Chapter 112 Repeated Loss

Chapter 112 Repeated Loss

Chloe's POV

The host's voice snapped me out of my wandering thoughts.

Third place—Chloe Jones.

Hearing my name, I felt a gentle nudge from the person beside me before I slowly rose to my feet.

The audience erupted in applause, cameras tracking my every move as I made my way to the stage.

When the trophy was placed in my hands, I looked up. Clio sat in the front row, giving me a subtle nod. My parents were seated off to the side, rising to applaud, their faces glowing with pride.

I should have been happy. This was exactly what I'd fought so hard for.

But holding that trophy, all I felt was its crushing weight pressing against my chest, making it hard to breathe, harder still to force a smile.

After the photo op, Dad was the first to pull me into a hug.

"Oh my God, sweetheart, you got third place." He patted my back gently. "You did so well."

Saskia's eyes sparkled with emotion. "You were absolutely stunning tonight. We're so proud of you."

Clio approached, her expression unusually warm. "Your performance was excellent overall."

I nodded slightly. "Thank you, ma'am."

She studied me for a few seconds, then lowered her voice. "Your mind wandered clearly in the final passage. Even so, you still claimed this ranking—that alone proves your natural talent. Don't let it go to waste."

"I know."

She said nothing more and turned to leave.

Saskia was already excitedly planning our celebration dinner. "Should we go to that famous restaurant? Your father already made a reservation."

"Or that steakhouse by the harbor—the one you loved last time…"

"Mom." I interrupted softly.

She stopped immediately and turned to me.

"I'm tired." I clutched the trophy, my voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want to go out."

Desmond frowned slightly. "Are you feeling unwell?"

"No." I managed a weak smile. "I just want to go home."

My parents exchanged a glance, then relented. "Alright, we'll go home. We can order whatever you want delivered."

"Anything's fine."

The drive home was unusually quiet. I set the trophy on my lap, watching the streetlights blur past the window, replaying that glimpse from backstage over and over in my mind.

If that person really was Lucas, why wouldn't he see me? If he came, why did he leave so quickly? How badly was he hurt? Was there something stopping him from seeing me?

Back home, Saskia arranged a cake on the dining table while Desmond brought out champagne and prepared to light celebration candles.

I stood at the foot of the stairs, suddenly unable to maintain any pretense.

"I'm sorry." My voice came out low. "I need to go to my room."

Saskia looked startled. "Honey…"

"I just need some time alone."

I carried the trophy upstairs, shut the door, and locked it. I stood with my back pressed against it for a long time.

My room was perfectly quiet. Practice scores from before the competition still sat on my desk, the stuffed bear Layla gave me rested on my nightstand, and fresh flowers Saskia had just arranged stood by the window.

Everything was exactly as it should be—except for the hollow, chaotic ache in my chest.

I set the trophy on the desk and tossed my phone onto the bed, then sank down beside it, completely drained.

Still no new messages.

I sent Delta another DM: [Did Lucas come to watch my competition?]

This time she replied quickly: [I cannot answer that.]

Staring at those words, my eyes burned with tears. I nearly threw my phone across the room. Always the same evasive response.

I buried my face in my hands and sat there for what felt like hours until a soft knock came at the door.

I assumed it was Saskia.

"I don't want to eat right now."

Silence followed for a beat, then a male voice answered.

"How about just keeping me company for a bit, princess?"

My head snapped up.

It was Lester.

I opened the door to find him standing there with a mug of hot cocoa in one hand, a jacket draped over his shoulder, like he'd just rushed over.

"What are you doing here?"

"Your parents downstairs practically drafted me as your personal therapist." He handed me the hot cocoa. "Your mom said you won an award but locked yourself in your room—not exactly championship behavior."

"Third place isn't a championship."

"Looks the same to me." He peered into my room. "Can I come in? I promise not to pry."

I stepped aside to let him pass.

He sat on the single sofa, his posture relaxed, looking every bit the gentle boy next door.

I stood there holding the hot cocoa, not sitting down.

Lester looked up at me, his tone certain. "You saw Lucas at the venue today, didn't you?"

My heart clenched. "It really was him?"

He didn't deny it.

I stepped forward immediately, words rushing out. "Where is he? Why won't he see me? Is he badly hurt? Is he—"

"Whoa, whoa." Lester raised a hand to stop me. "You're hitting me with too much at once."

I stared at him, unwilling to back down.

He sighed softly, the playfulness fading from his face. "Let me tell you the most important thing first—he's alive."

I nearly dropped the mug.

"Then why won't he see me?"

"Things aren't completely resolved yet." Lester met my eyes seriously. "The organization behind Black Hound is still active. Lucas can't show himself publicly. Him sneaking out to watch your performance today was already a huge risk."

My eyes widened. "He really came."

"Yeah." He nodded. "He went AWOL to be there. Delta's furious about it."

My eyes welled up immediately. "Can he take a call right now?"

Lester didn't answer right away. He pulled out his phone and spun it once between his fingers.

"Officially? No." He was honest.

I looked up at him, hope written all over my face.

He raised an eyebrow, a hint of mischief in his smile. "But I'm in a good mood today. Maybe I could bend the rules just once."

I held my breath as he unlocked his phone and pulled up a number.

He glanced at me, his grin turning slightly wicked. "Want to take a gamble?"

I didn't care about anything else. "Just call him. Please."

But Lester didn't dial immediately. His smile faded as he spoke seriously. "Chloe."

"What?"

"If he doesn't pick up, don't be upset." He said quietly. "Where he is… he doesn't get to control what happens to him."

I nodded firmly. "I understand."

He studied me for several seconds before finally pressing the call button.

The room fell deathly silent.

Each ring hammered against my heart.

One.

Two.

Three.

I stared at the glowing screen until a rough, low voice came through the speaker. "Lester, this better be good."