Lu and Charlie
Undeserved Ascendance
chapter 3
by
copier
· original author:
an188
The sleek silver Aston Martin DB5 purred along the empty coastal highway, leaving the glittering sprawl of Havenridge far behind. The late-afternoon sun hung low, turning the asphalt into a shimmering ribbon that wound toward the distant purple silhouette of the mountains. Inside the car, the air was cool from the AC, scented faintly with Lu’s signature cologne—something expensive, citrus-sharp, and deliberately intoxicating.
Lu lounged in the driver’s seat like a king on temporary holiday. The top three buttons of his loud floral Hawaiian shirt were undone, the bright hibiscus-and-palm pattern gaping open to reveal the smooth planes of his muscular chest and the tantalizing upper curve of his slim, sculpted stomach. Khaki shorts rode high on his toned thighs; flip-flops dangled carelessly from his feet whenever he eased off the pedals. A diamond-studded gold Rolex caught the sunlight on his left wrist, throwing tiny prisms across the leather dashboard. Aviator sunglasses shielded his piercing blue eyes, but the smug curl of his lips was unmistakable.
Beside him, Charlie sat with her long legs folded gracefully in the passenger seat. She had chosen—a calculated rebellion—a pale butter-yellow summer dress that bared her shoulders and clung softly to the gentle curves she had only recently begun to develop. The hem fluttered against her thighs whenever the air-conditioning vents gusted. Thin black flip-flops revealed delicate feet with glossy black toenails. Her ankle-length blonde hair, streaked with those signature light-coral threads, was pulled into its usual low ponytail, though a few loose strands danced across her rosy cheeks from the cracked window.
She had begged to wear this dress for months. Lu always called anything above the knee “dresses for big girls,” always reached immediately for the pastel knee-length smocks and modest sundresses he deemed appropriate. Tonight, in the frantic thirty minutes before they fled the penthouse, he had been too busy stuffing cash envelopes and burner phones into a duffel to argue. Charlie had seized the moment. Now the fabric whispered against her skin with every shift, a quiet declaration she hoped he would eventually notice.
The radio played softly—some old jazz standard Lu liked when he was feeling theatrical. Charlie didn’t care about the music. Her enormous blue eyes were fixed on her father’s profile: the sharp jaw, the delicate sweep of his platinum hair with that one rebellious tuft, the androgynous beauty that made even the most hardened men in Havenridge falter. She drank him in like someone dying of thirst. Mine, her heart whispered. Only mine.
She scooted closer until her bare shoulder pressed against his. A tiny, contented sound—half sigh, half kitten purr—slipped from her lips as she nestled her cheek against the warm bare skin of his upper arm.
Lu glanced sideways, smile softening into something almost tender.
“Aw, Princess,” he cooed, reaching over to pat her head like she was still six and clutching a stuffed unicorn. “Don’t look so glum. I know you love the ocean, but this is just a little detour. We’ll be back at the beach before you know it—bigger suite, better view, the works.”
Charlie’s lips curved. She knew the truth, of course. She always knew. The angry phone calls that had started at three in the morning, the sudden appearance of black SUVs idling outside their building, the way Lu had laughed—high and delighted—while tossing burner phones out the twenty-third-floor window. She had stood at the balcony railing in her nightgown, watching the tiny rectangles tumble into the dark, and felt only a vicious little thrill.
He had fucked the wrong wives this time.
Two of them belonged to men who didn’t just have money—they had people who made problems disappear. One was a mid-level syndicate lieutenant; the other ran half the docks and liked to collect kneecaps as souvenirs. Lu had taken both women to bed anyway, smiling that Cheshire grin while promising them the moon, then vanished before dawn with their jewelry, their PINs, and a healthy chunk of their husbands’ liquid cash.
Charlie didn’t care about the money or the danger. She cared that those women had touched him. Kissed him. Laughed at his jokes. For a few stolen hours each of them had believed they owned a piece of Lu Morningstar.
And now they were gone—left behind in Havenridge with their furious husbands and their bruised egos—while Charlie got him all to herself.
She pressed closer, nuzzling his shoulder again, making another soft, happy noise.
Lu misread it completely.
“Hey.” He squeezed her knee through the thin yellow fabric—paternal, absent, the way he might pat a favorite pet. “I’m sorry we had to rush out like that. Those… business associates got a little overexcited about some paperwork discrepancies. Nothing I couldn’t handle, obviously.” His voice dipped into that velvet register he used when he was lying beautifully. “But you know how people get when they realize they’ve been outsmarted. Petty. Jealous. Weak.”
Charlie tilted her head, letting her ponytail spill over his arm like liquid sunlight.
“They were trying to take you away from me,” she said quietly.
