Chapter 42 SURVIVAL
POV: Selena
The pen slipped from Adrian’s fingers and rolled off the table.
I caught it before it hit the floor, my reflexes faster than my thoughts, and placed it back in front of him. He stared at it like it was something unfamiliar, something heavier than it looked.
“I’m fine,” he said, even though he hadn’t tried to pick it up again.
We were in a private conference room off the ICU wing, the kind meant for quiet conversations that changed lives. The walls were beige in a way that felt intentional, like color itself might be too much. A stack of documents sat between Adrian and three lawyers, neatly aligned, their corners sharp.
I stood behind his chair, one hand resting on the backrest, grounding myself as much as him.
What I wanted right now was simple and impossible at the same time. I wanted him to breathe without effort. I wanted someone else to take the weight pressing down on his shoulders. I wanted time to pause, just for a day.
Instead, time kept moving.
“The surgery was a success,” the doctor had said an hour earlier. “But recovery will take weeks. Possibly months.”
Weeks where the world would not wait.
Adrian picked up the pen again, this time holding it tighter. His signature came out sharp, decisive, like muscle memory had taken over where emotion couldn’t.
Temporary authority transfer. Emergency governance clause. Fiduciary oversight.
Each page took something from him.
Marcus leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching with a careful stillness. Bella sat beside me, her knee bouncing despite her effort to stay composed. Victoria wasn’t here. She was with Richard, refusing to leave his side.
“Next document,” one of the lawyers said gently.
Adrian nodded without looking up.
I watched his jaw tighten, the way his shoulders pulled inward just slightly, like he was bracing for impact that never quite came. This was how he handled pressure. By shrinking the problem into steps and surviving each one.
When the last page was signed, the room went quiet.
For a moment, no one spoke. It felt like standing in the aftermath of a storm, everything soaked and fragile, waiting to see what had broken.
“You’re officially acting head of the De Luca family interests,” the senior lawyer said. “Effective immediately.”
Adrian set the pen down. His hand shook once before he stilled it against the table.
“Okay,” he said.
That was all.
We left the room together. In the hallway, the fluorescent lights felt harsher than before. Adrian walked a few steps ahead, already pulling out his phone, scrolling through messages that must have piled up overnight.
I reached for his arm.
“Hey,” I said.
He stopped, turning toward me. Up close, the exhaustion was impossible to miss. His eyes were bloodshot. His tie was loose, collar wrinkled.
“You don’t have to do everything at once,” I said.
A faint smile flickered and vanished. “I do.”
I didn’t argue. This wasn’t the moment.
Back in the waiting area, Marcus intercepted us. “Press is being managed,” he said. “For now. Thornton hasn’t made a move since the hospital statement.”
“Yet,” Adrian replied.
Bella stood. “Mom asked if you’d come back in,” she said softly. “Dad’s awake.”
We went.
Richard looked marginally better. Or maybe I was just desperate to see improvement. His eyes were open when we entered. He squeezed Adrian’s hand weakly.
“Looks like I caused trouble,” he murmured.
“Nothing you haven’t survived before,” Adrian said.
Richard’s gaze slid to me again. “You’re still here.”
“Yes,” I said. “I will be.”
His mouth curved faintly. “Good.”
Later, when visiting hours ended and the halls emptied, Adrian and I sat alone in a quiet corner near the windows. The city lights outside blurred together, distant and indifferent.
I leaned my head against his shoulder. He didn’t move, but after a moment, his arm came around me, tentative, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed comfort right now.
“You don’t have to be strong with me,” I said.
He exhaled. “I don’t know how not to be.”
I thought about that. About the way strength had been demanded of him since childhood. About how weakness probably felt like a luxury he’d never been granted.
“You’re allowed to be tired,” I said instead.
He closed his eyes. Just for a second.
The next morning came too fast.
We were back in another conference room, this one in the De Luca offices downtown. Richard’s absence was a physical thing, like a missing limb. His chair at the head of the table sat empty.
Adrian took it anyway.
I sat along the wall this time, notebook in hand, not because anyone asked me to, but because it helped to do something. To be useful.
Reports came in rapid succession. Financials. Security updates. Political fallout. Adrian listened, asked sharp questions, made decisions without hesitation. Watching him was like watching someone step fully into armor that had always been waiting for him.
Still, the strain showed in small ways. The way he rubbed his temple when no one was looking. The way his coffee went untouched.
Near the end of the meeting, one of the lawyers cleared his throat.
“There is one more matter,” he said.
Adrian looked up. “Make it quick.”
The lawyer exchanged a glance with his colleague. “It concerns your father’s estate planning.”
Adrian frowned. “This can wait.”
“I’m afraid it can’t,” the lawyer said. “Given the current circumstances, certain clauses become relevant.”
I felt a tightening in my chest, instinctive and unwelcome.
The lawyer slid a thin document across the table. “Your father established a contingency clause related to the foundation’s leadership.”
Adrian scanned it, brow furrowing. “This is outdated.”
“It was updated last year,” the lawyer said quietly.
Silence settled.
“What does it say,” Adrian asked.
The lawyer didn’t rush. “In the event that Richard De Luca is unable to fulfill his duties, control of the De Luca Foundation transfers to his eldest child, provided certain conditions are met.”
Adrian’s jaw clenched. “And if they’re not.”
“Control passes to the board,” the lawyer replied. “With external oversight.”
I watched Adrian’s grip tighten on the paper.
“What conditions,” he asked.
The lawyer hesitated. Then spoke.
“You must be married to an appropriate candidate by age thirty two.”
The words landed like a dropped glass.
Adrian looked up slowly. “I’m thirty one.”
“Yes,” the lawyer said. “You turn thirty two in six weeks.”
The room felt suddenly smaller. Hotter.
“What qualifies as appropriate,” Adrian asked.
The lawyer adjusted his glasses. “Background. Reputation. Political alignment. The board retains discretion.”
I didn’t look at Adrian. I couldn’t. My pulse roared in my ears.
“This is ridiculous,” Bella said sharply. “Dad wouldn’t—”
“He did,” the lawyer replied gently. “At the time, it was meant as protection.”
“For who,” Adrian asked.
“For the foundation,” the lawyer said. “And the family name.”
Adrian leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was even.
“Thank you,” he said. “We’ll review this.”
The lawyers gathered their things and left.
No one moved.
I stood slowly. “I’ll give you space,” I said.
Adrian looked at me then. Really looked.
“Don’t,” he said.
I stayed.
Outside the room, voices echoed. Life went on. Inside, everything had shifted.
Six weeks.
I didn’t know what that meant yet. For him. For me. For us.
But I knew one thing with painful clarity.
Survival had just taken on a new definition.