Chapter 5: The Garden Terrace
Arthur released Elena instantly as the music stopped, murmuring an excuse about needing some fresh air before she could protest. He strode across the polished floor, ignoring the curious glances of nearby guests, and pushed open the heavy glass French doors leading out to the stone terrace.
The cool night air hit him like a physical blow, clearing the stale scent of champagne and expensive perfume from his lungs. The terrace was dimly lit by wrought-iron lanterns flickering against the stone walls. Below, the manicured gardens stretched out into the darkness, bordered by towering hedges.
“I knew you’d follow,” a voice murmured from the shadows near the stone balustrade.
Arthur turned sharply. The man in the dark overcoat stepped forward into the amber glow of a lantern. He was roughly Arthur’s age, with sharp, angular features, piercing gray eyes, and a cynical smirk playing across his lips. He didn’t look like a desperate fugitive; he looked like a predator who knew the hunt was already over.
“You’re Lucas,” Arthur stated, his hands curling into fists inside his trouser pockets.
“And you must be the convenient replacement,” Lucas replied smoothly, stepping closer. He possessed an easy, dangerous confidence that grated on Arthur’s nerves. “Arthur Sterling. Corporate restructuring specialist, widower, and now, legally bound to a woman who belongs to me.”
“Elena is not an object, and she doesn’t belong to anyone,” Arthur said, his voice hard and level.
Lucas let out a short, humorless laugh. “Oh, save the knight-in-shining-armor routine for the tabloid reporters, Arthur. You didn’t marry her for love. You married her because your firm was forty-eight hours away from bankruptcy, and her family trust was the only deep pocket willing to bail you out. We’re cut from the same cloth, you and I. We use people to get what we want.”
“I did it to protect my daughter,” Arthur countered fiercely.
“And I’m here to reclaim what was stolen from me,” Lucas countered, his gray eyes hardening. He pulled a white envelope from his coat pocket—the twin to the one Arthur had opened earlier. “Elena and I made a vow long before you ever laid eyes on her. Her father forced her into this corporate marriage to consolidate power, threatening to cut off her younger brother's medical trust if she didn't comply. Do you really think she wanted to walk down that black mirrored aisle with you?”
Arthur didn’t answer. The memory of Elena’s tense posture, her whispered warnings, and her hidden tears rushed back to him. The entire wedding had been a gilded cage constructed by a ruthless corporate dynasty, and both he and Elena had been forced inside at gunpoint.
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“What do you want, Lucas?” Arthur asked, realizing that violence or posturing would get him nowhere.
“I want my life back,” Lucas said quietly. “And I want you to walk away before this house of cards collapses and crushes your little girl in the rubble.”
