Chapter 27
2353words
Lucian Sinclair’s Estate |Lucian’s Study
The stillness between them held a little too long.
Kristina stood at the edge of something unnamed—her chest still tight from what she hadn’t meant to feel, and tighter still from what she had.
Lucian hadn’t moved since he said it.
I care more than I should.
No one had ever said that to her in a way that felt like both a confession and a warning.
She didn’t know what to do with it. But she stayed anyway.
“You meant it,” she said quietly, like testing a truth out loud.
Lucian’s reply was immediate. “Yes.”
There was no hesitation. No retreat. Just raw, grounded certainty. And that, more than anything, unsettled her.
Kristina turned her gaze toward the window, eyes catching on the faint shift of winter light across the snow-dusted trees. “I didn’t think I mattered that much.”
Lucian’s voice softened. “You mattered the moment I saw you—when you were nine. But even more when you walked through my door.”
She looked back at him, sharp, quiet disbelief flickering in her eyes—but she didn’t speak it aloud. She didn’t challenge it.
“I thought I was just another employee,” she said instead.
“You were never just anything,” Lucian replied.
He crossed the remaining distance between them—not fast, not overwhelming. Just steady. Intent. Like he’d made a choice and wasn’t willing to let her turn from it.
“You changed everything,” he said. “Including me.”
She hated how much it made her want to be closer to him.
Instead, she held her ground, voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t fall apart for people who don’t matter.”
Lucian’s expression flickered—an echo of pain, of recognition. “No,” he said. “You don’t.”
Stillness again. Warmer this time. Not empty—just full.
Kristina finally exhaled. Then stepped back—not to leave, but to steady herself.
Lucian let her.
“I’m not ready to decide yet,” she said.
“I’m not asking you to,” he said. “Just… don’t disappear before you do.”
The ache in her chest didn’t leave—but it stopped tightening.
She gave a small nod.
And for the first time in hours, the air between them didn’t feel like something waiting to snap.
It just felt true.
Sinclair Dominion HQ | Office of the CEO
Around Noon
The office was quiet.
For once, the constant hum of Dominion’s nerve center was muted. Lucian stood by the window, overlooking the sharp edges of the city skyline below, hands in his pockets, jaw tight with the kind of restraint that didn’t come easily to him.
Across the room, Maxim stood near the seating area, arms folded behind his back, waiting with quiet patience. The others—Kristina, Sebastian, Ash, Eli, Vex—had been asked to step out a few minutes ago. No explanation, just a glance from Lucian that said not now.
Only Maxim had remained. And Lucian hadn’t yet turned around.
For a moment, the silence lingered. Then Lucian spoke.
“I’m not asking as her employer.”
Maxim’s gaze didn’t flicker. “Then how are you asking?”
Lucian finally turned. He looked tired. Controlled—but tension pulled behind his composure like wire.
“I’m asking as someone who doesn’t want her to go.”
There it was. No disguise. No careful framing.
Maxim let out a quiet breath and walked closer, the sound of his polished boots soft against the dark stone floor. He didn’t sit—just stopped a few feet away and studied Lucian’s expression like he was reading something written in a language only the two of them spoke.
“She hasn’t made a decision yet,” Maxim said. “But you already have.”
Lucian gave a slight nod. “It took me too long to realize it.”
“And now that you have?” Maxim asked, not unkindly.
Lucian’s voice was quiet. “Now I can’t imagine this place without her.”
Maxim’s silence wasn’t dismissive—it was contemplative. Thoughtful in the way only someone who had lived through both great love and great loss could be.
“I’ve seen you lead,” Maxim said finally. “I’ve seen how sharp your mind is. How careful you are with every move. Every step. Every contingency accounted for.”
Lucian’s mouth twitched, just a hint of dry amusement. “Apparently not this one.”
Maxim gave a soft hum. “No. Apparently not.”
Another pause. Then Maxim stepped closer, lowering his voice.
“You’re used to planning everything. Not wanting something you didn’t see coming.”
Lucian didn’t deny it.
Maxim’s tone gentled. “She’s not just another member of your detail.”
“No,” Lucian said, a little too quickly. “She never was.”
Maxim nodded slowly, then looked toward the door. “She’s still figuring it out. What this means. What it could mean.”
“I don’t want her to feel pressured.”
