Chapter 50 50
Back at the Brooks mansion, the study lights were still on.
Lucas sat behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, documents spread neatly in front of him.
Numbers. Contracts. Deadlines. He stared at them—but none of it mattered.
His pen stopped mid-air.
“…Why would you forget this?” he muttered to himself, voice low and frustrated.
He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his face hard, as if he could force his mind to cooperate. The more he tried to focus on work, the louder the thoughts became.
His chest tightened.
He closed his eyes.
Not images—feelings.
That was the worst part.
He remembered how she felt, not what she looked like.
The way his body had reacted like it recognized her before his mind ever did.
His jaw clenched.
“I remember you,” he whispered bitterly. “I remember everything except your face.”
His fingers curled into his palm.
He remembered holding her afterward—protectively.
Remembered thinking, I won’t forget this woman.
Remembered being sure.
And yet—
“Why can’t I see you?” he snapped, slamming his hand on the desk.
The room echoed with the sound.
His breathing turned uneven. He stood abruptly, pacing the length of the study, dragging a hand through his hair.
“I remember how you made me feel safe,” he said hoarsely.
“How you felt real. Not like anyone else.”
He stopped in front of the window, staring into the dark reflection of himself.
“But I can’t remember your eyes,” he said, voice breaking just slightly.
“I can’t remember your face… and it’s driving me insane.”
Fragments flashed at the edges of his mind—lips near his ear...
He pressed his forehead to the glass.
“Who are you?” he whispered. “Why did you stay with me… when everyone else walked away?”
Silence answered him.
A knock sounded at the study door.
Lucas straightened immediately. “Come in.”
The door opened, and his private detective stepped inside, face tight with urgency. “Sir—we’ve got a lead.”
Lucas’s heart jumped. “What kind of lead?”
The detective closed the door behind him. “City Hospital. Five years ago. Valentine’s week.” He opened a file. “Three women were admitted within months after that period. All… pregnant. Circumstances line up with that night.”
Lucas’s breath caught.
“Three,” he repeated slowly.
“Yes. We can access descriptions, records, timelines. If you’re willing to see them, sir… it might trigger something.”
Lucas stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor.
“Set it up,” he said immediately, eyes burning with something dangerously close to hope. “I need to see them.”
He swallowed, voice dropping, turning raw.
“I can finally meet her,” he said. “The woman I owe everything to.”
A pause.
“And my child.”
The detective nodded. “I’ll arrange a discreet visit.”
As the man turned to leave—
A faint sound came from outside the door.
A soft inhale and a fabric brushing fabric.
Lucas frowned. “Did you hear that?”
The detective stilled. “Hear what, sir?”
Lucas walked toward the door, opening it abruptly.
The hallway was empty.
Down the corridor, a shadow slipped behind a pillar—silently.
Someone had been listening.
Lucas stared after the space for a moment, unease creeping up his spine, before he closed the door again.
Lucas grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, movements sharp, restless.
“Get the car ready,” he said into the intercom. “Now.”
“Yes, sir.”
He paced the study, fingers tightening and loosening at his sides. City Hospital. Three women. One of them could be her. His pulse thundered in his ears.
He reached for his phone—
It rang first.
He glanced at the screen and swore under his breath.
“Mr. Brooks,” his secretary said briskly the moment he answered, “your board meeting starts in ten minutes. Mr. Lewis and the investors are already on-site.”
Lucas closed his eyes briefly.
Ten minutes.
He looked toward the door, toward the future that had suddenly cracked open in front of him.
“I won’t make it,” he said firmly.
There was a pause. “Sir… this meeting was scheduled weeks ago.”
“I know.” His jaw tightened. “Reschedule. Or start without me.”
“Sir—”
“I said reschedule,” he snapped, then softened just slightly. “This is important.”
He ended the call before she could argue.
The driver’s voice came through the intercom. “Car’s ready, sir.”
Lucas exhaled slowly, steadying himself.
“I’m coming,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
Olivia pressed herself flat against the cold marble pillar, barely daring to breathe.
Lucas walked past her.
So close she could smell his cologne.
So close she could reach out and touch him.
But he didn’t see her.
Her hands trembled as she clasped them together, head bowed, lips moving soundlessly.
Her eyes burned as she whispered a broken prayer under her breath.
“No… it can’t happen,” she murmured, voice shaking. “Not like this. Not now.”
She peeked out just in time to see him disappear down the hall, his stride urgent, determined—full of something she hadn’t seen in his eyes before.
Hope.
Her chest tightened painfully.
If he finds her…
If he finds the child…
Her nails dug into her palms.
“No,” she repeated, fear twisting into something darker. “I won’t let you take this from me.”
As his footsteps faded, Olivia straightened slowly, wiping the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand.
Her gaze hardened.
The engine had just come to life.
Lucas was already in the backseat, one hand braced against his knee, mind racing ahead to white hospital walls and answers he’d waited five years for.
“Sir,” the driver said, easing the car forward—
A figure suddenly stumbled into the driveway.
“Stop!”
The brakes screeched.
Lucas jerked forward. “What the hell—”
Before the driver could even open his door, Olivia collapsed dramatically in front of the car, her body crumpling to the pavement.
“Miss Olivia!” the driver shouted, scrambling out.
Lucas was already there.
“Olivia?” He crouched beside her, gripping her shoulders. “What are you doing out here?”
Her lashes fluttered weakly. Her lips parted like she was struggling to breathe. “Lucas…” she whispered, voice fragile. “I—I felt dizzy.”
She leaned into him, trembling.
“I thought I was going to faint,” she murmured. “I just wanted to see you.”
His jaw tightened.
“You should be resting,” he said, lifting her carefully. “You were discharged barely hours ago.”
Her fingers clutched his sleeve, desperation peeking through the performance. “You never came,”
she said softly. “Since I was admitted… you didn’t visit. Not once.”
The words hit—not with guilt, but irritation.
“I’ve been busy,” he replied curtly. “And I told the staff to make sure you were comfortable.”