Chapter 3 - The Ghost of Exes Past
Two weeks into the project, my fragile bubble of newfound confidence collided violently with my past.
I was at the Merchandise Mart sourcing high-end fixtures for Lucian’s primary bathroom when a shrill, familiar voice echoed through the marble arcade.
“Harper? Oh my God, it is you!”
I spun around, my stomach instantly tying into knots.
Madison stood there, dressed in a designer trench coat that still had the faint crease of a boutique display rack. Behind her, carrying three luxury shopping bags, was Kyle.
Seeing them together in broad daylight was like taking a cold bucket of water to the face. Kyle looked slightly flushed, his golden-boy country-club hair swept to the side, wearing the custom cashmere blazer I had bought him for his twenty-eighth birthday.
“Harper,” Kyle said, clearing his throat, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “You... changed your number. I tried calling you about the lease termination.”
“You didn't call about the lease, Kyle,” I said, keeping my voice dead even, though my hands were shaking inside my coat pockets. “You texted me demanding your grandfather’s watch twenty-four hours after I caught you in our bed.”
Madison stepped forward, her face a manufactured mask of faux-sorrow. “Harper, sweetie, we never wanted you to find out like that. Kyle and I... we just connected on a spiritual level you two never had. You were always so obsessed with your little design projects, always working late. Kyle needed a real partner.”
“A real partner who raids her cousin’s bedroom while she’s working overtime to pay our down payment?” I countered, the venom slipping into my tone.
Kyle’s jaw clenched. The embarrassment on his face quickly curdled into arrogant condescension. “Look, Harper, don't make a scene in public. We know you’re hurting. Madison and I actually felt terrible about how things ended. I heard through the grapevine that Caldwell & Rowe is going bankrupt. If you need some money to tide you over until you find a junior drafting gig somewhere, I can write you a check.”
He actually reached for his leather wallet. The sheer, patronizing cruelty of it sucked the air right out of my lungs. He wanted to buy his absolution for five hundred bucks while Madison smirked by his side.
“She doesn't require your charity, Mr. Bradley.”
The voice was low, smooth, and laced with the quiet authority of an apex predator.
Both Kyle and Madison turned.
Lucian Moretti stepped out of the private elevator bank, flanked by Gideon. He was dressed in an impeccably tailored navy three-piece suit, an overcoat draped over his shoulders. His presence immediately sucked all the oxygen from the corridor. Several shoppers nearby paused, whispering among themselves as they recognized his face.
Kyle froze, his hand hovering over his wallet. He worked in high finance; he knew exactly who held Chicago’s private liquidity, and he definitely knew the face of the man the board of directors spoke about in hushed, terrified tones.
“M-Mr. Moretti,” Kyle stammered, his patrician confidence instantly dissolving into stammering terror.
Lucian didn't even look at Kyle. His gray eyes were fixed entirely on me. He stepped forward, closing the distance between us, and reached down to gently adjust the collar of my wool coat. His touch was warm, deliberate, and extraordinarily intimate.
“You left your preliminary lighting sketches in my car, Harper,” Lucian said softly, his voice carrying clearly across the quiet marble hall. “I told you not to rush. My schedule belongs to you today.”
Madison’s eyes were practically bulging out of her head. She looked from Lucian to me, her jaw hanging slack. “Harper... you know Lucian Moretti?”
Lucian finally turned his cold, predatory gaze upon the pair. The slight smirk on his lips was terrifying in its absolute lack of warmth. “Miss Delaney is currently directing the complete architectural renovation of my private estate. Her time is billed at an executive rate that Vantage Capital’s entire junior analyst pool couldn't finance in a fiscal year.”
Kyle turned a sickly shade of gray. “I... we were just... we're family, Mr. Moretti. I was Harper’s fiancé.”
“I am well aware of what you were,” Lucian said, his voice dropping into a register that made even Gideon stand a little straighter. “And I am equally aware of what you discarded. Consider yourself remarkably fortunate that Miss Delaney possesses an abundance of grace, Mr. Bradley. Because if it were left to my discretion, a man who conducts himself with your brand of cowardice wouldn't be walking through luxury shopping malls unassisted.”
Kyle swallowed hard, looking like he might vomit on his expensive shoes. Madison grabbed his arm, suddenly desperate to escape the gravitational pull of Lucian’s quiet menace.
“We have to go,” Kyle whispered, stumbling backward. “We’re late for a reservation.”
They practically bolted toward the exit, their luxury bags swinging wildly like cheap plastic sacks.
I stood there, staring after them, a bizarre mixture of hysterical laughter and wild adrenaline bubbling up in my chest. When I finally looked back at Lucian, he was watching me with an amused arch of his brow.
May you like
“Did you follow me here?” I asked, trying and failing to sound stern.
“I came to ensure my lead architect wasn't being harassed by insects,” he replied smoothly, offering me his arm. “Now, come. We have thirty thousand dollars worth of Italian marble to purchase, and I believe you were promised lunch.”