“But you’re afraid she’ll walk away.”
Lucian hesitated—then nodded again. “I don’t know how to ask her to stay without making it harder.”
“You already did,” Maxim said. “And you didn’t ask her as a commander. You asked her as a man.”
Lucian looked away, jaw tight again.
“She’s carrying a lot,” Maxim continued gently. “Duty. Loyalty. Uncertainty. She’s always tried to do the right thing—even when it costs her. Especially when it costs her.”
Maxim studied Lucian’s face. “Then trust her to choose. Don’t try to take the weight from her shoulders. Just let her know you’re not going anywhere.”
Lucian looked up.
And for a second—just a second—he didn’t look like the CEO of Sinclair Dominion. He looked like someone trying to figure out how to hold on without holding too tight.
“She’s stronger than she thinks,” Lucian said quietly.
“Yes,” Maxim agreed. “But even strong people need something to hold onto.”
Silence stretched again—gentler this time. Steadying.
Maxim shifted his stance, just a little. “When I pulled her from that wreckage… she didn’t speak for days. Just looked at me with those same steady eyes she has now. Like she already knew how to survive.”
Lucian’s brow furrowed.
“She was nine,” Maxim said softly. “And somehow she already understood grief. She didn’t cry. Not then. Not even at the hospital. But I saw the moment it hit her. And I promised myself that day—if she ever found something worth staying for… I wouldn’t be the one to keep her from it.”
Lucian’s throat worked silently.
Maxim looked at him. “If you are that something… she’ll know. She’s not blind, Lucian. And she’s not indifferent.”
“You think she feels the same?” Lucian asked, quietly.
“I think you already know the answer.”
Another beat passed.
Lucian stepped back toward the desk and braced his hands on its surface. The light from the window threw shadows across his shoulders, framing the weight he carried.
“I’m not good at this,” he admitted.
“I’m not sure anyone is,” Maxim said. “But you care. And that matters more than getting it right on the first try.”
Lucian exhaled through his nose.
Then—after a pause—he said, “Thank you.”
Maxim gave a small nod, turning toward the door. He didn’t say you’re welcome. He didn’t need to.
But before he reached the threshold, Lucian added one last thing.
“If she decides to go…”
Maxim glanced back.
“…I’ll still find a way to protect her.”
The older man held his gaze for a long moment. Then he offered something rare.
Quiet. Knowing.
“I think you already are.”
And with that, he left Lucian alone in the silence—no longer empty, but full of everything unsaid.
Kristina waited quietly down the hall, the others nearby but silent.
When the office door finally opened, Maxim stepped out, coat over his arm. Kristina moved to the door, slipped back inside for a brief word with Lucian, then returned.
She met Maxim’s gaze.
“I have an hour,” she said. “Would you like to have lunch?”
He nodded gently.
“I’d like that.”
Downtown New Venice | Small Family-Owned Restaurant
Early Afternoon
It was the kind of place Kristina remembered from her childhood—nothing grand, nothing flashy. Just a small, sunlit corner café with old wooden chairs, checked tablecloths, and the smell of grilled bread and fresh herbs in the air.
They sat by the window. No security team in earshot. No board members, no corporate halls, no tension pressing in from every side. Just them.
Maxim ordered something simple. Kristina barely touched her drink at first.
He waited. He always waited, never rushed her. And finally, after a stretch of silence between the clink of glassware and the low hum of background conversation, she spoke.
“Do you think I’m doing the right thing... by even considering this?”
Maxim didn’t ask what she meant.
Instead, he wiped his hands on a napkin, set it down, and met her eyes.
“I think you already know the answer. You’re just afraid of what it means.”
Kristina looked down, fingers curling around her glass.
“I told myself this was just a job. A duty. Nothing more. And now… I don’t know if staying means I’m keeping that promise—or breaking it.”
“You wouldn’t be breaking anything,” Maxim said softly. “You gave everything you promised. And more than anyone ever had a right to ask.”
Kristina’s throat tightened.
“I never imagined…” She hesitated, the words catching like thorns. “I thought I could do this clean. Just protect him. Keep it professional. But now I feel like everything’s blurring, and I don’t know if I’m being selfish for even wanting—” She cut herself off.
Maxim reached across the table and set his hand over hers.
