Chapter 9: Career Crisis A little over a year into our marriage, everything fell apart. I was reviewing client proposals in my home office when Lucas stormed into the penthouse, slamming the door behind him. His face was a mask of barely controlled fury, his normally immaculate appearance disheveled-tie askew, hair mussed as if he'd been running his hands through it repeatedly. "Lucas?" I set my tablet aside, alarmed by his state. "What happened?" He paced the living room like a caged animal, radiating tension. "They've suspended me." "What? Who did?" "The board." He laughed bitterly. "On my grandfather's recommendation, no less." I stood, moving toward him cautiously. "I don't understand. Why would William do that?" Lucas finally stopped pacing, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Apparently, there were 'irregularities' in the financial reports for the Archer project. A subsidiary I've been directly managing." He spat the words out. "Funny how those irregularities appeared right after I refused to sign off on selling it to my cousin James's investment group at a loss." The pieces clicked into place. "They're setting you up." "Bingo." He grabbed a crystal tumbler from the bar cart and poured himself a generous measure of scotch. "My dear uncle Robert has been gunning for that project for months. Wants to strip the assets and sell the patents to a competitor." I watched as he downed half the scotch in one swallow. "What did your grandfather say?" "That's the best part." Lucas's smile was razor-sharp. "He believes them. Or pretends to. Says I need to 'step back and reflect on my priorities' while they conduct an internal investigation." "But surely you can prove-" "Prove what? That my own family is sabotaging me?" He shook his head. "They've been doing it for years, Autumn. Every time I get close to building something independent, they find a way to tear it down." I'd known about the previous incidents-the startups that mysteriously failed, the investments that unexpectedly collapsed. But this was different. This was a direct attack on Lucas's position within Bailey Enterprises itself. "What can I do?" I asked quietly. Lucas looked at me, momentarily surprised by the offer. Then his expression hardened again. "Nothing. This is my battle." Later that same day, I attended a baby shower for one of my college friends. The celebration was held at the Bailey Estate, and Lucas's cousin Melissa's new baby was the guest of honor. The timing couldn't have been worse, but appearances had to be maintained. William Bailey was holding court in the grand drawing room, surrounded by sycophantic board members and family friends. I watched from across the room as he announced a "special gift" for his newest great-grandchild. "In celebration of little Thomas's arrival," William declared, his voice carrying across the hushed room, "I'm pleased to present him with a three percent share in Bailey Enterprises." Gasps and murmurs of approval rippled through the crowd. Three percent might not sound like much, but in a company worth billions, it represented a substantial fortune-and significant voting power. Lucas was sitting right beside me, his posture rigid. To anyone else, he appeared perfectly composed, even smiling at the announcement. But I felt the tension radiating from him, saw the white-knuckled grip he had on his champagne flute. I wanted to comfort him, to acknowledge the blatant injustice of it all. His grandfather was publicly rewarding another branch of the family while Lucas's own position hung in the balance. I hesitated, then lightly touched his arm. The moment my fingers made contact, Lucas grabbed my hand, interlacing our fingers in a grip so tight it was almost painful. His palm was damp with sweat, betraying the stress beneath his calm exterior. Our fingers intertwined, the warmth of his hand seeping into mine, turning into a fine sheen of moisture between our palms. He didn't look at me, didn't acknowledge the gesture in any way. But he didn't let go, either. We sat like that through the rest of the celebration, his hand holding mine like a lifeline. When we finally left the Bailey Estate, he maintained his grip all the way to the car, only releasing me when we had to separate to get into the vehicle. The drive home was silent. Lucas stared out the window, his profile etched with tension in the passing streetlights. I watched him from the corner of my eye, feeling helpless in the face of his pain. Back at the penthouse, he disappeared into his home office without a word, closing the door firmly behind him. I heard the distinctive clink of the decanter against a glass, followed by silence. I stood in the hallway for a long moment, debating whether to follow him or give him space. In the end, I retreated to our bedroom, leaving him to his solitude. The next morning, I woke to find Lucas's side of the bed untouched. He'd spent the night in his office, probably sleeping on the leather sofa if he'd slept at all. I made a decision then, one