Luc Saint-Cyr broke up with Wulf a few weeks earlier, and today, everyone has asked Luc how he's handling it. He's the wealthiest, most influential man in the entire Empire and the fact he "can't keep a lover" is big news on the media. After a full day of fending off questions, he is not in a fit mood to talk to anyone.
He's Home After a Bad Day
Luc slumped in the back of his hoversine, putting off the inevitable, because as bad as it felt being dumped, pity made things worse. All the oh-poor-Luc-how-are-you-doing questions made him want to rip heads off people. How did they think he was doing? He went home alone every night and faced the same four walls with no one inside them but himself and his android servants. As much as he appreciated them, the androids didn't love him.
Apparently, neither had Wulf Gabriel.
His driver swung open the door.
Luc stepped out and straightened his coat. While James docked the vehicle with the rest of the fleet, Luc trudged to the railing. Atop the Nizamrak Building, over two hundred stories above ground, he drew in the crisp evening air of autumn. He let it all out, lifting his face to the night sky.
A chilled breeze, heavy with the scent of rain, blew up the sheer sides of the building and buffeted his skin. To the east, a low boom of thunder began and rumbled overhead, threatening storms. A sleepliner docking at the starport to the west vibrated the air, its roar muffled. Straight ahead, the white marble walls of the Conqueror's palace took up eight square city blocks and reflected as much light as the moon. Tarth City spread around it, a splendor of lights ablaze all the way to the snow-capped mountains on the far horizon.
Closer in, Destine Pietan Stadium sent its bright glow upward, casting a white sheen against flat clouds. Vehicles streamed in one portico and out the other. He recalled his assistant saying a rock group managed by one of his companies was performing tonight. Iron Soul? Kumwhatmay? For the life of him, he could not say.
Thomas Gabriel Stadium, he refused to look toward. Named in honor of Wulf's late father and built at Luc's personal expense, the state of the art sports complex had been presented to Wulf as a gift for their fifth anniversary, three weeks ago. Days before they broke up.
Outrageous headlines screamed his colossal failure in every language in the Empire. He'd built that place to underscore the legacy of a dear friend, but the media made Luc look like a clueless chump. Perhaps that's all he was.
He gripped the handrail and braced himself against it, arms stiff, head down. Up here, the hustle and hubbub of the city and the whoosh of traffic faded into the background. No matter how late he worked, when he returned, the empty penthouse taunted him with memories.
He pushed himself away from the railing and plodded toward the Loft.
A human got over old lovers and fell in love again. He, well accustomed to the brevity of mortal relationships, should do the same. So why did it feel like the weight of the empire crushed his chest?
Luc was Sempervian. Immortal.
Wulf was human. Mortal.
Luc would get over the loss in time, wouldn't he? If there was anything a Sempervian had plenty of, it was time.
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That reeks of sadness. He will always be losing someoneto age.
Oh so true… 💔
I would never be in the mood to talk to gossip hounds. They are the worst!
You are so right!