a blank check?”
”I don’t need anything from you.” She said already turning away.
“If you don’t have any other concerns about Elias, I have a class to get to.”
Then she smiled.
Small.
Professional.
Fake as hell.
And then she dismissed me.
Me.
Lucian Delacroix.
I watched her walk toward the door, chest tight with something that wasn’t anger exactly, more like disbelief mixed with an unfamiliar edge of interest.
She didn’t want my money.
Didn’t want proximity to power.
Which meant she either had principles.
Or secrets.
And either way, that refusal had just made her far more dangerous than if she’d said yes.
***
My fists tightened all over again when her face flashed through my head.
“How soon do you want it?” Isaac asked.
His voice cut through the spiral before it could get ugly.
“As soon as possible,” I said.
Now would’ve been better.
He gave a single nod then he turned and left, closing the door softly behind him.
And I was alone again.
I dragged a hand down my face and let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
Brooklyn sprawled beneath me, loud and alive and full of people who thought they were invisible.
People with second lives.
Third ones too, if they were clever enough.
My fingers curled against the glass.
Just you wait, Corinne.
Or Lux.
Whatever name you’re hiding behind today.
I’ll peel it back piece by piece.
Every layer to you.
Every secret you think is buried.
And when I’m done, you’ll learn that no one crosses my path by accident.
And no one walks away untouched.