I knew Lucas might not approve of. But I couldn't stand by and watch his family destroy him piece by piece. My father, Richard Shepherd, had built Shepherd Shipping from a single cargo vessel into one of the largest privately-owned shipping companies on the East Coast. He wasn't a man who tolerated fools or games, and he'd been skeptical of my marriage to Lucas from the start. "The Baileys play dirty," he'd warned me. "Always have. That old man William is the worst of them-smiles to your face while he's stabbing you in the back." I hadn't listened then. Now, I needed his help. I drove to my father's estate on the outskirts of Northbrook, a sprawling property overlooking the bay. He was in his study, as I knew he would be, reviewing reports with his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. He looked up when I entered, his weathered face breaking into a smile. "Well, this is a surprise. What brings you all the way out here on a weekday?" I sat in the leather chair across from his desk. "I need your help, Dad." His smile faded as I explained the situation with Lucas-the suspension, the sabotage, the years of undermining. When I finished, he removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I've heard about the Archer project," he said finally. "Promising technology, but the management was a mess before Lucas took over." He studied me for a long moment. "You really care about him, don't you?" I met his gaze steadily. "I do." "Even though he's not that good to you?" "That's not true," I said, more forcefully than I intended. "He's quite good to me." My father sighed and waved his hand dismissively. "Go home, Autumn. Let me see what I can do." I knew better than to press for details. My father operated in his own way, on his own timeline. If he'd agreed to help, he would. Three days later, Lucas received a call from his grandfather, reinstating him to his position at Bailey Enterprises. The "irregularities" in the financial reports had been traced to a software glitch-one that mysteriously affected only the Archer project's accounts. More importantly, a major client had suddenly expressed interest in expanding their contract with the subsidiary Lucas managed, contingent on his continued oversight of the project. That client was Shepherd Shipping. Lucas came home that evening with a look of cautious triumph. "Something's changed," he said, loosening his tie as he walked into the kitchen where I was preparing dinner. "My grandfather did a complete one-eighty." I kept my focus on chopping vegetables. "Oh?" "Suddenly the board is satisfied with my explanation. The investigation is closed." He leaned against the counter, watching me. "And we just landed a massive contract with Shepherd Shipping for the Archer project's logistics systems." I could feel his eyes on me, speculative and intense. "That's wonderful news," I said, keeping my tone neutral. "Autumn." His voice had a new edge to it. "Did you talk to your father?" I set the knife down and turned to face him. "Yes." "Why?" The question was simple but loaded. "Because they were wrong, and you deserved better." I held his gaze steadily. "Because I could help, so I did." Lucas studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he closed the distance between us. I thought he might be angry-proud men often were when helped without asking-but instead, he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering against my cheek. "Thank you," he said quietly. The simple words carried more weight than any grand declaration. In that moment, something shifted between us again-a deeper connection forming where before there had been only a tentative friendship. Lucas didn't say anything more about it, and neither did I. But that night, when we went to bed, he didn't stay on his side with his separate blanket. Instead, he pulled me against him, my back to his chest, his arm wrapped securely around my waist. "Is this okay?" he murmured against my hair. I nodded, not trusting my voice. We fell asleep like that, more deliberately entwined than ever before. It wasn't passion or romance driving this new intimacy, but something equally powerful-trust. Gratitude. A recognition that perhaps we were more than just convenient allies in a business arrangement. In the weeks that followed, Lucas threw himself into revitalizing the Archer project. Under his leadership, the subsidiary began to flourish, generating positive press and renewed investor interest. His position within Bailey Enterprises strengthened, and even his uncles and cousins seemed to back off, at least temporarily. I watched his transformation with a mixture of pride and apprehension. The more successful he became, the closer he got to his goal-independence from his family's control. And the closer he got to that, the sooner our agreed-upon divorce would come. Two years, he'd said on our wedding night. We were already more than halfway there. But something had changed between us. The question was whether it had changed enough.