Chapter 13
Lucien did not move back into the estate.
Good.
I almost asked.
Caught myself.
He rented a house forty minutes away.
Close enough for dinner.
Far enough to leave.
That mattered.
Old capos immediately started whispering.
The dead prince returned.
The rightful brother.
Alternative.
I shut it down.
Not by silencing them.
By asking Lucien to speak for himself.
At the next family dinner, someone finally asked:
“Do you intend to reclaim your position?”
Lucien laughed.
“What position?”
The man looked confused.
“Your father’s plan.”
“My father is dead.”
Good.
Then:
“I spent ten years outside this family because people treated me as a position before they treated me as a man.”
Silence.
“I’m not coming back to repeat it.”
He looked at me.
“Dorian is head.”
Simple.
No kneeling.
No oath.
No drama.
Then he added:
“And if he becomes an idiot, I’ll tell him.”
Several people laughed.
I did not.
He was already annoying.
Good.
Lucien wanted one role.
Not command.
Oversight of the Montclair family homes that supported widows, retired staff, and children of deceased associates.
Why?
Because Owen’s sister should never have spent ten years thinking the family abandoned her uncle.
Because Faye’s daughter should never miss dinner because a hostess controls vouchers.
He wanted the places where power becomes ordinary life.
I trusted that.
Slowly.
No automatic appointment.
He worked beside the existing manager for six months first.
Lucien complained.
I enjoyed it.
“Testing me?”
“Yes.”
“I’m your brother.”
“Exactly.”
He laughed.
Maybe we were becoming brothers again instead of symbols.
Sabine moved out of the main estate.
Not exiled.
Her own townhouse.
Her money.
Her life.
No hostess authority.
No staff control.
No family communications passing through her.
She hated the silence initially.
Then had to learn to call people without having information they needed.
That changes relationships quickly.
Some stopped answering.
May you like
Some kept calling.
Truth revealed which bonds had existed without leverage.