“You are not selfish for wanting more than survival,” he said gently. “You have always carried more than you should. Wanting something for yourself now… doesn’t make you weak.”
She looked away for a moment, steadying herself.
“I don’t know what happens next.”
“No one does,” he said. “But I know this—when you were nine, I found you in the middle of something no child should ever walk away from. And yet, you stood up. You didn’t cry. You didn’t scream. You looked at me and asked if there was anyone left to save.”
Kristina swallowed hard, voice caught somewhere between memory and emotion.
“There wasn’t.”
“No,” Maxim agreed. “But you still tried. And you’ve spent every day since trying for everyone but yourself.”
His thumb brushed lightly across her knuckles.
“You deserve to choose what makes your life yours. Not just what keeps others safe.”
Kristina stayed quiet, the words slow to come.
But she nodded.
Outside the window, a light snowfall had started—soft flakes catching on the glass, melting quietly into nothing.
Maxim glanced out, then back at her.
“He cares for you, you know. Lucian. Deeply.”
Kristina didn’t look surprised. But the way her jaw shifted said she wasn’t immune to hearing it aloud.
“I know,” she said.
Then, quieter:
“I think I do too.”
Maxim gave a small smile.
“Then it’s not about duty anymore. It’s about truth. And truth isn’t always neat, or easy… but it’s always worth the cost.”
She nodded again—more firmly this time.
Their food arrived. Warm, fragrant, untouched for a while longer.
But slowly, Kristina picked up her fork. Ate a few bites.
The weight in her chest didn’t disappear.
But it didn’t win, either.
Lucian Sinclair’s Estate | Library
The sun dipped below the hills, casting long shadows across the library floor of the Sinclair Estate. Most of the lights were off in the library, save for a reading lamp near the far wall—just enough to cast a quiet circle of warmth.
Kristina stood in the middle of it, fingers resting lightly on the spines of the books beside her. She wasn’t reading.
She’d wandered in after dinner, after the awkward but mercifully light banter over takeout containers and ignored glances. No one brought up the morning. No one mentioned contracts. No one said anything at all when Lucian hadn’t shown up.
They all felt the weight of that silence. But they left it untouched.
Now, she was alone. Or so she thought.
Footsteps behind her—quiet, but familiar.
She turned halfway. “You still brood quietly, I see.”
Lucian’s voice was soft. “Only when I think it matters.”
He stood near the door, jacket undone, sleeves pushed to the forearms. Tired, but not worn. Composed—but only just.
“I didn’t want to push you earlier,” he said. “You didn’t owe me anything.”
Kristina didn’t respond right away.
Then: “But I might still give something.”
She turned to face him fully.
Lucian stepped forward, pausing a few feet away. The distance felt deliberate. Measured. Held back not by coldness—but by caution.
“I haven’t made a decision,” Kristina said. “Not entirely.”
“That’s fair.”
“But I’ve been thinking.” Her voice dipped, low and steady. “About how everything started. About why I said yes in the first place.”
Lucian didn’t interrupt.
“I told myself it was temporary. I reminded myself every day. But you...” She drew in a breath.
“You don’t let people forget what matters.”
Lucian’s expression shifted—just slightly. Like something inside him let go, just enough to show.
He took one step closer. “Then stay.”
Kristina met his gaze. “It’s not just about staying. You know that.”
“If I stay, things change.”
“I want them to.”
Silence. Real and bare and full of weight.
Lucian’s voice, quieter now: “Do you?”
Kristina didn’t move. But something in her gaze cracked open. She let the shield drop—just a little.
One word. Soft. But it rang louder than anything else she could’ve said.
Lucian didn’t close the distance. Not yet. But his shoulders eased. His breathing steadied. His entire presence seemed to shift, like something long-held had finally landed where it was meant to.
“I don’t want a replacement,” she said. “Or a contract extension. I want—”
She stopped herself. Not because she didn’t know the words. But because this time, she wanted to mean them.
“I want a reason to stay that isn’t just duty.”
“You have one.”
And Lucian, for once, didn’t look away.
Kristina didn’t answer. She just took one quiet step forward.
And that was enough.
Because the hardest decisions aren’t made in the heat of the moment—they’re made in the quiet that follows. In the spaces between words, where truth begins to take root.
In the spaces between words, truths quietly unfold.
—To be continued.
