Chapter 8 - The Velvet Trap
Lucinda couldn't stay in the room. The walls felt like they were shrinking, closing in on her. She scrubbed her face with a damp towel, peeling off the ruined emerald gown and tossing it onto the floor like a dead snake. She pulled on a simple, dark cashmere sweater and slacks, her hands shaking violently. She had to negotiate. She had to use whatever feminine charm or manipulative tears she had left to convince Damian to let her walk away. If she could just get out the front gates, she could disappear.
She unlocked her bedroom door and stepped into the dimly lit hallway. The mansion was eerily quiet. No maids scurried about. No guards stood at the intersections. It was as if the house had been entirely emptied. She walked softly down the grand staircase, jumping at every creak of the floorboards. As she reached the foyer, she saw a faint light spilling from the half-open double doors of the library.
She approached the doors slowly, peering through the gap. Damian was sitting in a high-backed leather chair, reading a leather-bound ledger. He looked completely relaxed, as if it were a normal Tuesday evening. Lucinda pushed the door open, stepping into the room. She forced tears into her eyes, letting out a soft, pathetic sob to announce her presence.
Damian, she whimpered, her voice cracking perfectly. Please. I was scared. The Romanos threatened me. They said if I didn't give them the schedules, they would kill me. I was only trying to survive. You know I love you. Please, just let me pack a bag and leave. You will never see me again.
Damian didn't look up from his book. He slowly turned a heavy parchment page. His silence was suffocating. Lucinda took a step closer, falling to her knees on the expensive rug, looking up at him with wide, pleading eyes.
I'm sorry about your mother, she cried, forcing a tear to spill over her flushed cheek. I was stressed. I wasn't in my right mind. She just kept pushing me, making me feel like I didn't belong. I made a terrible mistake. I will get on my knees and apologize to her. Just please, Damian, don't hurt me.
Damian closed the ledger with a soft thud. He finally looked down at the woman kneeling before him. His face was devoid of anger, devoid of pity, devoid of anything resembling love. He looked at her with pure, clinical detachment.
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My mother never pushed you, Lucinda, Damian said, his voice terrifyingly gentle. She barely spoke to you. She simply existed, and her existence was a threat to your ego. As for the Romanos, Vincent sang a very different tune. He said you approached him. You offered the schedules in exchange for twenty million dollars and a penthouse in Miami.
Lucinda froze, her fake tears drying instantly. The gig was up. There was no maneuvering out of this. The clinical detachment in Damian's eyes was the look of an executioner who had already signed the warrant.
