Chapter 6: Daily Interactions From my office at Shepherd Design Studio, I had a perfect view of Crawford Publishing's glass facade across the street. It wasn't intentional-I'd chosen this location for my boutique interior design firm long before Lucas had secretly arranged for Phoebe to work there. I was reviewing fabric swatches for the Prescott Hotel renovation when my business partner, Victoria, strolled in with two coffee cups. "Caramel latte, extra shot," she announced, setting one in front of me. "You look like you need it." I accepted the coffee gratefully. "Late night." "Trouble in paradise?" Victoria perched on the edge of my desk, her pencil skirt riding up slightly. "The handsome Mr. Bailey keeping you up?" She waggled her eyebrows suggestively. I snorted. "Hardly. I was finishing the concept boards for the Prescotts." Victoria took a sip of her coffee, studying me over the rim. "You know, for newlyweds, you two are strangely... detached." I focused on arranging the fabric samples. "We're just private people." "Right." She didn't sound convinced. "Oh, by the way, I ran into Amelia Thompson yesterday. She mentioned that Lucas personally recommended someone for their junior editor position at Crawford." My hands stilled momentarily. "Did she?" "Mm-hmm. Some waitress from Bellini's. Apparently, she's quite talented-wrote a piece that caught Lucas's eye somehow." "How nice of him," I said neutrally. Victoria tilted her head. "Isn't it, though? Going out of his way for a complete stranger." She checked her watch. "Client meeting in twenty. Don't forget." After she left, I walked to the window, looking across at Crawford Publishing. Through the glass walls of their lobby, I could just make out a blonde figure at the reception desk. Phoebe. That night, I found Lucas in his home office, surrounded by stacks of reports. He looked up when I entered, fatigue evident in the lines around his eyes. "Working late?" I asked. He nodded, running a hand through his hair. "Bailey Enterprises quarterly review. My grandfather wants my analysis by morning." I leaned against the doorframe. "I heard Crawford Publishing has a new junior editor." Lucas's hand paused briefly on the keyboard. "Did you?" "Victoria mentioned it. She's friends with Amelia Thompson." He resumed typing, his expression carefully neutral. "I may have put in a word." "Just a word? Or did you call in several favors, route the recommendation through three different people, and personally ensure the position was created for her?" Lucas finally looked up, his gaze sharp. "Does it matter?" "No," I said honestly. "I'm just curious about the lengths you go to for her." A muscle ticked in his jaw. "I owe her." "For what?" "For not being able to be with her openly," he said quietly. "For putting her through this... waiting game." I nodded, understanding completely. In his own way, Lucas was being honorable-protecting Phoebe while keeping his promise to me and his grandfather. "The salary's good," I commented. "Much better than waitressing." "She deserves it. She's supporting her mother alone since the accident." He hesitated. "Her writing is actually exceptional. I just made sure the right people saw it." I smiled faintly. "Your secret's safe with me." As weeks passed, I continued to notice little things Lucas did for Phoebe-always through intermediaries, always maintaining a careful distance. A promotion here, a writing opportunity there. He even arranged for specialized physical therapy for her mother through a Bailey-funded hospital program. For her, he spared no effort. Yet he did it all from the shadows, never taking credit, ensuring her pride remained intact. It was nearly four months into our marriage when Lucas came home drunk for the first time. I was reading in bed when I heard the front door slam, followed by the sound of something crashing in the living room. Alarmed, I hurried out to find Lucas slumped on the sofa, an overturned side table at his feet. His tie was loosened, shirt partially unbuttoned, and his normally impeccable hair was disheveled. An empty tumbler dangled from his fingers. "Lucas?" I approached cautiously. "Are you okay?" He looked up, his eyes glassy. "She's dating someone." My heart contracted painfully. "Oh?" Lucas laughed, but it was a hollow sound. "Some hotshot lawyer from Thompson & Reed. Bradley Thompson-you know, the founding partner's son." He reached for the whiskey bottle on the coffee table, missing it completely. "Third date this week." I gently moved the bottle away and sat beside him. "I'm sorry." "Do you think she doesn't believe in me at all?" he asked, his voice rough with emotion. "Doesn't believe I can measure up to those other guys?" "What do you mean?" He gestured vaguely. "That I can't break free from all this-the family, the obligations." His eyes, usually so guarded, were nakedly vulnerable. "That I can't give her the life she deserves." Lucas had lost his parents in a sailing accident when he was twelve. He'd grown up under the controlling thumb of his grandfather, William Bailey, who ruled Bailey Enterprises with an iron fist. Unlike most heirs to vast fortunes, Lucas had tried to make it on his own after college. He'd launched several startups, each showing promise, only to have them mysteriously tank just as they were taking off. Investors would pull out unexpectedly, partners would back away, opportunities would evaporate. It wasn't until our engagement that I learned the truth: his own family had sabotaged him. His uncles and cousins, threatened by his intelligence and ambition, had systematically undermined every independent venture he attempted. Our marriage was William Bailey's way of securing Lucas's future-tying him to another powerful family that could protect him from the internal Bailey politics. "I believe in you," I said softly. Lucas turned to look at me, surprise evident even through his drunken haze. "You do?" "Yes. You're smarter than all of them put together. And more determined." He studied me for a long moment, then suddenly reached out, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from my face. The touch was feather-light, almost reverent. "You're such a good girl, Autumn," he murmured, his words slightly slurred. "How did you end up with someone like me?" Before I could answer, his hand dropped, and his eyes closed. Within seconds, his breathing deepened, indicating he'd passed out. I sat there for a moment, watching his face in repose. Without the careful mask he always wore, he looked younger, vulnerable-like the boy I'd known in high school. Sighing, I removed his shoes and loosened his tie further. I considered trying to move him to his bedroom but knew I couldn't manage his weight. Instead, I fetched a blanket from the linen closet and draped it over him. As I turned to leave, his hand suddenly caught my wrist. "Stay," he mumbled, eyes still closed. After a moment's hesitation, I sat on the edge of the sofa. Lucas shifted, his head coming to rest against my thigh. His breathing soon evened out again. I sat there for hours, one hand resting lightly on his shoulder, the other occasionally stroking his hair. It was the closest we'd been since our wedding day. In the soft glow of the lamp, with the city lights twinkling beyond our windows, I allowed myself to pretend-just for a moment-that this was real. That the man sleeping with his head in my lap loved me, not someone else. When morning came, Lucas remembered nothing of our conversation, or of falling asleep with his head in my lap. He merely thanked me gruffly for the aspirin and coffee I set before him, then disappeared into his bedroom to shower and change. But after that night, he threw himself into work with renewed determination. I guessed he was afraid Phoebe might really choose someone else if he didn't speed up his plan to secure his position and free himself from his family's control. I found myself hoping, for his sake, that he would succeed. Even if it meant losing him sooner than our agreed-upon two years.