Chapter 25: Let The Games Begin
Lucien’s jaw dropped when he reached the old woman’s home. The place was stunning—nothing like what he’d pictured for someone selling food on street corners.
It nestled into a quiet lane where the air hung thick with old dust and soy. The house rose two stories of mismatched charm and faded elegance, its red brick walls wearing their age like badges of honor, patched here and there with stubborn grout and streaks of soot.
The front gate—tall iron bars weathered to bronze—stood guard over a tiny courtyard barely wide enough for a single bench and three sun-bleached buckets. A wall of pale grey brick separated the house from the world, its surface cracked like weathered hands that had known hard work.
The front of the house spilled over with life in a strangely soothing way. Potted plants cascaded from the small second-floor balcony, their leaves reaching for sunlight. A green cushion hung crooked from the railing—maybe drying, maybe blocking wind. It didn’t matter. Someone had claimed this space and made it theirs.
Nothing flashy about the place. But it breathed with life. Rooted. The kind of house that had weathered many seasons, sheltered many souls, and still stood patient, ready for whatever came next.
The lady led Lucien to where her grandson lived and stayed. The space made Lucien’s chest tighten. His bedroom back home could swallow this entire area—main parlor, grandson’s sitting room, and bedroom combined.
"You can rest here tonight. It’s late, but I’ll whip up something quick for you."
Lucien’s eyes narrowed.
"And you’re not charging me? Wait—do you know who I am? You’re not buttering me up so I’ll get your grandson into my dad’s company, right? Because I won’t do it."
Too many parents had cornered him with shameless requests like that.
"You seem to be asking for another knock."