Chapter 79
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Lucian Sinclair Estate | Lucian’s Study
Kristina had never meant to linger.
The moment the door closed behind her, she’d told herself she would walk down the hall, take a breath, give them space. But her feet hadn’t moved. Her hand still hovered near the doorknob, trembling against the cool brass as the voices inside rose and fell.
At first, she told herself it wasn’t eavesdropping. She only wanted to be close, to hear enough to know if things were turning dangerous. But then Maxim’s voice had cut sharp through the wood, low and deliberate—You let this happen?—and Kristina’s chest tightened. Every word after that chained her to the spot.
She pressed her back against the wall beside the door, hands twisting together, heart thudding with each exchange. Lucian’s voice—steady, unflinching. Eli’s—fierce, unyielding. And Maxim’s, a blade hidden in silk, cutting into both of them.
But nothing pierced deeper than when Maxim said it aloud.
“…what about marriage?”
The word hit her harder than she expected, as if Maxim had reached through the door and placed the weight of it directly into her chest. Marriage. The thing she had never let herself imagine—not with one of them, not with both. The one word that carried more than love or loyalty; it carried permanence, scrutiny, legitimacy or its absence.
Kristina pressed her fist against her mouth, swallowing the heat rising in her throat. She thought she’d been ready for Maxim’s judgment. She hadn’t been ready for this.
Inside, silence followed his question. A silence that felt louder than anything else.
Her body moved before her mind decided. She pushed away from the wall, her hand gripping the handle, the urge to step back into the fire stronger than the instinct to run.
The door gave a soft click as it opened. Three heads turned—Maxim’s eyes narrowing, Lucian’s steady gaze flicking to her, Eli half-rising from his chair as if to catch her before she could fall.
Kristina stepped inside. Her pulse thundered, but her voice held.
“You don’t have to ask them that question, Papa.”
The silence shifted, bristled. Maxim’s stare sharpened. “And why not?”
“Because it isn’t theirs to answer.” She moved further into the room, past the threshold that had kept her small, until she stood between them all. Her chest rose and fell with the force of her words. “It’s mine.”
Lucian’s expression softened, though he didn’t interrupt. Eli sank back into his seat, his jaw tight but his eyes on her, willing her to keep going.
Kristina turned toward Maxim, her voice trembling but unbroken.
“You asked about marriage as if it were proof—as if a vow could measure the weight of what we are. But you’ve forgotten something.” Her throat tightened, but she forced the words past it. “A marriage isn’t given by men sitting in chairs deciding who deserves me. It’s given by me. By my choice.”
For a beat, Maxim said nothing. The fire popped in the hearth.
Kristina’s fingers curled at her sides. “You want to know if this will last, if it’s real, if it will survive storms and whispers? Then hear it from me—not from them. I love them. Both of them. And I will not choose one only to make the world more comfortable. If marriage is supposed to prove something, then let it prove this: that I decide who I belong to. No one else.”
Her voice cracked, but she lifted her chin. “Not even you, Papa.”
Maxim’s eyes widened—just a fraction, but for him it was enough. He had seen Kristina’s strength before, sharp and unyielding in ways that reminded him of soldiers who never learned to bow. But this… this was different. She was not standing against an enemy. She was standing against him. Against the man who had raised her, protected her, loved her as his own.
Lucian’s gaze flickered toward her, something like pride glinting beneath the steel of his composure. Eli’s chest rose with a quiet breath, as if her words had given him oxygen he hadn’t known he was holding back.
For a moment, Maxim could only stare at her—the daughter he’d thought he knew, now blazing in a fire he hadn’t expected. It struck him with equal parts ache and awe.
Kristina’s hands trembled at her sides. She’d spoken the truth, but the weight of it pressed heavy now, and her heart squeezed tight at the look in Maxim’s eyes. She had never wanted to wound him.
Her voice softened as she turned fully toward him, closing the distance not with steps, but with honesty. “Papa…” She swallowed, the heat of her earlier defiance cooling into something rawer. “I know I spoke sharply. I know it sounded like I was against you. But I’m not.”
Maxim’s jaw tightened, though his silence said more than any rebuttal.
Kristina’s throat ached, but she pressed on. “I understand why you worry. I do. You’ve always tried to protect me—more than anyone ever has. And I know I’m not your blood, but…” Her voice caught, then steadied. “I am your daughter. And I love you. That will never change.”
Her eyes glistened, searching his. “But of all people in this world, I wanted you to be the one who trusts me. Who supports me. Even if you don’t understand… I need you to believe in me. Please, Papa.”
The room quieted, heavy with the weight of words spoken and unspoken. Lucian’s expression was unreadable but steady, his gaze never leaving Maxim. Eli’s shoulders eased, though his eyes stayed locked on Kristina, fierce with loyalty.
Maxim drew in a slow breath, still staring at her—his daughter, not of his blood, but of his heart. The boldness in her earlier words still lingered, but so did this—the plea, the love, the fragile hope that he would not abandon her in this choice.
Maxim drew in a breath, deep and slow, as if the air itself resisted him. His gaze never left her, sharp yet searching, and for the first time in years, Kristina felt as though she had pierced him—not with defiance, but with truth he hadn’t wanted to hear.
At last, he spoke, his voice quieter than before.
“Kristina… you speak with a boldness I did not expect. I have seen you stand against enemies, yes. But never against me. And though it wounds me, I cannot mistake it for weakness.” His eyes narrowed, but not in anger—more in wonder, in ache. “It is strength. Yours.”