Lu barked a delighted laugh.
“Exactly, Sweetheart! Pathetic, isn’t it? All that money, all those guns, and they still think they can cage someone like me.” He shook his head, grinning wider. “They don’t understand the first thing about real power. Nietzsche had it right—slave morality. Ressentiment. They hate what they can’t possess, so they try to tear it down. But we—” He gestured between them with a flourish of manicured fingers. “We are beyond good and evil. We create our own values. We are the Übermensch, Kiddo. They’re just… background noise.”
Charlie’s heart fluttered. She loved when he talked like this—when the mask slipped just enough to show the glittering, merciless thing underneath. She loved that he included her in the “we.”
She traced a fingertip along the edge of his open shirt, brushing the warm skin above his heart.
“You always win,” she whispered.
“Of course I do, Char-char.” He winked behind the aviators. “And because your old man is a genius, I’ve already secured the presidential suite at the Crestline Resort. Private infinity pool, mountain views, full staff on call even though it’s off-season. We’ll hole up there until the morons in Havenridge get bored and move on to the next shiny thing. Think of it as a luxurious little exile. Champagne, room service, maybe I’ll even teach you a new card trick or two.”
Charlie smiled—slow, secret, satisfied.
She didn’t care about the suite or the champagne.
She cared about the empty roads, the locked hotel doors, the long quiet nights when no one else would be allowed near him.
The Aston Martin ate up another mile of deserted highway. Far ahead, a single gas station appeared like a lonely outpost—bright neon sign flickering against the deepening twilight, two ancient pumps under a sagging canopy.
Lu’s gaze flicked to the gauge.
“Better top her off before we start the climb,” he murmured. “These mountain roads can be murder on fuel economy.”
He flicked the turn signal—even though no other car was in sight—and eased the DB5 into the station’s empty lot. The engine settled into a low, contented rumble as he killed it.
Charlie watched him through her lashes as he opened the door and stepped out, stretching luxuriously so the Hawaiian shirt rode up another inch, exposing more of that lean, golden torso. The Rolex flashed. The flip-flops slapped softly against the concrete.
She stayed seated a moment longer, hugging herself, feeling the thin straps of her forbidden dress slip slightly down her shoulders.
He hadn’t commented on it yet.
But they had hours of twisting mountain road ahead.
And days—maybe weeks—of just the two of them in that big, echoing suite.
Charlie smiled to herself, small and sharp and utterly content.
Soon, she thought.
Soon he’ll see.
She opened her door and stepped out into the cooling evening air, ponytail swaying, yellow dress fluttering, ready to follow her god wherever he led.
How do they get powerful?
Lu lounged in the driver’s seat like a king on temporary holiday. The top three buttons of his loud floral Hawaiian shirt were undone, the bright hibiscus-and-palm pattern gaping open to reveal the smooth planes of his muscular chest and the tantalizing upper curve of his slim, sculpted stomach. Khaki shorts rode high on his toned thighs; flip-flops dangled carelessly from his feet whenever he eased off the pedals. A diamond-studded gold Rolex caught the sunlight on his left wrist, throwing tiny prisms across the leather dashboard. Aviator sunglasses shielded his piercing blue eyes, but the smug curl of his lips was unmistakable.
Beside him, Charlie sat with her long legs folded gracefully in the passenger seat. She had chosen—a calculated rebellion—a pale butter-yellow summer dress that bared her shoulders and clung softly to the gentle curves she had only recently begun to develop. The hem fluttered against her thighs whenever the air-conditioning vents gusted. Thin black flip-flops revealed delicate feet with glossy black toenails. Her ankle-length blonde hair, streaked with those signature light-coral threads, was pulled into its usual low ponytail, though a few loose strands danced across her rosy cheeks from the cracked window.
She had begged to wear this dress for months. Lu always called anything above the knee “dresses for big girls,” always reached immediately for the pastel knee-length smocks and modest sundresses he deemed appropriate. Tonight, in the frantic thirty minutes before they fled the penthouse, he had been too busy stuffing cash envelopes and burner phones into a duffel to argue. Charlie had seized the moment. Now the fabric whispered against her skin with every shift, a quiet declaration she hoped he would eventually notice.
The radio played softly—some old jazz standard Lu liked when he was feeling theatrical. Charlie didn’t care about the music. Her enormous blue eyes were fixed on her father’s profile: the sharp jaw, the delicate sweep of his platinum hair with that one rebellious tuft, the androgynous beauty that made even the most hardened men in Havenridge falter. She drank him in like someone dying of thirst. Mine, her heart whispered. Only mine.
She scooted closer until her bare shoulder pressed against his. A tiny, contented sound—half sigh, half kitten purr—slipped from her lips as she nestled her cheek against the warm bare skin of his upper arm.
