Page 47 of Lucas (The Valeur Billionaires #2)

Chapter Thirty-Two

LUCAS

I park the Jag in the covered parking lot of my family’s estate, the gravel crunching beneath the tires. I take a deep breath and rehearse the speech I prepared one last time, staring at my reflection in the rearview mirror.

“Dad, I’ve given the plan a lot of thought, and I’ve decided not to dismantle Gant Construction.

Instead, I’m going to rehabilitate the company and absorb it into Valeur.

I believe Valeur Real Estate can benefit from having its own construction division.

It would be a shame to waste this opportunity.

” I nod to myself, satisfied with the pitch.

It’s logical and well-reasoned. He’ll see the value in my argument, I’m sure.

I reach over to the passenger seat and collect the leather-bound binder filled with prepared financial projections and market analyses.

I know there’s no chance of convincing him without hard data to back up my claims. Numbers have always been the language he respects most. If I can show him, in black and white, how this plan will boost Valeur’s bottom line, he’ll come around. He has to.

It has to work. There’s too much riding on this.

Because if it doesn’t, I risk losing Ava. Forever. And that’s not an outcome I’m willing to accept. She may not love me yet, but I have to believe she’ll get there.

My heart clenches as I recall her reaction when I let slip that I was growing fond of her.

The way her eyes widened in panic. And that was when I only admitted to being fond.

I can only imagine the sheer terror I would have induced had I confessed the full, yes, terrifying truth—that I am completely, irrevocably in love with her.

I had to leave, feigning sudden business, before she saw how close I was to shattering, to falling to my knees and begging her to give us a real chance.

But I’m not giving up. I can’t. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’ll be damned if I let my father’s vengeful crusade rip her away.

If I want her to be mine, I have to save her company.

I exit the car and make my way into the house through the side entrance. The door clicks shut behind me, the sound echoing in the vast space.

I pass through the gourmet kitchen with its gleaming marble countertops and state-of-the-art appliances, then the opulent living room with its priceless art.

My father is nowhere to be seen. Odd. It’s late evening already, and he’s usually in here at this hour, poring over financial reports with a glass of scotch in his hand.

Anika, our long-time housekeeper, appears in the foyer, her kind face creased with concern. “Is everything alright, Mr. Valeur? Your father didn’t mention you were coming tonight.”

I flash her a strained smile, trying to exude a calmness I don’t feel. “Yes, everything’s fine. It was a last-minute decision, and I didn’t have a chance to call ahead. Is he in his office, by chance?”

She nods, gesturing down the long, portrait-lined hallway to the west wing. “Yes.”

“Thanks, Anika. I’ll just head over and see him. No need to announce me.”

The thick Persian carpet muffles my footsteps as I make my way to my father’s private office, the binder clutched to my chest like a shield.

The door is slightly ajar, warm light spilling out into the darkened corridor.

I reach out to knock but freeze as my father’s raised voice filters through the crack.

“They can’t prosecute me, right? I mean, it’s been years. Decades. Surely there’s a statute of limitations on this sort of thing.”

I can’t hear the other side, so I assume he’s on the phone.

My brow furrows. Prosecute? For what? I press closer, straining to hear.

“Yeah, yeah, I understand it doesn’t apply to murder. But they won’t be able to prove anything substantial, will they? It’s been too long, the evidence is gone, there’re no witnesses.” His tone is sharp, a far cry from his usual unflappable demeanor.

Murder? The word slams into me like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs. Icy horror slithers down my spine, my mind reeling. What the fuck is he talking about?

“I can’t go to jail now, not at my age. Not with the empire I’ve built.

You have to fix this. Do you hear me? I don’t care what it costs, who you have to bribe or threaten or bury.

Make this go away.” A pause follows as the person on the other end responds, and then Dad lets out a grunt of acknowledgment. “Yes, yes. Fine. Just do it.”

The decisive click of the phone being set down jolts me out of my shocked paralysis.

I stumble back from the door, my heart hammering against my ribs, blood roaring in my ears.

I have to get out of here. I can’t let him catch me eavesdropping, can’t bear to look him in the eye with the enormity of what I’ve just learned.

I spin on my heel and stride back down the hall, my legs moving on autopilot. Anika appears in my peripheral vision, her mouth opening to speak, but I brush past her with a terse, “Something’s come up. I have to go.”

I don’t remember the walk back to my car, the frantic turn of the key in the ignition. I come back to myself miles down the dark, winding road, the estate long vanished from the rearview mirror.

I wrench the wheel to the side and skid to a stop on the shoulder, shoving the car into Park with trembling hands.

And then I’m bent double over the steering wheel, gasping for breath, the edges of my vision sparkling black. Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God.

This can’t be happening. It has to be a nightmare, a sick, twisted nightmare. Because the alternative is too horrific to contemplate—that my father, the man who raised me, who I’ve looked up to and emulated my entire life, is a murderer.

Questions spin in dizzying circles, battering against the inside of my skull. Nausea churns in my gut. I want to scream, to rage, to put my fist through the fucking windshield. But I just sit, drained and numb, as the awful truth sinks in like poison, tainting everything it touches.

My father is a murderer, and I’m the one who has to decide what to do about it.

Logan. I should call Logan. Tell him what I’ve discovered. He’ll know what to do.

