Lucas stood up slowly, his legs weak and unsteady beneath him as though the weight of the past days had finally caught up with his body. His mother reluctantly let go of his arm, her eyes filled with worry as they flicked from her son to the two powerful men who had just entered the room. The air in the living room thickened with their presence, heavy with unspoken judgment and long-held expectations.
Lucas’s heart pounded against his ribcage as his grandfather and father took their seats across from him. It felt less like a family visit and more like a trial, and he was the accused standing before the court. The silence was deafening.
"Grandpa… Dad…" Lucas finally spoke, though his voice wavered, raw and low. Just uttering those words felt like dragging guilt out of his throat. Disappointing them had always been his greatest fear, but this time it felt personal, like he had tarnished something sacred.
His grandfather, imposing even without saying a word, tossed an envelope onto the table in front of him. Lucas reached for it with trembling hands, his fingers brushing against the sealed flap with hesitation. The moment he opened it and pulled out the contents, the world seemed to stop spinning.
Photographs. Clear, damning photographs.
His breath caught in his throat. His eyes moved slowly across the images—him and Cristoff, holding hands in public, laughing together in quiet cafés, their affection evident in every glance and every casual touch. These weren’t just pictures. They were proof. Proof of everything he had kept hidden from his family and the world.
Adam, his father, was the first to break the silence. "You embarrassed this family, Lucas," he said quietly, his voice tight and controlled, but heavy with restrained anger. "Do you have any idea how reckless this was? How much damage did you cause?"
Lucas swallowed hard. "I didn’t mean to—"
"Didn’t mean to?" his grandfather’s voice thundered through the room like a crack of lightning. "How many times have I told you to stop with this foolishness? This gay nonsense? Why don’t you ever listen?"
Lucas winced. The words pierced deeper than they should have, but he said nothing. His father didn’t speak again. He simply stared, his silence more suffocating than the accusations.
Then came the question that made Lucas’s chest tighten.
"Where is your wife?" his grandfather demanded. "I want to speak with her. Why did she let you act like this? Does she even know?"
Lucas’s voice cracked as he replied, barely above a whisper. "Rhea… she…"
He paused. The truth clawed at his throat. He could lie, pretend she was still with him, but what was the point?
"She left," he finally admitted. "She left me…"
Silence fell. Heavy. Absolute.
"She left me because she loved me. She left me because I had a boyfriend. She left because I never dared to tell her I loved her back."
His voice trembled as he spoke the words he had buried for too long. And then, the dam broke.
"Rave was right. I’m a coward. I loved her… but I never told her. Not once. I kept it all inside, and now she’s gone. You’re right. Both of you. This is my fault. All of it. I ruined everything."
His knees buckled, and he dropped back onto the couch. The sobs came hard, unrestrained, years of pressure finally boiling over. He didn’t care if they saw. Not anymore. Men cried too. Men hurt. And he had reached his breaking point.
Then something unexpected happened.
His grandfather, usually unmoved and cold, cleared his throat. His expression had softened. The harsh edge in his voice was gone.
"Lucas," he said, his tone surprisingly calm. "Do you know why I haven’t turned over the company to you yet?"
Lucas looked up slowly, confused, his eyes red.
"It’s because you’ve been living a lie," his grandfather said. "You speak like a leader, but your actions are all over the place. You're driven, but directionless."
Lucas blinked. That wasn’t what he expected to hear.
"I’ve known for a long time that you had feelings for Rhea," his grandfather continued. "From the very first day you introduced her to us. Do you remember how you panicked when she had a stomachache? That day, I already knew. I just waited for you to catch up to your own feelings."
Lucas was stunned. His grandfather, the same man who had just shouted at him, had seen it all along?
"What do I do now?" he asked, his voice hoarse. "I can’t lose her. She’s everything to me."
His grandfather stood, his back straight and eyes clear.
"Give her space. A week. After that, I’ll step in. I’ll have my people find her. But you must promise me one thing, Lucas."
Lucas met his eyes, hopeful and afraid all at once.
"You end things with Cristoff. For good. No more confusion. No more half-truths. If you don’t, I won’t lift a finger."
Lucas didn’t hesitate.
