Morning light spilled gently over the Montenegro garden, casting a golden hue on the breakfast spread. The table was elegantly set beneath the canopy of flowering trees, the soft rustle of leaves mixing with the distant hum of the city. It was a picturesque family morning, at least on the surface.
Lucas stood behind the outdoor kitchen counter, dressed simply in a linen shirt, sleeves rolled up, plating eggs and fresh bread with practiced ease. Despite his status, he liked mornings like these, quiet, purposeful. He had made breakfast himself, something his mother still pretended to frown at, but secretly loved.
Mrs. Montenegro was already seated at the head of the table, regal as ever in her pearls and tailored silk. On one side sat Asha, Francis, and Sebastian, his three younger cousins, barely out of university, still trying to impress their way into adulthood. On the other side sat King, Lucas's uncle, and Susan, his aunt, an elegant woman with a sharp tongue and a louder opinion.
As Lucas served the final dish, Amalia walked in from the house. She was radiant, as always, wrapped in soft pastels, her long hair brushed neatly over one shoulder. Her smile was quiet, a little tired, but warm nonetheless.
Lucas immediately stepped forward to pull out her chair. "Good morning, my love," he said gently. "Sit."
"Thanks, baby," she replied, sliding into the seat with a graceful nod. A quiet, grateful look passed between them—familiar, yet strained.
The breakfast began in peace. Silverware clicked, and small chatter filled the air. Until Susan, with a smirk that didn't quite reach her eyes, leaned forward slightly.
"Amalia, dear… you're glowing," she said. "And sleeping quite a bit lately. Are you sure you're not pregnant?"
The table went still for a heartbeat.
Amalia stiffened, her smile faltering. She didn't respond, just reached for her tea with a slightly trembling hand.
"It's too early for your silly comments, Susan," King snapped, not looking up from his plate.
"What? What did I say?" Susan said defensively. "It was a compliment. Hopefully, we'll hear the cry of a baby soon."
Mrs. Montenegro cleared her throat delicately. "Yes, it's time. It would be a blessing. A proper Montenegro heir…"
Amalia slowly placed her teacup back on its saucer, the clink louder than it should have been. Then she stood. Quietly. Carefully. And without a word, she walked away from the table and disappeared into the house.
Lucas exhaled, jaw tightening.
He looked up at his family, his mother, his aunt, all of them staring either with discomfort or thinly veiled expectations.
"Please," he said, standing now too. His voice was steady, but firm. "Mother. Aunt. Stop."
"Lucas, we're just—" Susan began.
"Please." His tone cut clean through.
He looked down for a moment, then met their eyes again.
"Amalia is sensitive about this. We both are. We lost a child. We've accepted that it may never happen again. We've made peace with that."
Mrs. Montenegro shook her head, lips tight. "That's not happening, son. You are my only son. You will give me a grandson. You must. You cannot just… close this case."
Lucas's gaze hardened.
"Well, I have," he said simply. "The case is closed."
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked away, leaving the morning tension hovering over the table like a thundercloud.
He didn't care for the legacy in that moment. Not the heir. Not the family name. Not the whispered traditions.
All he cared about was Amalia—and the way her shoulders had hunched when she walked away.
The bedroom curtains were drawn, bathing the room in pale light. The walls, soft cream and gold, muffled the tension that had been building since morning.
Amalia sat on the edge of the bed, her hands trembling as she clutched the hem of her robe. Lucas stood a few steps away, half-dressed for the day, his expression unreadable—but his eyes told the story. He was already somewhere else, retreating into that quiet part of himself she could no longer reach.
"I want a baby, Lucas," Amalia said, her voice cracking. "Please. Let's try again."
Lucas closed his eyes. "Amalia… we've talked about this."
"There are other ways," she insisted, standing up, desperation spilling through her voice. "We haven't tried everything. Your mother—she won't let this wedding happen unless the doctors tell her I can give you a child. And after the accident…" Her voice broke, "I can't do it naturally anymore. But we could find someone. A surrogate. Please, Lucas. I just want to be your wife."
Lucas moved to her, trying to reach for her hands. "Stop doing this to yourself, my love," he said softly. "I love you. No child, no condition, no proof of fertility changes that."
"It's easy for you to say!" Amalia pulled away from his touch, stepping back. Her face flushed with fury and heartbreak. "You're not the one your mother whispers about in the hallway. You don't have to watch her look at you with pity every time she glances at me."
"Amalia—"
"No!" she snapped. "It was your fault, Lucas. That accident—you were driving. You weren't paying attention. You lost our baby, and now you get to walk around saying 'it's okay'? It's not okay. You owe me this."
Lucas's face froze, as if she had slapped him.
His voice dropped lower. "You know the truth of that accident."
She looked away, biting her lip as tears welled up. "Still… I lost everything."
He stepped back, shoulders tight. "Even if we did this—found someone to carry our child—what happens if, halfway through, you start to hate her? Get jealous? What if my mother never accepts it anyway? You think that will fix everything?"
Silence.
"Listen," he added gently, "if what you want is to be my wife, we'll do that. We'll plan the wedding all over again. Grand, loud, every damn detail just how you want it. But this? This baby idea? Please… let it go."
He reached for his jacket on the chair, the air between them suddenly too thick to breathe.
"Where are you going?" she asked, voice small now.
"To work."
"Of course," she whispered bitterly. "You always leave."
Lucas paused by the door, hand on the handle. He looked back—his expression softer, but no less resolute.
"I don't leave because I don't care," he said quietly. "I leave because staying… hurts too much sometimes."
Then he opened the door and walked out, leaving Amalia alone, standing in the hollow echo of a life that once felt full.