But no. I can’t do that to him, can’t shatter his world the way mine has just been. He worships our father even more than I do, modeling his entire life in his image. This would destroy Logan. Crush him in a way I’m not sure he could recover from.

Maybe I misunderstood?

A part of me, small and childlike, wants to cling to doubt. To indulge in the desperate hope that it’s all a misunderstanding, a terrible miscommunication. That there’s an innocent explanation that will make this all okay.

But I heard him, clear as day. Murder. Jail. Making it go away. There’s no ambiguity there, no room for comforting illusions.

The man who shaped me, molded me, taught me everything I know...is a killer.

And I have no idea what to do about it.

I pull back onto the road, hands white-knuckled on the wheel. I can’t go home, can’t face Ava and pretend everything is fine. I need to clear my head, to numb the anguish gnawing at my insides. I need a fucking drink. Or ten.

I turn down a side street, tires screeching, and head for the only place I know I can find blessed oblivion, however temporary.

O’Malley’s Pub.

My home away from home during my wild college days, the site of countless benders and forgotten nights. It’s been years since I darkened its door, but I know it will still be there, waiting. A dingy sanctuary for the lost and broken.

I pull into the cracked asphalt lot, the flickering neon sign casting an eerie red glow. I sit for a long moment, engine idling, staring at the graffitied brick facade.

My father is a murderer.

My life is a lie.

“Thanks.” I tip the Uber driver, then enter the dark house. I toss my keys, the metal clanging loudly as they hit the floor.

Fuck.

I drank a lot, but not that much. Not enough to forget, anyway.

I walk to the bedroom. Ava is here. My beautiful, sweet Ava, sleeping in my bed. I strip off my clothes and slip into the warm bed, moving closer to her.

I need her.

I need to feel something.

Anything .

“Ava,” I whisper, but she doesn’t stir, her breathing deep and even.

“Ava.” I try again, my voice rough with desperation.

She’s lying on her side, her back to me. I press against her until we’re flush, my chest to her spine, and slide her nightgown up her thighs. She’s still asleep, lost in dreams.

“Ava, I need you, baby. Please.” My voice cracks, choked with the tears threatening to spill over. God, don’t let me cry now.

I reach between her legs and tug her panties aside, exposing her warm, inviting heat.

I massage her clit in slow circles until she becomes wet, then rub myself against her backside, over and over. My balls ache, my cock so hard it could break stone. I can’t wait.

“Lucas?” she mumbles, her voice thick with sleep.

“I need you. I need you so much,” I groan, almost delirious with want.

I lift her leg and thrust into her from behind, filling her in one smooth glide. I sink into her to the hilt, a guttural moan escaping me. I close my eyes, holding back the tears through sheer force of will.

I pull out and plunge back in, setting a frantic rhythm.

She makes these little whimpering noises that drive me out of my mind, and I know there’s no way I’m going to last. I’m too wound up, my emotions scattered to the winds.

There’s only one thing I want right now—to come inside her, to feel her all around me.

“I can’t,” I mumble, nonsensical words spilling from my lips as I keep thrusting, keep taking. “I need you.”

“I’m here,” she whispers back, her voice a soothing balm to my battered soul.

I lose control then, slamming into her harder, more forcefully. I grip her hips, yanking her back to meet my every thrust, taking what I need from her. I’m not gentle this time, not considerate.

I just take. Everything she’s willing to give, I take.

“Yes, baby, yes,” I pant, picking up the pace until the bed shakes with the force of my movements. She moans, the sound sharp and breathy, but I don’t stop. I can’t.

A shudder runs through me as I near my peak, and then I’m coming hard, groaning into her ear as ecstasy crashes over me in relentless waves.

I wrap myself around her, still buried deep, trying to get even closer, to crawl inside her skin.

Minutes pass, and I drift off, my softening cock slipping out of her warmth. I jerk awake.

Fuck. What have I done?

“Ava? I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry.” Shame floods me, hot and caustic.

She rolls over to face me, cupping my cheek with her soft palm. “It’s okay. You needed me, and I’m here for you. I’m okay.”

I close my eyes and lean into her touch, savoring the tenderness, the acceptance.

How can she be so perfect?

“Do you want to tell me what happened? Why you came home so late, and what made you come to me like this? What’s wrong? Something’s not right, Lucas.” Her brow furrows with concern, her green eyes searching mine in the dim light.

“I’ll make it up to you. I promise.” The words feel hollow, inadequate.

“I just want you to talk to me.” She strokes my face, her touch gentle.

“Everything I thought my whole life turned out to be wrong,” I say, closing my eyes so I don’t have to see her reaction. “He’s not the man I thought he was.”

She stays silent, waiting for me to continue .

Can I tell her? I need to tell someone. I have to say it out loud.

“I think my dad did something terrible.” The word tastes like ashes on my tongue. “I think he killed someone.”

Her eyes widen, shock and disbelief warring on her delicate features. “Why would you think something like that?”

“I went to talk to him, and he was on the phone. He didn’t know I was listening. He was talking to someone, maybe a lawyer, about being prosecuted for murder.” I swallow hard, my throat raw and aching.

“Maybe you misunderstood? Maybe he was talking about someone else? Someone in the family?” She tries to rationalize, to make it okay.

I shake my head, the movement heavy and slow. “No. I mean, I didn’t hear the other side, but there was no mistaking what he said. I think my father killed someone.”