Page 7 of The Call She Made That He Never Answered
Grandfather's face had gone white. His hands on the desk—covered in age spots—were trembling.
I'd said the wrong thing. I shouldn't have spouted nonsense just to win an argument. But pride blocked my throat like a stone. I couldn't say a single word of apology.
At least I had an escape: answering the phone.
I grabbed my phone and went to the balcony.
Vivian's voice came through, "The investors want to modify some legal clauses last minute. I'm planning to discuss it with you at tonight's dinner..."
Vivian's businesslike tone was my escape hatch from reality. Only work—those cold numbers, rigorous logic, clear profit calculations—could quickly free me from this suffocating family atmosphere.
The call lasted half an hour. Legal clause details were tedious and complex. During that time, Mrs. Hughes came in once to clean up broken glass, but soon returned, looking at me with hesitant eyes.
Only after I warned her with a sharp glance did she reluctantly leave.
This was one reason I hated coming back to the manor. Every old servant here thought they had the right to lecture me. Mrs. Hughes had been at this manor for forty years. Whenever Grandfather and I fought, she appeared right on cue to remind me I should yield. In her logic, truth and right never existed—only hierarchy.
I hung up and returned to the study.
Grandfather's emotions had settled considerably. He looked at me with new exhaustion. "Lucas, are you truly unhappy with this marriage?"
I paused, my voice dropping, "I made vows at the wedding. I'll be with Ella forever. As Rockefeller's heir, I'd never gamble with the family's reputation."
Grandfather sighed. "Then I'm relieved."
I checked my watch. One hour until the gala. I straightened my tie and left the study, nearly colliding with Mrs. Hughes.
"Lucas," she looked panicked. "Ella... she doesn't seem well."
I frowned.
Driving from the manor to the gala took forty minutes. That left me under twenty minutes to prepare. If I checked on Ella, I'd have no prep time at all. Tonight's gala would host VitaGen's investors, lawyers, and scheming board members—all sharpening their knives to take me down.
As for Ella, what could possibly be wrong?
She spent all day at the manor. Besides helping Grandfather with physical therapy, she had nothing to worry about. Unlimited time. Unlimited credit card. And now she wanted to steal my golden moments before the acquisition gala—moments when I was like a soldier loading weapons before battle?
I'd seen this cheap trick with other women. Pretending illness to trap men with pity.
Had Ella learned that, too?
I wanted to refuse.
But the words caught in my throat.
Maybe Ella just wanted to see me. She was so shy, so introverted. That's why she'd asked Mrs. Hughes to tell me.
And I hadn't touched her in two months.
She had blonde curls, full lips, skin so tender a pinch left marks. Beneath her simple dresses, her soft, supple backside perfectly bore my madness on every uncontrolled night.
As her husband, I should support her financially—and meet certain other... physiological needs.
Once that thought emerged, it devoured my reason.
My cock hardened in my suit pants.
I always controlled myself around Ella. She kept regular hours. Even when I came home late, I couldn't bear to wake her. Even when desire burned me alive, I forced myself to sleep in the study.
