Lucien closed the leather-bound book with a soft, final thud. "Alright," he replied, his voice devoid of protest.
Wait... just like that? Ken thought, blinking in surprise. He had been bracing for a debate, a subtle threat, or at least a cold interrogation. He hadn't expected a simple "alright."
Suddenly, Lucien stood up, his towering frame casting a long shadow across the marble floor. "I'm driving." He walked to the dark mahogany shelf, slid the book into its precise place, and moved toward the entrance to grab a heavy set of keys.
Ken struggled to keep up with the shift in momentum. "Don't worry... I can just call—"
"It wasn't a request. Follow me," Lucien interrupted, not even looking back as he headed for the door.
Ken wanted to protest, but the desire for fresh air outweighed his pride. He felt like he was accumulating a massive, invisible debt every second he spent in this penthouse, and he needed to breathe oxygen that didn't smell like Lucien's expensive cedarwood cologne. He followed Lucien to the elevator in silence.
The trip down was a long, pressurized void. Neither spoke. When they reached the garage, Lucien headed straight for his SUV. Lex, the ever-present driver, stepped forward to take the wheel, but Lucien dismissed him with a single, sharp gesture.
The drive to Amy's apartment was equally silent, but Ken's unease grew with every turn. He noticed, with a sinking feeling, that Lucien never once looked at a GPS or asked for directions. He navigated the winding city streets toward Amy's modest neighborhood with the confidence of a local.
When the SUV finally pulled into Amy's driveway, Ken couldn't play dumb any longer.
"How do you know where she lives?" Ken asked, his voice tight. "I don't recall you ever speaking to her, let alone knowing her address."
Lucien turned off the engine, the sudden silence of the car feeling heavier than the noise. He pointed a gloved finger at an apartment complex directly opposite Amy's.
"That house is under Luther Corp estate management," Lucien said, his voice cold and indifferent. "Specifically, a Single-Family Rental unit. I have been here previously to review the property for business purposes. I have seen your friend here on several occasions."
How does he always have an answer for everything? Ken thought, a chill running down his spine. He didn't press further; he just wanted to be out of the car. He opened the door and stepped out into the humid morning air.
As the door clicked shut, Amy stepped out of her apartment. She looked perplexed, her eyes darting from Ken to the intimidating black SUV and the man behind the wheel. She knew Ken was staying with Lucien, but seeing the "Devil" himself play chauffeur was a different reality entirely.
Ken muttered a quick thanks to Lucien. Lucien offered a brief, curt nod, restarted the engine, and drove off with a low roar.
Amy walked toward Ken, her eyes still fixed on the fading tail-lights of the SUV. "No 'Hey, how are you doing, Ken?' Have I become a ghost now?" Ken asked, trying to inject some humor into the moment.
"How did that even happen?" she asked, pointing at the street. "And also, you seem a little too sarcastic for someone who just had their heart ripped out."
"I won't say I'm fine," Ken replied, his shoulders dropping. "I'm just tired of wallowing. Anyway... shall we go in?"
"Yeah... sure. And you're going to tell me everything. I mean everything," Amy said, leading him inside. Ken followed, feeling the first genuine sense of relief since the rain began.
Inside the safety of Amy's cluttered, cozy living room, the story poured out of him. He narrated the confrontation at the park, the crushing weight of the breakup, the "Crimson Vault" of Lucien's bedroom, the perfect lasagna, and the sight of Lucien emerging from the steam.
"Damn... all in forty-eight hours?" Amy said, leaning back as she went to get him a glass of water. "You've been through a lifetime of drama in two days."
"I can't believe Mikael left you in the rain," she added, handing him the glass. "That's absurd. Even for him."
"I guess I was just being hopeful," Ken replied, staring into the water. "I knew deep down it wasn't going to end well, especially after his panic attack. I just didn't think he'd use me as a bandage for Emily."
"I feel bad for you, Ken," Amy said softly. "You have more drama in two months than most movie franchises."
"Are you worried, or are you mocking me?" Ken asked with a faint, tired smile.
"I'm concerned," she said, her smile turning warm. "So, what's the plan? How are you going to handle seeing them on Monday? And what about Emily?"
Ken set the glass on the center table and turned to face her. "It'll be hard, but at least I don't have to 'baby' him anymore. I don't have to wonder if I'm doing the right thing or if I'm 'enough.' The uncertainty is gone." He took a long, steady breath. "As for Emily, I don't hate her. Facing them will be difficult, but I'll survive. I always do."
Amy looked at him. She had known Ken since they both started at the restaurant over a year ago. She knew his resilience, his work ethic, and his heart. It burned her that his first foray into love had been with someone who viewed him as a second choice.
"So, what about you?" she asked. "What do you want to do with Lucien?"
"About Lucien? I don't intend to do anything," Ken said, his eyes lighting up with a spark of defiance. "I want to focus on me. No more toxic, unexplainable rich dudes. I'm going to do what I want. I'm joining the art committee. I'm pursuing art as a hobby. From now on, I'm making the choices. Not some rich kid or some bossy billionaire. Just me."
Amy moved toward him and pulled him into a tight, fierce hug. "Sometimes I envy you, Kenny. Your life might be a disaster zone, but you always bounce back. But listen... you don't always have to be the strong one. If you need to break, do it here. Let it out."
The words were so soft, so maternal, that the mask Ken had been wearing finally cracked. The "strength" he had been forcing since he woke up in that black velvet bed evaporated. He squeezed Amy back, his chest hitching.
A single tear rolled down his cheek, followed by a silent, racking sob. He had been pretending it didn't matter, that he was over it, but the betrayal still stung like an open wound. He cried into her shoulder for a long time, the only sound in the room being his grief.
Later that afternoon, Ken walked Amy to the restaurant. Her shift started at 1:00 PM, and though he was on leave, he walked her to the entrance. He waved goodbye and watched her disappear through the glass doors, feeling a bit lighter, a bit more grounded.
But as he turned to head home, a soft voice called out from behind him.
"Hey, Ken."
He froze. He turned slowly, his breath catching in his throat. Standing there was the girl at the center of the storm. She was wearing a white gown patterned with delicate roses, her hair pulled into a neat ponytail. She looked beautiful, fragile, and deeply guilty.
It was Emily.