The Bel Air estate felt different upon Chloe's return. The same imposing structure, the same silent, efficient staff, but the air had shifted. Lucas's edict had transformed the house from a place of cold estrangement into a fortified sanctuary. A private nurse named Clara, a no-nonsense woman with kind eyes, was installed in the guest room adjacent to Chloe's. Dr. Davis visited daily, his calm, professional demeanor a steadying presence.
Lucas was a ghost in the machine of the house. He was there, but rarely seen. Chloe would sense his presence—a light under his study door late at night, the low murmur of his voice on business calls, the faint scent of his cologne in the hallway. He did not join her for meals, taking them in his study or at the office. But his influence was everywhere. Meals were prepared according to strict nutritional guidelines. Her laptop and phone were discreetly removed, replaced with a selection of books and classical music. She was a cherished specimen in a perfectly controlled environment.
A week into her confinement, a small, familiar whirlwind disrupted the quiet. Chloe was reading on the sun-drenched patio when a voice chirped from the doorway.
"Beautiful Mommy!"
Ethan stood there, clutching the hand of his stern-faced nanny. His small face was a mixture of hope and uncertainty. "Daddy said you were sick. Are you better?"
Chloe's heart constricted. She opened her arms. "Ethan! Come here, sweetheart. I'm much better."
The boy broke free and ran to her, carefully hugging her as if she were made of glass. "I missed you," he mumbled into her shoulder.
"I missed you too, sweetie."
From that day on, Ethan became her constant, cheerful shadow. Lucas, it seemed, had lifted whatever restrictions had kept him away. The boy's presence brought a simple, uncomplicated joy to the long, quiet days. He would chatter about school, his toys, his daddy, filling the silent rooms with the noise of life. He was instinctively gentle with her, often placing a small hand on her belly with a serious expression. "Hello, baby brother," he would whisper.
It was during one of these afternoons that Lucas finally broke his visible isolation. Chloe was on the sofa, Ethan curled up beside her as she read him a story. She felt a presence in the doorway and looked up.
Lucas stood there, watching them. His expression was unreadable, a complex mixture of something that might have been longing, regret, and his usual sternness. He had discarded his suit jacket and tie, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked more approachable than he had in years.
Ethan scrambled up. "Daddy! Beautiful Mommy is reading me about the dragon!"
Lucas's gaze shifted from his son to Chloe. "I see that." He walked into the room and sat in an armchair opposite them, a deliberate distance away. He didn't speak, simply listened as Chloe continued reading, his presence a heavy, tangible thing in the room.
When the story was finished, Ethan yawned dramatically. The nanny appeared to whisk him away for his nap, leaving Chloe and Lucas alone. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice formal.
"Fine. Bored. But fine." She gestured around the luxurious room. "It's a very comfortable prison."
His jaw tightened. "It's for your safety. And the baby's."
"I know." She sighed, leaning her head back against the cushions. "Thank you. For letting Ethan visit. It... helps."
"He asked to see you," Lucas said simply, as if that explained everything. Perhaps, in his world, it did. The wants of his heir were commands.
Another silence fell. Chloe gathered her courage. "Lucas... what about The One? My studio?"
"Closed," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Temporarily. The lease has been paid through the end of the year. The staff has been given severance packages."
"Closed?" Despair washed over her. Her life's work, shuttered. "But—"
"But nothing," he interrupted, his voice sharp. "The negative press, the association with Henderson... it's toxic. Your focus needs to be on your health. Not on salvaging a business that was built on a foundation of blackmail."
The word hung in the air, brutal and true. She flinched. "It wasn't like that. Not at first. It was mine."
"Nothing is truly yours when Jake Henderson is involved," Lucas countered coldly. "Consider it a loss. A costly lesson."
Tears of frustration welled in her eyes. He saw her work, her passion, as a mere liability, an embarrassment to be disposed of. He couldn't understand what it meant to her.
Seeing her distress, his expression softened almost imperceptibly. "When this is over," he said, the phrase vague but pregnant with possibility, "if you still want to design, Blackwood Group will fund a new venture. A clean start. Under the proper oversight."
It was a concession, a peace offering from a man who dealt in acquisitions and control. He wasn't giving her back her independence; he was offering to become her new, more powerful patron. It was both infuriating and, in a twisted way, the closest he could come to an apology.
Before she could respond, his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, his face hardening. "I have to take this." He stood and walked out onto the patio, the glass door sliding shut behind him. Chloe watched him through the window, his posture rigid, his expression the familiar mask of cold fury. She could guess the source of the call. Jake Henderson. The outside world was not so easily kept at bay.
The uneasy truce held, but the battle lines were still drawn. She was safe, yes. Cared for. But she was still a pawn, her future being negotiated by powerful men just beyond the soundproofed windows of her gilded cage.