Sunday mornings always felt the same. Quiet in a good way. Calm. The kind of calm that made my brain stop acting like a war zone. The sun wasn't even doing anything special, just sitting there like some lazy coworker that clocked in because they had to. But it was peaceful, and I'll take peaceful any day.

I woke up first. Rare, I know. Val was still half-asleep beside me, curled up like she was trying to escape the cold even though the room was warm. I didn't wake her. I just lay there a bit, staring at the ceiling and letting my mind drift around like a balloon without a string.

When she finally blinked awake, she gave me that tiny morning smile that always felt like she didn't plan on smiling but her face accidentally did it anyway.

"Morning husband," she muttered.

"Morning," I said back.

We stayed there for a bit, quiet. Then she stretched, sat up, and looked at me like she was trying to confirm I wasn't a dream. I just raised a brow.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing," she said, but she was already smiling again. "Let's go make breakfast."

So we did. Nothing fancy. Just eggs, bread, and tea. Val handled the eggs because, well… she's Val. Chef-level hands, zero effort. She cracked them like she owned the patent and had them cooking before I even picked a mug. I made the tea, mostly so I wouldn't stand there looking useless.

I glanced at her pan. "Show-off."

She smirked. "It's literally eggs, Kai."

"Yeah," I said, "and you're still making them like you're filming a commercial."

She rolled her eyes but one corner of her mouth pulled up anyway.

We sat down and ate. And it was normal. The good kind of normal where nobody's thinking about accounts or an upcoming final presentation for what was most likely the business contract of the decade. Just food. Just us. I swear, sometimes that's better than any victory.

After breakfast, she washed her cup, wiped her hands, and leaned against the counter like she was gearing up for something. I could tell instantly. Val had a face for many things—anger, annoyance, hungry, tired—but this one? This was her "I need to tell you something but I'm arranging the words first" face.

I leaned beside her and waited. She fiddled with the edge of the towel, then sighed softly.

> "Kai… I want to go see Lucien today."

I didn't react immediately. Not because of shock. More like… I expected this eventually. The whole Benjamin Otavio mess, Vanguard Ark Investments, yeah, it was bound to come up.

I nodded slowly. "Alright."

She looked up at me, eyes steady but a little tight around the edges. "I just want to talk to him. Ask a few things. Clear the air."

"About him meeting with Otavio," I said. "And if Vanguard Ark is playing shadow games."

> "Exactly."

I rubbed my jaw. "You want me to tag along?"

I already knew the answer before she spoke, but I asked anyway.

And as expected, she shook her head. Not fast, just a small, sure shake.

> "No. If you come with me… he'll feel cornered. Lucien is already defensive by default. If he sees you walk in with me, he'll shift into his 'politician mode' and I won't get anything real out of him."

She wasn't wrong. Lucien wasn't the type to plan thirty steps ahead — hell, three steps was already a stretch for him — but he was tricky. The kind of guy who'd act harmless just long enough to slip something under the table when you blinked. If I showed up, he'd shut every door the moment he sensed pressure.

"You sure you're fine going alone?" I asked.

"Yes." She nodded once, firm this time. "I'll be fine. I know how to talk to him, and honestly… I think he'll be more open if it's just me."

I didn't argue. No point. And I trusted her enough to know she wasn't walking into something stupid.

I stepped closer, slid a hand around her waist, and kissed her forehead. She closed her eyes for a second like she was absorbing it.

"Okay," I said quietly. "Go. Ask what you need to ask. Just text me when you get there."

> "I will."

"And if anything feels off—"

"I call you." She finished my sentence before I could say it. "I know."

"Good."

The room was silent for a moment again. Not awkward. Just… settled.

Then Val pulled away from me and walked to the wardrobe. I followed her with my eyes, leaning against the counter while she opened her wardrobe and started pulling out clothes. She didn't overthink it. Jeans. A simple top. Jacket. Hair up. Light makeup.

She moved fast, like she didn't want to hesitate long enough to talk herself out of it.

"You look tense," I said as I watched her tug her jacket on.

"I'm not," she said, even though she absolutely was.

I smiled. "If you say so."

She made a face at me but didn't argue.

When she finished dressing, she grabbed her bag, checked her phone, then looked at me again. There was a moment—just a heartbeat—where she seemed like she wanted to ask me to come anyway. Like a small part of her didn't want to go alone. But she pushed the thought away and straightened her shoulders.

"Okay," she said quietly. "I'll get going."

I walked her to the door. She stood there for a second, fingers on the handle, eyes soft but steady.

"I'll text when I get there," she said.

"I'll be waiting," I replied.

She nodded once, opened the door, and stepped out.

She pulled out slowly, paused at the gate for a second, then turned left and disappeared down the road.

And then it was just me again.

Alone with my thoughts. Which, honestly, should've come with a warning label by now.

Lucien. Benjamin Otavio. Vanguard Ark Investments. Pieces of a puzzle that didn't like sitting together. And Val walking into the middle of it because she needed answers.

I trusted her.

I didn't trust him.

And I definitely didn't trust whatever game Vanguard Ark was playing in the background.

Still… this was her choice. She wanted to face him. She needed to.

And as much as I hated sitting still, I could wait.

