The look he gave Silas was laced with undisguised disgust—a disgust that ran even deeper than what he felt for Quentin.
Strangely enough, Lucius didn't harbor as much hatred toward Quentin, the man who had taken Madeline away from him.
For one thing, Quentin's power and ruthlessness completely eclipsed his own. Losing to a man like that was bitter, but he couldn't exactly argue with the outcome.
On the other hand, he had seen with his own eyes how Madeline looked when she was with Quentin. She had become even more stunning.
She was like the most radiant rose in the world.
Loving someone was like tending to a delicate flower.
Quentin clearly knew exactly how to cherish her.
Lucius felt a heavy surge of guilt. During the eight years Madeline had spent by his side, she had never bloomed with such vibrant intensity.
Moreover, Quentin had never made a move against their child.
Lucius firmly believed the man genuinely loved Madeline. Otherwise, he never would have allowed her to spend so much time with Leo.
But Silas was a completely different story.
Lucius had known him just as long as he had known Madeline.
Back in college, when rumors spread that Madeline and Silas were having an inappropriate affair, Lucius had sought Silas out, demanding he step up and clear her name.
Silas's attitude had been infuriatingly ambiguous at the time. He neither confirmed nor denied it, simply offering a vague smile and claiming that the innocent had nothing to prove.
Looking back, Lucius realized Silas had done it entirely on purpose.
He had refused to dispel the rumors, allowing them to fester and grow. That way, if he and Madeline ever actually got together, there would be far fewer hurdles to cross—because everyone would already consider it an expected outcome.
The sheer manipulation behind it made Lucius sick to his stomach.
"How do three people play?" Wyatt asked.

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