Chapter 49: Protective Fiancé Syndrome (2)

Chapter 49: Chapter 49: Protective Fiancé Syndrome (2) Steve gave a quiet nod. "It’s good to see you again." Lucas gestured to the seat across from his, calm and deliberate. "Thank you for coming." Steve stepped into the room, his movements careful but not hesitant. He took one look at the setup—two armchairs and a sofa, one armchair occupied by Lucas, the other... now half-occupied by Trevor’s unnecessary presence—and faltered. His steps slowed. Just for a second. Trevor didn’t bother shifting. He sat like he belonged there, one foot over the knee, a finger lazily tracing the rim of his water glass. Trevor looked at Steve the way a predator might observe a very polite, very harmless deer. Steve’s gaze lingered a little too long on the chain around Trevor’s neck before he looked back to Lucas. "I wasn’t sure if I should say yes," he admitted, settling into the seat with quiet posture. "But I thought... maybe you wanted something said. Or asked." Lucas gave a small nod. "I did." Trevor didn’t speak, but the weight of his presence was unmistakable. Alpha. Noble. Dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with rank and everything to do with being the type of person who knew he could ruin someone and wouldn’t bother to make it personal. Steve’s eyes flicked to him again. Lucas noticed. He didn’t comment. Just let the silence stretch long enough to force the air to settle before speaking. "He’s not here to intimidate you," Lucas said, tone mild. "He just looks like that." Trevor didn’t even glance at Steve. "I’ve been told my resting face is a war crime." Steve offered a tight smile. "It’s very... present." Trevor raised his glass slightly, unoffended. "Thank you." Lucas gestured to Steve’s coat. "You can take it off. This isn’t an interrogation; he’s just worried about Misty’s plans and overreacts." Trevor didn’t argue. Steve let out a small, awkward breath—half a laugh, half relief—and began unbuttoning his coat. His movements were still too careful, like he hadn’t quite convinced himself this was safe yet. Lucas waited until he’d settled again before continuing, calm as ever. Steve took a seat on the sofa with the coat neatly folded beside him. "I didn’t expect a formal invitation," Steve said. "Not after how I left." Lucas tilted his head slightly. "Misty had a way of doing things. She never liked you. I was wondering why she fired you—and the others." Steve’s hands stilled on his lap. The air in the room tightened, not from anything said, but from everything that had been unsaid until now. "She didn’t like anyone who treated you like a person," Steve replied, quiet but certain. "That was obvious." Lucas didn’t deny it. "You weren’t the only one removed." "I figured." Steve glanced at the second chair, where Trevor remained perfectly still, watching him like a man listening for lies. "She didn’t keep personnel that treated you fairly or that could ask questions," he said. "She did fire me—but with an NDA and severance pay. A generous one. I assume it was the same for the others." Lucas’s gaze didn’t shift. "Clean." Steve nodded once. "She knew what she was doing. Well... that’s what she thought." He reached for his coat, slow and precise, and pulled out a folded stack of papers. "She forbade me to talk about it with anyone aside from the Kilmore family." Lucas didn’t reach for the documents. He didn’t need to. The fact that Steve had brought them said enough. Trevor leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. "That would make us eligible recipients, wouldn’t it?" Steve’s smile was thin. "Depends who’s asking. Legally? Probably not. Realistically?" He handed the papers to Lucas without hesitation. "I don’t care anymore." Lucas took them and looked at them before talking again. "I’ll have David look through it." Trevor leaned back again. "We’ll bury the legal part." Lucas didn’t respond. Steve stood, hands folded again in front of him. "I would prefer that she not know about this. About our talk." Lucas met his eyes. "So, there’s no way that you’ll be my teacher again?" Steve’s expression shifted—something between regret and apology. "I would like to," he said. "But not while she still has influence. Not while it could put you in a worse position." Lucas didn’t nod. Didn’t move. Just sat with it. "I understand," he said finally. Steve hesitated. "I meant it. Back then. You were the only student I ever had who listened like he was preparing for war." Lucas looked down at the papers in his lap. "I was." Steve didn’t speak again. He gave a quiet nod, then turned and let himself out, leaving the door to click softly behind him as if even the sound of his exit should be cautious. The silence that followed wasn’t new. It was the kind that settled between them often—familiar, not comfortable, but no longer threatening. Trevor leaned forward without a word and took the papers from Lucas’s lap, the movement smooth, unhurried, and without the need for permission. Lucas didn’t stop him. He just let the weight of the folder leave his hands like he was only now noticing it had been there. Trevor flipped through the first page, his brow furrowing slightly as he scanned the clauses. His posture changed as he read—not in any obvious way, but in the way alphas like him shifted when the performance dropped and only the substance remained. "She was careful," he said finally. "Not clever. Just practiced. She buried the silence in legal terms and paid to make it palatable." Lucas didn’t look at him. Trevor continued, his voice quieter now. "Clauses about future contact. Limitations on disclosure. A loophole that might as well have been underlined—no indemnity, no enforcement outside of her name." He flipped to the final page, eyes narrowing slightly. "She didn’t protect herself. She just delayed what happens when someone finally turns around." Lucas’s gaze remained fixed on a point somewhere near the window, but his fingers tapped once against the arm of the chair. It was the only sound he made. Trevor folded the papers, not sloppily but with precision, and set them on the armrest between them. "She thought you’d never look back." Lucas’s voice, when it came, was almost detached. "She didn’t think I’d survive." There was a pause. Neither of them moved. Trevor exhaled, resting both elbows on his knees, his expression unreadable now. "I’ll have David run the language through the archives. If she used the same format, we’ll know how many she paid to disappear." Lucas nodded once, slow and deliberate. "I’m fine," he said, but not like he meant it—more like it was something that needed to be said aloud to avoid being questioned. Trevor didn’t argue. He didn’t offer comfort either. He just sat back, eyes still on him, and said, "No. You’re not."