The day dragged on, but for once, Lucian didn't treat it as something to be endured. Reports, contracts, memos—he read them all with a focus that had long been absent from this office. His pen scratched across the margins, notes precise, corrections clear.
Margaret entered and exited quietly throughout the day, placing documents, taking dictation, and watching him in discreet glances. She had expected his energy to fade by noon, replaced by the irritability that once defined him. But the hours passed, and still he worked.
By the time the sun dipped low behind the skyline, Lucian set aside his final file and leaned back. His eyes ached from the strain, but it was a pain that came with accomplishment, not regret.
Margaret gathered the stack from his desk. For a moment, she hesitated. "…You actually finished all of it."
Lucian raised a brow. "Was I not supposed to?"
She looked at him, her expression unreadable, before shaking her head. "Nothing. I'll prepare the summary for tomorrow."
As she left, the corner of her mouth twitched—almost, but not quite, a smile.
---
That evening, Lucian returned to the Blackwell mansion. The moment he stepped into the foyer, he caught the faintest shift in the atmosphere.
His mother appeared from the sitting room, her shawl draped around her shoulders. She studied him with searching eyes, as if expecting to find the stench of alcohol or the dull glaze of carelessness.
Instead, she saw only the tired but steady look of a man who had worked.
Her lips curved, soft and fleeting, like sunlight breaking through clouds. "You look… better today."
It was a simple remark, but her voice carried a hope she had long buried.
Lucian felt something tighten in his chest. He could only bow his head slightly. "I'll try to keep it that way."
Behind her, Clara and Edward stood in silence. Clara's gaze flicked over him, sharp and skeptical, but she said nothing. Edward's eyes lingered longer, unreadable, before he turned away. Neither voiced their thoughts, but he could feel them watching.
The family dinner passed with little conversation. Yet the silence was different this time—not the suffocating weight of resentment, but the fragile quiet of a house that dared, for a moment, to hope.
---
Lucian retreated to his room later, unfastening his tie with deliberate care. His body ached from the long day, but his mind was alive. He had survived the whispers, faced the paperwork, and even earned the faintest spark of respect.
It wasn't much. But it was more than he had yesterday. And tomorrow, he would build on it.