The walls closing in

“Good afternoon, Father.”

Lucy’s voice lost its footing somewhere between her chest and lips, sounding thinner than she intended.

Across the vast expanse of polished mahogany, Arthur looked up immediately.

The office hummed with a sterile, expensive quiet thick glass partitions, dark wood that absorbed the light, and air that smelled deliberate and controlled. Nothing in this pristine room was ever out of line. Except her.

“Good afternoon, my precious Lucy.”

Arthur straightened in his high-backed leather chair, shifting his full, undivided attention toward her. The warmth in his voice was real, but it carried the weight of expectation.

“How was your journey? Did you come straight from the cemetery?”

Lucy hesitated for a fraction of a second, just long enough for her pulse to skip a beat.

“Yes, Father.”

She sat down slowly on the edge of the chair across from Arthur, her movements hyper-measured, as though her limbs belonged to someone else entirely.

“I stayed a while… I’m tired.”

It sounded safe, a neat little phrase designed to hide the friction tearing underneath her ribs.

“You look exhausted, my dear daughter.”

Lucy forced a tight, polite curve of her lips, keeping her expression locked into place.

“Yes, Father. I stayed long at Mother’s grave.”

A shadow crossed Arthur's face—not deep, paralyzing grief, but a guarded, managed sorrow that he wore like a tailored suit.

“Oh, it’s fine, my darling,” he said gently, his tone softening. “Next time, I’ll go with you, alright?”

Lucy nodded, her throat tightening.

“Alright, Father.”

Her tone was the automatic reflex she always used with her father—obedient, smooth, and utterly hollow. Inside, she felt completely unmoored, as if she had left a vital, bleeding piece of herself back at the graveside and forgotten how to walk without it.

Arthur leaned back, his hand brushing past a stack of pending documents as he reached for a silver tray.

“Do you care for snacks?”

Lucy shook her head instantly, her hands twitching in her lap. Twice, she couldn't imagine eating a single bite.

“No, Father. I already bought something for myself.”

“Alright.” A small smile touched his lips. “Enjoy yourself, my precious jewel. Rest up for tonight. Julian Vance is very eager to see you, and we have a lot to discuss regarding your future engagement.”

The reminder of the arranged marriage sent a cold shiver down her spine. The silence returned, then a sharp beep cut through the room. Her father reached for his intercom. The warmth didn’t disappear, but it stepped back, completely replaced by the ruthless billionaire businessman.

“Yes?”

She hadn’t meant to listen, but the space was too confined, the acoustics too sharp to block it out.

“Sir, the financial files from last week’s audit are still pending signatures.”

Arthur nodded once to the empty air, already calculating three steps ahead.

“Fine. Hand them to Brian. Have him bring them up here.”

Brian.

The name hit her like a physical blow to the chest. Every muscle in Lucy’s body locked. The air trapped tight and hot behind her ribs.

She stared down at her hands, completely unseeing. Her grip on the paper bag clenched so hard the paper crinkled sharply, tearing slightly against her thumb. She forced her fingers to relax, but her throat had already turned to dust.

He's coming here.

The reality crawled straight under her skin, too heavy to absorb all at once. She frantically smoothed the crumpled paper bag, desperately trying to project an armor of absolute normalcy.

Arthur ended the call and placed his phone down.

“Good,” he said, glancing at her briefly. “We’ll go home together after this. Just relax.”

“Alright, Father.”

She tried to sound normal so he wouldn't notice a thing. But Lucy wasn't really there anymore.

“If I leave for HEC Paris as discussed… I won’t ever see him again.”

It should have been the logical next step for a Davidson heiress. But it felt entirely wrong. She had thought about asking for a permanent role in the company just to remain close to Brian without anyone suspecting her true motives. But she knew her father. He wouldn’t agree to let his daughter take a low-level desk job, and if he ever guessed the real reason—if he ever suspected how she looked at a common warehouse worker—

Lucy’s breath hitched violently.

No.

He would destroy him. He wouldn't even hesitate. She slammed the door on the thought before it could take root in her chest.

The quiet in the office felt heavier now, pressing down on her shoulders like lead.

Then—a sharp, single knock at the heavy double doors.

Her head snapped up, her pulse spiking into a frantic, deafening rhythm.

“Come in,” Arthur commanded without looking up from his papers.

The soft electronic click of the security lock disengaged with a muted whir. Arthur frowned, glancing briefly toward the entryway, mildly annoyed at the interruption.

“Who’s that?”

“Brian, sir.”

Everything inside Lucy stopped. The blood rushed in her ears, drowning out everything else.

“Come in,” Arthur replied.

Lucy pressed her palms flat against her thighs, anchoring herself to the chair. She didn't move a muscle, didn't speak a word, hardly dared to draw breath into her burning lungs.

The brass door handle turned with agonizing slowness. Every single tick of time stretched thin, snapping like a tight wire.

This is wrong.

The warning whispered through her mind, echoing loudly, completely impossible to ignore this time.

The heavy door swung open. And in that suspended, breathless heartbeat, Lucy faced the raw, terrifying truth she had tried so desperately to bury beneath layers of duty and silence.

She hadn’t been trying to forget Brian at all.

She had only been trying to survive the crushing weight of wanting him.

And now;

He was here.

Why can’t I stop myself from feeling this even when I know I should?