I know, I know. The last thing I should be doing is starting a new story, but I really couldn't help it. This idea has been in my head for so long. Frankly, I was so excited that I wrote this chapter in an hour. I promise that I'll update my other stories, however. I already wrote a substantial amount for "Harder to Breathe" and "Agape".

Anyways, I hope this story is well-received, so please review. I practically live off those things.

As soon as Lucas exited the mansion, the cool brisk air hit his face. Several bodyguards escorted him to a town car, in which his mother was awaiting.

He opened the door and got in.

"It's about time, Lucas. We're late for the funeral." She looked at her Cartier watch anxiously.

"I'm sorry mother. I had something I had to take care of," he apologized.

"I don't care for excuses," she said, "You know that very well."

"Sorry," he replied lamely. He squeezed the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes tightly in frustration.

His mother was as detached a person as humanly possible. His father was the same way. Dan Scott never felt the need to stay at home. He spent a larger part of his life building a multinational conglomerate. Karen Scott was always away tending to her critically acclaimed restaurants. Her wineries held her attention longer than Lucas could.

A walk through the Scott mansion was enough to assure anyone of the luxuries the family could afford. It had more amenities than one could possibly hope for, yet it did nothing to relieve the irking feeling of detachment. Lucas lived there his entire life. He was raised by nannies that could care less about his well-being. And when he was of age, his parents shipped him off to the prestigious Institut Le Rosey.

One would imagine that the lack of parental figures would solidify Lucas' independence, but truth be told, he was a bit of a lame child. He tried his best to make his parents proud of him. However, his ability was limited and he only exceeded in English. Dan Scott didn't think much of it. According to him, it was a lame subject and an impractical one at that. He complained that Lucas would only work a second-rate job as a teacher if he pursued English. No son of his was going to work as a teacher.

Dan bought Lucas' way into college as a legacy student. He graduated seventh in class at Oxford, majoring in business. The degree was of no use to him, however. At first, his father had thrown a celebratory party at the New York building to make each and every one of his employees aware of his son's graduation. He was placed in an office for which several junior associates were in line. His position was mainly titular. Dan was quick to ban all of Lucas' ideas. He sat in meetings staring at the walls or playing games on his phone. He knew better than to open his mouth when one of the senior advisors would pitch an overbearingly conservative idea. It annoyed him to no end that the company wouldn't adopt new ideologies, but his self confidence was virtually non-existent; he wouldn't stand up to those men.

When he walked down the halls of offices, he would hear accusing whispers. They complained, mostly about how he entered with a six-figure starting salary and no experience to show, then some about his lack of a workload. None of these comments affected him. He was still sincerely kind to his colleagues.

If this was Dan Scott's way of caring, his mother paled in comparison. She was always jet packing her way throughout Europe, in search of lucrative business opportunities. Her restaurants were so highly-regarded in fact that she was solely responsible for the respective sector within Scott Enterprises. She was stuck in a loveless marriage with a child she did not want. Once in a while she would be asked to portray the role of a trophy wife on some superficial magazine, to which she would happily comply. Anything to advance the career right?

"What are you wearing Lucas?"

"Why does it matter?"

"The presses. This family fell apart before it even started, but image is everything."

"I think Gates said something about Prada," he answered uninterestedly.

The car came to a stop.

Karen produced a tiny bottle and tilted her head back.

"What are you doing?" Lucas inquired.

"Tears," she responded while putting the bottle away, "Remember Lucas, image."

Many of the business associates made appearances at Dan's funeral. They all gave eulogies, none of which were the least bit sincere.

Lucas learned at a very young age that his efforts to please either of his parents were in vain. His feelings regarding his father were of pure apathy. He could say that he once loved the man as a father, but he wasn't even sure of that.

"Your father was a great man," an elderly man said as he patted Lucas on the back, "I'm sorry for your loss."

Lucas gave him the same reply he had given everyone that sought to give their condolences: "Thank you." As insensitive as his mother had been, he couldn't do much better. He could lie and reciprocate the feelings of admiration so obnoxiously present among the crowds of people. If anything, he would only be disrespecting his deceased father.

The turnout was surprising. Dan Scott was a well-respected man, but not a well-liked one. He had gained quite a reputation as a nouveau riche. The firmly rooted aristocrats that had looked down on him had now found themselves at his mercy. They hated Dan as far as Lucas was concerned.

"You have some big shoes to fill," another man said, "I'm deeply sorry."

He smiled politely and nodded his head. The more he walked, the more people showed up, offering condolences.

"I would highly recommend Johnnie Walker in these situations. Blue of course."

This comment caught Lucas' attention. No one thus far had the audacity to make such a comment. Everything had been so impersonal and insincere; that is, up until this point. Lucas found it surprisingly comforting.

"I'm more of a Macallan man." He smiled.

The woman stuck her hand out. "Brooke Davis."

"Lucas Scott." He shook her hand. "How do you know my father?"

"He was a good friend of my father's."

"Really? Who's your father?"

"Richard Davis, he was on the board when the company first went public. He was there a long time ago, you wouldn't remember him."

"I'm afraid I haven't heard of him before."

She smiled. "So, how about that drink?"

Before he could respond, his phone rang. He smiled apologetically. "Sorry, I have to take this."

After several minutes, he ended the call and refocused his attention on Brooke. "I'm sorry. I have to go."

"It's alright. It was pleasure to meet you Lucas."

"Pleasures all mine." He turned to walk away as did Brooke. "Uhh, wait…"

Brooke stopped and turned to look at him curiously.

"I'm probably going to be busy for the next week or so, but once everything clears up, maybe we could have that drink?"

"Great." Her dimples were in full-view.

"Great," Lucas repeated.

"Did you properly introduce yourself?" asked the man.

The brunette beauty got herself situated before responding. "I did. He doesn't suspect a thing."

"Good. Step one is in place."

Like it? Hate it? That blue link underneath is dying to be clicked on either way. Let me know what I can do.