"I promise," he said. "I swear it."
His grandfather gave a single firm nod and left the room.
Only when the door closed behind him did Adam finally speak again. His voice was softer now, touched with something Lucas hadn’t heard from him in years—warmth.
"I’m proud of you, son," he said. "It looks like your mother and I might still have a chance at having a grandchild after all."
He placed a hand on Lucas’s shoulder. A father’s hand. Gentle. Reassuring.
Lucas let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes, tears still streaming freely.
But somewhere deep inside him, through the grief and regret, a spark of hope had finally ignited.
That evening, long after the heavy, soul-draining conversation with his grandfather and father had ended, Lucas found himself sitting alone in his bedroom. The room was cloaked in half-light, shadows stretching across the walls like silent spectators to his unraveling. The air was thick with stillness, and every breath he took felt like a confession. The silence did not soothe him. It suffocated, pressing down on him like a consequence he could not escape.
His phone lay beside him on the bed, screen dark and unmoving. Yet it might as well have been a ticking bomb. He kept glancing at it, then away, then back again. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind—guilt, regret, confusion—and beneath them all, an ache he could not quite name.
At last, with trembling fingers and a heart that beat far too loudly in his ears, Lucas picked up the phone and dialed Cristoff’s number.
The line barely rang twice before Cristoff answered, his tone as dry and indifferent as ever.
"What now?" he asked, casual to the point of carelessness, as if Lucas were just a forgotten obligation on his to-do list.
Lucas swallowed. "I wanted to talk."
There was a pause, icy and deliberate. Cristoff did not ask why. He did not encourage or protest. He simply waited, distant.
"I just wanted to say I’m sorry," Lucas said quietly, his voice stripped of all its usual bravado. "For everything"
Cristoff let out a short, lifeless breath. "Alright"
Lucas blinked, caught off guard by the flatness. "That’s it."
"What do you want from me?" Cristoff asked, his voice cool and measured, but there was a flicker of something underneath, something restrained. "Forgiveness? Closure? You don’t need either from me. You made your choice. I saw it coming a mile away."
Lucas exhaled shakily and raked a hand through his hair. "I didn’t mean to hurt you."
"But you did," Cristoff said, tone devoid of emotion. "And whether it was intentional or not doesn’t matter anymore."
Lucas lowered his gaze to the floor. "I just… I thought I owed you the truth."
Cristoff gave a low, humorless laugh. "Lucas, you never owed me anything. Whatever this was between us, it wasn’t solid. You were never really in it. Not with me."
Lucas opened his mouth to protest, but fell silent.
Cristoff went on, his voice oddly steady. "You never looked at me the way you looked at her."
Lucas froze. "What?"
A beat of silence stretched thin across the line.
"I mean," Cristoff said with a casual shrug in his voice, "don’t act surprised. Everyone saw it, even if you pretended not to. I was just… convenient."
"That’s not true."
Cristoff did not answer right away. And when he did, his words were soft but sharp. "You were chasing someone who made you feel alive. And it wasn’t me."
Lucas was stunned into silence. He had not expected the name—Rhea—not said outright, but unmistakably implied. And Cristoff’s voice, though calm, carried a tinge of something else. Bitterness, maybe, or something deeper and unspoken.
"I still cared about you," Lucas said, though the words now felt fragile.
"Well… thanks, I guess," Cristoff replied. His tone was light again, but hollow.
A long silence followed.
"I’m not mad," Cristoff added, like a man stating a fact. "I’m just done. So don’t call again. You don’t owe me an explanation. And I’m not interested in being part of your redemption arc."
Lucas closed his eyes, letting those words sink in like stones dropped into deep water. "Okay"
The call ended with no goodbye.
Just the cold, mechanical click of disconnection.
Lucas stared at the phone, its screen blank once more. The silence returned, heavier than before. No shouting. No accusations. No pleas.
Cristoff was gone. Not angry. Not grieving. Just done. And beneath his indifference, something Lucas could not fully grasp lingered.
He did not know it yet.
But Cristoff had never been jealous of losing Lucas.
He had been jealous of something else entirely.
Or someone.
And Lucas was too lost to see it.