Chapter 12: Clause 6b
The sun had shifted by the time Lucas stepped into the study.
Long shadows striped the floor, drawn by the slant of gold light that filtered through the high arched windows. The room was quiet, save for the soft tick of a vintage wall clock and the distant rustle of ivy brushing against the glass.
A thick folder sat waiting for him on the desk—unassuming, clipped with gold tabs, the seal of House D’Argente embossed in the upper corner.
He closed the door behind him and approached slowly.
The air smelled of old paper and sandalwood, a trace of Serathine’s presence lingering like the echo of a weapon already drawn. No guards. No advisors. Not even David. She’d made sure he’d be alone for this.
Lucas sat.
For a long time, he just stared at the contract, his hands clenching firmly against the desk, leaving his knuckles white.
The silence of the study thickened.
Lucas didn’t open the folder.
Not yet.
His fingers remained pressed against the dark wood of the desk, the grain beneath his skin the only thing grounding him. His knuckles had gone pale from the pressure, tendons drawn tight. The contract sat there like a sealed tomb, waiting to be pried open.
He didn’t need to read it to know what it was.