Lu glanced sideways, smile softening into something almost tender.
“Aw, Princess,” he cooed, reaching over to pat her head like she was still six and clutching a stuffed unicorn. “Don’t look so glum. I know you love the ocean, but this is just a little detour. We’ll be back at the beach before you know it—bigger suite, better view, the works.”
Charlie’s lips curved. She knew the truth, of course. She always knew. The angry phone calls that had started at three in the morning, the sudden appearance of black SUVs idling outside their building, the way Lu had laughed—high and delighted—while tossing burner phones out the twenty-third-floor window. She had stood at the balcony railing in her nightgown, watching the tiny rectangles tumble into the dark, and felt only a vicious little thrill.
He had fucked the wrong wives this time.
Two of them belonged to men who didn’t just have money—they had people who made problems disappear. One was a mid-level syndicate lieutenant; the other ran half the docks and liked to collect kneecaps as souvenirs. Lu had taken both women to bed anyway, smiling that Cheshire grin while promising them the moon, then vanished before dawn with their jewelry, their PINs, and a healthy chunk of their husbands’ liquid cash.
Charlie didn’t care about the money or the danger. She cared that those women had touched him. Kissed him. Laughed at his jokes. For a few stolen hours each of them had believed they owned a piece of Lu Morningstar.
And now they were gone—left behind in Havenridge with their furious husbands and their bruised egos—while Charlie got him all to herself.
She pressed closer, nuzzling his shoulder again, making another soft, happy noise.
Lu misread it completely.
“Hey.” He squeezed her knee through the thin yellow fabric—paternal, absent, the way he might pat a favorite pet. “I’m sorry we had to rush out like that. Those… business associates got a little overexcited about some paperwork discrepancies. Nothing I couldn’t handle, obviously.” His voice dipped into that velvet register he used when he was lying beautifully. “But you know how people get when they realize they’ve been outsmarted. Petty. Jealous. Weak.”
Charlie tilted her head, letting her ponytail spill over his arm like liquid sunlight.
“They were trying to take you away from me,” she said quietly.
Lu barked a delighted laugh.
“Exactly, Sweetheart! Pathetic, isn’t it? All that money, all those guns, and they still think they can cage someone like me.” He shook his head, grinning wider. “They don’t understand the first thing about real power. Nietzsche had it right—slave morality. Ressentiment. They hate what they can’t possess, so they try to tear it down. But we—” He gestured between them with a flourish of manicured fingers. “We are beyond good and evil. We create our own values. We are the Übermensch, Kiddo. They’re just… background noise.”
Charlie’s heart fluttered. She loved when he talked like this—when the mask slipped just enough to show the glittering, merciless thing underneath. She loved that he included her in the “we.”
She traced a fingertip along the edge of his open shirt, brushing the warm skin above his heart.
“You always win,” she whispered.
“Of course I do, Char-char.” He winked behind the aviators. “And because your old man is a genius, I’ve already secured the presidential suite at the Crestline Resort. Private infinity pool, mountain views, full staff on call even though it’s off-season. We’ll hole up there until the morons in Havenridge get bored and move on to the next shiny thing. Think of it as a luxurious little exile. Champagne, room service, maybe I’ll even teach you a new card trick or two.”
Charlie smiled—slow, secret, satisfied.
She didn’t care about the suite or the champagne.
She cared about the empty roads, the locked hotel doors, the long quiet nights when no one else would be allowed near him.
The Aston Martin ate up another mile of deserted highway. Far ahead, a single gas station appeared like a lonely outpost—bright neon sign flickering against the deepening twilight, two ancient pumps under a sagging canopy.
Lu’s gaze flicked to the gauge.
“Better top her off before we start the climb,” he murmured. “These mountain roads can be murder on fuel economy.”
He flicked the turn signal—even though no other car was in sight—and eased the DB5 into the station’s empty lot. The engine settled into a low, contented rumble as he killed it.
Charlie watched him through her lashes as he opened the door and stepped out, stretching luxuriously so the Hawaiian shirt rode up another inch, exposing more of that lean, golden torso. The Rolex flashed. The flip-flops slapped softly against the concrete.
She stayed seated a moment longer, hugging herself, feeling the thin straps of her forbidden dress slip slightly down her shoulders.
He hadn’t commented on it yet.
But they had hours of twisting mountain road ahead.
And days—maybe weeks—of just the two of them in that big, echoing suite.
Charlie smiled to herself, small and sharp and utterly content.
Soon, she thought.
Soon he’ll see.
She opened her door and stepped out into the cooling evening air, ponytail swaying, yellow dress fluttering, ready to follow her god wherever he led.
How do they get powerful?
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June 13
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