Lucian hadn't smoked in years. But tonight, he stood on the balcony of his penthouse, a cigarette burning between his fingers—barely touched. The city lights blinked beneath him like distant judgmental eyes, and the cold night wind did little to cool the fire boiling inside his chest.
Caliste was gone.
And this time, she didn't even look back.
He dragged a hand through his hair, jaw clenched so tight it ached. Her eyes—those wide, confused, betrayed eyes—haunted him. He hadn't even gotten the chance to explain. How could he?
Mirana's words still echoed in his head.
"I'm pregnant. And it's yours."
It was a lie.
At least… he hoped it was.
But the photos, the timing, the calculated smirk on Mirana's face—it was all too familiar. A trap dressed in silk and mascara. And now, the world was watching. Caliste had seen it too, her hands shaking as she scrolled through the endless headlines.
Lucian crushed the cigarette on the marble railing.
He was losing control. Of the narrative. Of his name. Of his wife.
His phone rang, sharp and commanding. He checked the screen.
Lady Victoria Velmore.
The matriarch of the Velmore family. His grandmother. The queen of cold elegance and sharp expectations.
He braced himself and answered.
"Lucian Alexander Velmore," came her icy voice. "Is it true?"
Lucian exhaled. "Grandmother, I—"
"I don't want excuses," she cut in. "I want facts. I want to know whether the grandson I spent twenty years grooming to lead this family has completely lost his mind."
"It's not what it looks like," he said tightly. "Mirana's lying."
"You were photographed. You brought her into your building. And now she's telling reporters she's pregnant with your child." Her voice turned to steel. "Do you realize what this means for the family name? For the empire?"
Lucian swallowed hard. "I'm handling it."
"You'd better. Because the board is already whispering. And Gregory Winslow isn't exactly applauding the news that his daughter's husband may have fathered a child with a model."
Lucian's chest tightened at Caliste's father's name.
"I'm going to fix it," he said, more to himself than to Victoria.
"You married that girl for political unity, Lucian. For stability. You were finally settling down. And now this?"
"I didn't cheat on her," he muttered. "It happened before we started anything real."
"But now that it is real," Evelyn snapped, "you're ruining it. I suggest you remember who you are—and what is expected of you."
The line clicked off.
Lucian stood frozen, the room closing in around him.
He didn't care about the board, or the press.
But the thought of Caliste—heartbroken, humiliated—made him want to tear the city apart.
He had to find her. He had to explain.
He didn't care what Mirana claimed. He'd get a paternity test, he'd hold a press conference—he'd burn it all down if it meant she'd believe him.
But when he turned toward the door, his secretary rushed in.
"Mr. Velmore—" she said breathlessly. "There's more."
Lucian stiffened. "What is it now?"
"A tabloid is releasing an exclusive tomorrow. Mirana gave them an interview."
His stomach dropped.
"They're calling it 'The Heir Before the Heiress.' She's naming you publicly. Photos. Details. The whole thing."
Lucian's blood ran cold.
And for the first time in a long while, Lucian Velmore—the untouchable billionaire—felt helpless.
----
Gregory Winslow sat stiffly in his office chair, the glow from the television screen washing his sharp features in cold light. The volume wasn't loud, but every word that left Mirana's lips echoed like thunder in his chest.
"Lucian Velmore and I shared something real. A connection. He told me he needed time, but I never expected to be replaced so quickly... I found out I was pregnant after he goes back to her. That's not my fault."
The model blinked innocently at the camera, her perfectly sculpted face tear-streaked. A well-rehearsed performance.
Gregory's jaw tightened. He picked up the remote and turned off the screen.
Silence.
He leaned back in his chair, hands steepled beneath his chin. There were many things Gregory Winslow tolerated—scandal was not one of them. Especially not when it dragged his daughter's name through the mud.
He stared out the window for a long moment before grabbing his phone. After a few rings, the call connected.
"Caliste," he said quietly.
There was a pause. Her voice was soft, guarded. "Father."
"I saw the interview," he said without preamble.
Caliste didn't reply. The silence on the other end told him everything he needed to know—she had watched it too.
"I'd like you to come home," Gregory said firmly. "Just for tonight."
Caliste took a breath. "Is this about appearances?"
"It's about peace of mind," he answered. "And not just mine."
Another silence. Then, "Alright. I'll be there."
He nodded, even though she couldn't see it. "The staff will prepare your room."
"Thank you."
When the call ended, Gregory leaned back once more, the steel returning to his eyes.
He didn't know what game Lucian Velmore thought he was playing—but Gregory had not married his daughter off to become tabloid fodder.
And if Lucian didn't get his house in order soon, Gregory Winslow would see to it personally.
After ending the call with Caliste, Gregory Winslow stood from his leather chair, his expression unreadable but brimming with quiet fury.
He pressed the intercom on his desk. "Get me Leo Navarro. Now."
Within minutes, his head of media and legal affairs was on the line.
"Mr. Winslow," Leo greeted, voice crisp and alert despite the late hour.
"I want that interview pulled," Gregory said, straight to the point.
"Mirana's?"
"Yes. Every clip, every quote, every whisper tied to that woman and my daughter's name—removed from every platform. I don't care how much it costs. Make them disappear."
Leo hesitated only a second. "It's trending across all major media outlets, sir. We'll need to issue legal notices and pay off several networks—"
"I said remove it. And I want a silence clause slapped on every outlet that so much as thinks of reviving the story."
"Yes, Mr. Winslow. And... what about Lucian Velmore?"
Gregory's eyes narrowed. "Leave him for now. He's still family by paper."
"But if this continues—"
"If it continues," Gregory interrupted coolly, "then Lucian Velmore will find out what it means to be erased in the world he thinks he controls."
Leo cleared his throat. "Understood, sir."
Gregory ended the call.
He moved to the bar cabinet in the corner, poured himself a short glass of scotch, and stood at the window overlooking the city. His jaw clenched as lights flickered below like scattered stars.
He had spent decades building the Winslow name. No scandal, no model, and no foolish husband was going to drag it down.
Especially not while his daughter still carried the weight of that name on her shoulders.
And if Lucian didn't act, Gregory would.