Lucas' POV
It's been a year since I last saw Olivia, yet I couldn't get over the void she left. She had disappeared without a trace, not that I had tried to look for her. Even if I ever did find her, I didn't know what to do or say to her. I couldn't bring myself to accept that a woman had captured my heart to this extent.
I looked at the child she had borne for me. Owen. After hours of trying to put him to sleep, he finally passed out on the bed. It didn't help that he had blue eyes like her.
My hands were combing through the soft locs of Owen's hair as I reminisced the memories of his mother when Julian knocked on the door.
"Your mother is here," Julian informed and I dismissed him with a wave of my hand. My head ached already as I could imagine her nagging and yelling at me to get a mother for Owen.
I had thought all she wanted was an heir, a son to continue our family lineage; but oh boy was I wrong? This time around, she wants me to get married for the sake of Owen.
"He needs a mother figure especially as a child," she'd always say.
I do get her, but, I was confident I could perform the role of a mother and father seamlessly.
I took a deep sigh and glanced at Owen before heading to meet her.
"Lucas," my mum, Lady Getrude, greeted with a beaming smile on her face.
"Mum…" I began but paused when I saw the back view of the lady sitting on the couch. My expression changed and I had a deep frown on my face. But my mum did not care, or she pretended not to notice. She dragged my by wrist.
"This is Phoebe, Third daughter of minister David. She's a fine young woman and I'm sure you'd love her, perfect wife and mother material for Owen." She finished proudly.
Phoebe turned and smiled at me, her amber eyes glistening under the warm glow frok of the chandelier. She stood up. "Nice to meet you Lucas. I've heard so much about you. Good things," she laughed at the last line.
"We've talked about this mum," I completely ignored Phoebe and said to my mum.
"You will not embarrass me in front of my guest!" My mum said through gritted teeth, dragging me by the arm to a couch in the living room.
"Would you like anything to eat my dear?" My mum asked and didn't wait for her to respond before she turned to me, "Lucas, get her something to drink."
"That's what we have maids for mum," I said coldly and when my mum gave me a second look, I knew I would be getting the end of the stick if I didn't adhere.
I got up and started to leave when Phoebe's voice rang out in the living room. "No…no, I'm okay. I don't need anything."
"You sure don't," I scoffed and went to the kitchen.
As soon as I walked back into the living room, the sight in front of me made my blood boil. There was Owen, perched on Phoebe's lap, laughing as she dangled a toy in front of him. His laugh—the one thing that could usually melt my resolve—only made the scene harder to bear. My mother sat smugly nearby, sipping her tea as though she'd orchestrated some grand success.
Without a word, I crossed the room and scooped Owen into my arms. He made a small noise of protest, but the moment he felt my hold, he nestled into my chest.
"What is the meaning of this?" I demanded, my voice cutting through the calm air of the room. I didn't bother hiding the edge in my tone.
My mother set her teacup down, a frown claiming her expression. "He cried, Lucas. We heard him from upstairs. I went to check on him, and Phoebe was kind enough to comfort him." Her smile didn't falter, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
"He doesn't need to be comforted by strangers," I spat out, holding Owen tighter.
Phoebe stood, her amber eyes wide, though her expression remained gentle. "I didn't mean to overstep. He's a lovely child, and I—"
"I wasn't talking to you," I snapped, cutting her off. My focus remained on my mother, whose smile had finally faded into something colder.
"Lucas, you're being rude," she said through gritted teeth.
I ignored her and turned on my heel, carrying Owen toward the stairs.
"Lucas!" she called after me, her voice sharp and commanding. I didn't stop until I reached the nursery. As soon as I set Owen down in his crib, I heard her footsteps approaching.
The door swung open behind me. "What exactly are you doing?" she demanded, stepping inside and closing the door.
I turned to face her, my frustration very palpable "What am I doing? No, Mum, what are you doing? Bringing strangers into my home, parading them around my son like this is some audition for a role I never asked to fill."
"She's not a stranger," my mother countered, her voice rising. "Phoebe is a respectable woman, from a good family. She's exactly what you and Owen need."
"What Owen needs is to be left out of your schemes," I said, my voice low but firm. "He's not a pawn in your plan to fix whatever it is you think is broken in my life."
"Lucas," she said, her tone softening just a fraction. "I'm trying to help. You can't do this alone forever. He needs a mother. And you need someone to share the burden."
"I don't need anyone," I replied coldly. "And I certainly don't need someone you've chosen for me. This isn't about Owen. This is about you trying to control everything, like you always do."
Her expression faltered for a moment, but then she straightened, her composure snapping back into place. "You're being stubborn. You'll see, one day, that I'm right."
I let out a bitter laugh. "If this is your version of 'help,' I'll pass."
She stood there, silent for a moment, then turned to leave. "You can't shut everyone out forever, Lucas," she said quietly before closing the door behind her.
I turned back to Owen, who was already drifting to sleep, his tiny chest rising and falling steadily. "It's just you and me, buddy," I whispered, brushing his soft hair back from his face. "We don't need anyone else."