Kristina’s lips parted, her breath catching, but she said nothing.
Maxim leaned back slightly, the firelight sharpening the lines of his face. “You say you love me. I know it is true. And I love you—more than my own life. That is why I question. That is why I fear. Not because I doubt you, but because the world is not kind. It will not see your love as you do. It will tear at you, at them, at everything you try to build.”
His words fell heavy, but his tone softened. “And I would rather bear that hatred myself than watch it devour you.”
The silence afterward was almost unbearable. Lucian’s hands tightened once against the arm of his chair, though his face remained still, controlled. Eli’s jaw eased, his eyes never leaving Kristina, as if he drew strength from her even now.
Finally, Maxim’s gaze steadied on her, clear and unblinking. “I cannot give you easy trust. But neither will I take your choice from you. If this is the fire you step into, then I will not pull you away. I will only pray you are strong enough to endure it.”
Lucian shifted first, breaking the silence. His voice was low, measured, but every word deliberate.
“She is strong enough. Not because of me, not because of Eli—but because she always has been. We only stand with her.”
Eli gave a quiet nod, his tone sharper, more defiant than Lucian’s calm certainty.
“You’re right about the world, Maxim. It won’t understand. It will tear at us every chance it gets. But if Kristina can stand in front of it, then so can we. And so will we.”
Kristina felt their words settle over her like armor, steadying her heart.
Maxim’s eyes flicked from Lucian to Eli, then returned to Kristina. His expression shifted—not anger, not approval, but something heavier.
“You speak like men already condemned,” he said at last. “And perhaps you are. Yet… you stand. That much, I cannot deny.” His gaze lingered on Kristina, and his voice dropped, raw with ache. “But do not mistake my silence for blessing. I am not ready to call this love safe. Or wise. Only… yours.”
The faintest breath shuddered from Kristina’s chest. She moved closer, no longer holding herself like a soldier before command, but as a daughter before a man she loved.
“I know,” she whispered. “But someday, I hope you will.”
Lucian Sinclair Estate | Hallway
Maxim stepped out of Lucian’s study, the door shut behind him, the sound sharp in the quiet. The firelight and words still clung to him, heavy as ash. At the landing, Sebastian was waiting, still and steady, as if he had been there the entire time.
Neither spoke as they began down the wide staircase together. The hush of their steps on the polished wood carried into the vastness below. Halfway down, Maxim slowed. His hand gripped the banister, his eyes distant.
“You knew,” he said at last, his voice rough.
Sebastian didn’t pretend otherwise. “Yes.”
Maxim turned his head, sharp gaze cutting across the shadows. “And you said nothing.”
Sebastian’s reply was quiet, firm. “Because it is not something you should hear from me.”
For a long moment Maxim studied him, as though weighing the truth in those words. Then he exhaled, his shoulders easing, though the heaviness did not leave him.
“I love her,” he murmured. “I am afraid for her. The world will crucify her for this.”
Sebastian’s expression softened, though his voice remained even.
“I may not agree with it either. But Kristina has never cared what the world thinks. She only cares for them. And Lucian and Eli…” A pause, deliberate. “They are good men. Flawed, yes. But good. I think—” his eyes met Maxim’s “—they deserve a chance. And so does she.”
At the base of the stairs, the faint sound of the driver closing a car door echoed through the entryway. Maxim’s jaw tightened. He gave a slow, reluctant nod, then resumed walking, Sebastian steady at his side.
The cold air met them as the front doors opened. Maxim slipped into the waiting car without another word.
As the engine hummed to life, Sebastian shut the door, leaving Maxim to the silence. He stared out through the glass at the gray stretch of winter fields beyond the estate gates, his reflection caught faintly in the window.
For all his certainty in business, for all his years of command, tonight he carried only questions. And the heaviest of them all was whether love—this strange, unruly love—could possibly endure the storm that waited.
The car pulled away, leaving the estate behind.
The door had barely closed behind Maxim when silence settled over the study again—thick, restless, alive with all the words left unsaid. Kristina stood by the fire, arms folded across her chest though she wasn’t cold. Eli sat on the edge of the sofa, elbows braced on his knees, his gaze tracing her but never quite reaching her eyes. Lucian leaned back in his chair, calm on the surface, though the muscle in his jaw ticked once.
For a long moment, no one spoke. The only sound was the pop and crackle of the fire.
Finally, Kristina broke the quiet, her voice low. “I hurt him.”
Eli rose, crossing the space between them in two steps. “You told him the truth. That doesn’t make it wrong.”
Her eyes lifted to his, shining but steady. “It doesn’t make it easier either.”
Lucian stood then, moving to her side, his presence grounding. He didn’t reach for her immediately—he only stood close, his voice steady, deliberate.
“He needed to hear it from you. Not us. You.”
Her throat tightened. “But he looked at me like—like I wasn’t his daughter anymore.”
Lucian’s gaze softened, but his words carried weight. “That will never be true. Maxim doesn’t stop loving people. He only struggles when love asks him for something he doesn’t know how to give.”
Eli placed a hand against her arm, firm but gentle. “He’ll come around. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But he will.”
Kristina drew in a shaky breath, then finally let herself lean—against Eli’s shoulder first, then Lucian’s steadiness at her back. Between them, she breathed. For the first time since the confrontation began, her strength slipped into their keeping.
And neither man faltered.
Some bonds are tested not by enemies, but by the ones who love us most.
—To be continued.