One conversation.

One visit.

One push in the wrong direction…

And everything could change.

---

Val reached Lucien's building just as the late-afternoon sun angled across the lot, gilding everything in a warm, deceitfully peaceful glow. She parked, stepped out, and barely got three steps toward the entrance before someone else emerged from the lobby.

A girl. Pretty. Legs for days. Expensive perfume trailing behind her like a calling card. The kind Lucien never had trouble attracting—and never kept long enough to learn their middle names.

She was smiling. That satisfied, floating kind of smile that said she'd been thoroughly entertained.

Val's eyebrows flicked up.

Typical.

But she didn't comment. She didn't even slow. She just walked past the girl as if she were nothing more than a decorative plant obstructing the walkway.

Two strides later, she was pressing the doorbell.

Inside, footsteps approached—unhurried, cocky, unmistakably Lucien. She could almost hear the smirk forming before he opened the door.

And when he did, he didn't disappoint.

"Really, Tracy, we're not doing a round three—" He froze. Blinked. Recalibrated. "Oh. Cel."

Val folded her arms lightly, expression smooth. "Wow. You must be so exhausted. Pace yourself, Romeo. You're not twenty anymore."

Lucien's mouth dropped open for a second before he laughed under his breath and stepped aside. "Come in before you bruise my ego further."

She walked past him without acknowledging that. He shut the door and leaned against it for a moment, as if mentally switching gears.

"Soooo… what brings my favorite little sister here unannounced?" he asked, strolling after her. "Want a drink? Coffee? Juice? Something fancy? I've been experimenting with cocktails—Tracy left half a bottle of—"

"Water," Val said, already lowering herself onto the couch.

Lucien paused mid-ramble. "Water? Celestia Valentina Moreau willingly requesting something that won't melt my kitchen counter? Should I be worried?"

She didn't crack a smile. That was his first real clue.

But he grabbed a glass anyway, filled it, set it in front of her, then dropped into the armchair opposite with the exaggerated flourish of a man expecting drama but pretending he wasn't.

"Alright," he said, folding his hands. "Hit me. What's going on?"

Val didn't rush. Not with him. Not when stakes this high were involved.

She took a sip first. Set the glass down. Studied her brother with that quiet, unnerving stillness she'd inherited from their father. Lucien's shoulders twitched faintly under it.

"Lucien," she began, voice measured, "how's the Meridian Development Initiative going?"

Lucien's expression flickered—only a second, barely there—but Val caught it instantly.

"It's going," he said. Too casual. "A few modifications, a few improvements. Nothing Dad wouldn't approve of."

She hummed softly. "You've made a lot of changes," she said. "More than usual."

Lucien shifted in his seat. "It's a big project. And it'll be fine," he insisted. "Really. Everything's under control."

"That's funny," Val murmured, "because that's exactly what you say right before everything is… not under control."

Lucien narrowed his eyes at her tone. "Cel, if you came here to micromanage me—"

"I came here," she cut in gently, "to ask you a question."

He opened his mouth, closed it, exhaled. "Alright. Ask."

Val leaned forward, fingers lacing together, posture calm but intent.

"Who," she asked quietly, "is Benjamin Otavio?"

The question hit him like a slap.

His face didn't change dramatically—Lucien was far too trained for that—but something in the way he held himself loosened, then tightened, as if an invisible string had snapped inside him and he was scrambling to tie it back together.

A beat.

Two.

Three.

His eyes didn't meet hers.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said.

Way too fast.

Val watched him with the kind of cool, dangerous patience that made entire negotiating teams sweat. "Try again, Lucien."

He swallowed. "Why are you asking me about him?"

She didn't answer immediately. She let the silence settle—thick, pointed, undeniable.

He leaned back just slightly, defensiveness bleeding through the cracks. "Seriously, Cel. Why?"

Val breathed out softly, but there was nothing gentle in her gaze now.

"Because," she said, "someone saw you with him."

Lucien froze again.

"Who," he asked carefully, "is 'someone'?"

She shook her head. "Doesn't matter."

"It matters to me," he said sharply.

"It shouldn't," she replied, just as sharp. "What should matter is why you were meeting with the CEO of Vanguard Ark Investments."

Lucien's jaw clenched.

There. Full confirmation without a single word.

Val felt her pulse tick up—not from fear, but from the cold, crisp realization that she was right to be worried.

She leaned back slowly, eyes never leaving him.

"Lucien," she said quietly, "what did you sign?"

His head snapped up. "I didn't—Cel, you're making this into something dramati—"

> "What. Did. You. Sign."

Her voice didn't rise. It didn't need to. Lucien deflated like someone had pulled the air directly out of his lungs.

He looked away.

And that—more than anything—told her everything she needed to know.

Val's breath left her in a shaky exhale she immediately tried to steady.

"Lucien…" she whispered.

He still didn't look at her.

The silence stretched.

Sharp. Heavy. Full of the weight of choices already made.

Val sat perfectly still, palms pressed against her knees, fighting the urge to panic, to demand answers, to shout sense into him.

But she didn't.

She just watched him—watched her stubborn, older brother fold into himself—and felt her stomach drop.

As she realized, with brutal clarity, that she might already be too late.

---

To be continued...

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