Chapter 63 63. It Was A Dream
I woke up on a bed too soft to be my own bed.
The bed was huge, the sheets smooth and cool against my skin.
To my side, I saw the expensive looking furniture and floor-to-ceiling windows that showed a gray sky outside.
Where was I?
I turned to the other side of the bed. It was empty, the pillow undisturbed. I tried to piece together how I got here. Running in the rain. My mother's cold body. The neighbors. The letter clutched in my hand. And then... Lucien finding me on the sidewalk.
I got up quickly, my hand flying to my chest to feel my heartbeat.
It was just a dream. It had to be. My mother wasn't dead. I'd go home and she'd be there, alive and angry and... movement to my right caught my eye.
Lucien stood in the corner near the door, leaning against the wall. He wasn't smiling nor frowning, but there was sadness etched into every line of his face as he watched me.
My knees started to feel wobbly.
It wasn't a dream.
It really happened.
My mother really died.
My legs barely held me as I sank to the floor. My back pressed against the bed frame as reality crashed over me in waves. Lucien moved toward me, footsteps quiet on the plush carpet.
I turned my face away from him. Heavy silence stretched between us. He sat beside me on the floor, keeping a careful distance.
"Fiera, I-"
"Get away from me." The words came out flat. I didn't want to hear another lie from him.
\--Lucien's POV--
The emotional sting of her words was intense. But I deserved them. Even worse.
I'd spent day and night tearing New York apart looking for her. Paid every security team I could find, searched every hotel we could, every bookshop, every coffee shop I thought she might hide in. Posted guards to constantly monitor Maya's, Edmund's, Clara's and even Mama Cortez's house.
When the alert came through that she'd arrived at her mother's house, I was at a bookstore on the other side of the city. A helicopter picked me up from the nearest hotel rooftop, dropped me three blocks away because there was nowhere to land. I'd been in the back of the car, hands clenched, heart racing, when I saw her falling in the rain and crawling after that piece of paper.
I'd never moved faster in my life. But now, sitting beside her as she turned away from me, I realized finding her wasn't enough.
I'd arranged for someone to put a bullet in her to keep her under my control. And she knew.
What kind of monster does that to a woman?
Her shoulders started shaking, the quiet sobs she tried to suppress. I knew the grief, guilt and betrayal that must be running through her mind.
With hesitant fingers, I reached out to touch her back. She shook me off immediately.
My fist clenched. This wasn't the time to beg for forgiveness. This wasn't about me at all.
So I sat with her and waited, letting her cry without trying to fix it.
Eventually, exhaustion won. Her body slumped to one side, eyes closing as sleep claimed her. Carefully, I pulled her toward me, adjusting her weight so she wouldn't wake up sore. She didn't resist in her sleep, curling into my chest like she used to.
After a while, I lifted her and carried her to the bed, tucked her in and pressed a kiss to her forehead that she'd never know about.
Then I left to call Mama Cortez.
The days that followed were pure torture. Camila wouldn't talk to nor look at me. Every time I tried to approach, Maya or Mama Cortez would intercept.
"Give her time." Maya. "She's dealing with her mother's death and whatever other hurt you caused. You need to wait."
"Let her grieve first," Mama Cortez advised. "You can settle your differences later."
I threw myself into handling everything else. From the autopsy, down to the funeral arrangements.
Mama Cortez and Maya stayed with Camila constantly. The three of them shared one suite while I took another down the hall. Close enough to be there if needed, but far enough that Camila didn't have to see me.
The funeral was heartbreakingly small. Just the five of us-Camila, me, Maya, Mama Cortez, and the priest. No other family. No friends. Clara Sterling had died as alone as she'd lived.
The emptiness in Camila's eyes as they lowered the casket was far worse than any tears. I couldn't take it anymore. I needed to hold my girl.
I need my Fiera crying only on my chest.
"I should have tried harder. I should have made her talk to me." I overheard Camila talking to Mama Cortez in their room one evening. I'd been standing in the doorway, about to knock, when I heard her voice.
"You did what you could, mija."
"It wasn't enough. She died hating me."
I pressed my forehead against the doorframe. That night, I went to Mama Cortez's suite and knocked.
She opened the door, surprised to see me. "Lucien? It's late-"
I dropped to my knees.
"I need to tell you why Camila won't look at me."
Mama Cortez's expression shifted. She stepped aside, letting me in.
I told her how I discovered Camila was a spy, how I arranged the shooting to keep her under my roof, to cut her off from whoever was using her... And how it had spiraled into something I couldn't control.
When I finished, Mama Cortez was silent for a long moment.
"You stupid boy." She sighed deeply. "There are better ways to handle things. I've always warned you about your methods, about letting your ruthlessness override your humanity."
"I know."
"Do you?" Her voice was sharp. "That girl has been through hell. And you added to it."
"I know," I repeated quietly. "And I want to make things right."
She studied me for a long moment. Then she shook her head.
"I wasn't planning to leave her side, but because of you, I'll leave tomorrow. I'll take Maya with me. You'll have one night to make this right."
"Thank you-"
"Don't thank me yet." Her eyes were hard. "If you hurt her again, if you make this worse, you'll answer to me. Understand?"
"Yes, ma'am."
She walked me to the door. "I'll pray she forgives you. Because she's already been through too much."
The next night, after Mama Cortez and Maya left under the guise of getting supplies, I waited in the suite and entered her bedroom.
Camila was heading toward the bathroom. She froze when she saw me.
"What are you doing here? Where's Maya?"
"Out with Mama Cortez."
Her expression closed off. "I need to shower. Alone."
"We need to talk."
"No. We don't... and we won't." She moved toward the bathroom.
I let her go, steeling myself for the coming minutes. Then, I took off my clothes, grabbed a spare robe from the closet and entered the bathroom after her.
She was already in the bathtub, water running. She looked up when I entered, and her face crumpled into something sadder than anger.
"Leave me alone. I don't want to talk to you."
I locked the door behind me.
Her eyes widened. "What are you-"
I dropped the robe to the floor.
"No one is leaving this room until we make up..."