Chapter 7 - The Rains of Chicago
The mention of Victoria Sterling’s name brought an immediate, frosty chill into the office. Lucas stood up from his chair, walking over to the glass window as heavy autumn rain began lashing against the skyscraper panes outside. “Don't let her up,” Lucas instructed quietly, his voice hard as iron. Bailey blinked, hesitating. “Mr. Bennett... she’s your former fiancée. If she’s downstairs—” “Victoria and I ended our engagement six months ago, long before I ever met you,” Lucas interrupted, turning back to face her. “She views my life as property, and she despises anyone who threatens her fragile illusion of control. Trust me, Bailey, you do not want her inside your perimeter.” Right as he finished speaking, the heavy oak door to the outer office swung open, and click-clacking heels echoed loudly across the floorboards. Victoria Sterling swept into the private office uninvited. She was stunning in an expensive designer trench coat, her platinum-blonde hair styled to absolute perfection, and her icy blue eyes radiating an aura of severe entitlement. “Honestly, Lucas, your security team needs basic retraining,” Victoria complained, pulling off her leather gloves as she marched right up to his desk space, completely ignoring Bailey sitting quietly behind her computer. “Making me wait downstairs like a common solicitor? Have you completely lost your mind?” Lucas stepped between Victoria and Bailey, his posture defensive and uncompromising. “You were not invited here, Victoria. And you certainly have no right to barge into my executive suite.” Victoria’s eyes flicked over to Bailey, narrowing with undisguised contempt as she took in the navy blazer and simple blouse. “Ah. So this is the little cleaning girl I’ve been hearing rumors about down in the social clubs,” Victoria sneered, letting out a sharp, aristocratic laugh. “I thought the gossip was exaggerated. You’ve actually elevated a janitor to an executive desk? Have you hit your head, Lucas, or is this some bizarre mid-life crisis?” Bailey felt her cheeks burn, the old sting of humiliation threatening to rise up. But before she could speak, Lucas’s voice cut through the room like a physical blow. “Get out, Victoria.” Victoria gasped, her aristocratic facade cracking. “You’re throwing me out for her? For a nobody who scrubs floors?” “Bailey Carter is a director of this company, and she saved my life while you were busy trading stocks in Paris,” Lucas said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “If you ever speak to her—or anyone in this building—with that kind of disrespect again, I will personally strip your family’s corporate shipping contracts from our vendor list before the hour is out.” Victoria stared at him in absolute shock, realizing that the man she thought she could manipulate had completely slipped through her fingers. She grabbed her handbag, glared daggers at Bailey, and stormed out of the office, slamming the heavy door behind her. The room fell into profound silence. Lucas turned back to Bailey, his eyes filled with gentle concern. “I am so sorry you had to hear that, Bailey.” Bailey stood up slowly, her chin held high, the phantom of her past insecurities finally burning away. “You don't need to apologize for her, Lucas. Words only hurt if you let them define you. And thanks to you, I know exactly who I am.”
