chapter 103
Lucas's POV:
The sterile smell of disinfectant hit me as I pushed through the hospital doors.
Three days had passed since the courtroom revelation, three days since my carefully constructed world had shattered like glass under the weight of Vivienne's lies.
The private wing of St. Valen Central Hospital stretched before me, all marble and muted elegance, a stark contrast to the turmoil churning in my chest.
I found Robert Sterling hunched over his wife's bedside, spooning lukewarm porridge toward Rebecca's pursed lips.
The once-formidable matriarch of the Sterling family looked diminished against the white sheets, her skin taking on a waxy pallor that spoke of more than just physical illness.
She pushed the spoon away with a trembling hand, her voice carrying that familiar edge of petulance even in weakness.
"I haven't seen Vivienne in three or four days," she complained, her eyes darting toward the door as if her daughter might materialize through sheer force of will. "Where is my daughter, Robert? Why won't anyone tell me anything?"
Robert's shoulders sagged further, and I cleared my throat from the doorway.
Both their heads turned toward me, Rebecca's face lighting up with desperate hope while Robert's expression darkened with something between wariness and recognition.
"Mr. Robert," I said smoothly, stepping into the room with measured grace.
I'd called him that for years, playing the devoted future son-in-law while Vivienne spun her web of deception around us all. "Ms. Rebecca."
"Lucas!" Rebecca struggled to sit up, her fingers clutching at the blanket. "Where's Vivienne? Have you seen her? Is she all right?"
I pulled up a chair beside her bed, arranging my features into an expression of careful concern.
The words I'd rehearsed on the drive over rolled off my tongue with practiced ease. "Vivienne is... getting help, Rebecca. After everything that happened at the trial, her lawyers felt it best that she enter a private facility for evaluation."
The lie came easily—too easily, perhaps.
But the truth would have been crueler: that Vivienne was in custody awaiting trial for murder, that her empire of stolen dreams had crumbled, that I'd personally ensured she'd been placed in a psychiatric facility rather than prison—somewhere her mother's connections and bail money would be useless.
Rebecca's face crumpled, tears sliding down her hollow cheeks.
"A mental hospital? My baby is in a mental hospital?" She turned accusingly toward her husband. "How could you let her stay in that place? How could you just leave her there?"
Robert said nothing.
I leaned forward, injecting just the right amount of reassurance into my voice. "It's temporary, Aunt Rebecca. My lawyers are working to ensure she receives the best possible outcome. This way, she avoids... more serious consequences."
"Prison," Rebecca whispered, the word hanging in the air like a curse. "Vivienne can't go to prison. She simply can't."
"She won't," I said firmly. "You need to focus on getting better. Vivienne needs you to be strong."
Rebecca clutched my hand with surprising strength, her nails digging into my skin. "You're a good boy, Lucas. You'll take care of her, won't you? You won't abandon her?"
I gently extracted my hand, standing with fluid grace.
"I should let you rest. Robert, might I have a word? Perhaps we could grab coffee?"
Robert's jaw tightened, but he nodded.
We walked in silence through the hospital corridors, past worried families and hurried medical staff, until we reached the small café on the ground floor.
The space hummed with quiet conversation and the hiss of espresso machines, providing perfect cover for what needed to be said.
I chose a corner table, gesturing for Robert to sit. He did so reluctantly, his fingers drumming against the wooden surface as I ordered two black coffees.
When the waitress moved away, I leaned back in my chair, studying this seemingly weak and mild-mannered man.
"You don't want her released either," I said without preamble, watching his face carefully. "I can see it in your eyes, Uncle Robert. The relief when I said she was locked away."
His fingers stilled. "I don't know what you mean."
"Don't you?" I stirred my coffee slowly, the spoon creating small whirlpools in the dark liquid. "Your wife's illness came at such a convenient time," I observed. "Saves me quite a bit of trouble, really."
He didn't deny it. We both knew the truth of the Sterling household, the poison that had seeped into every corner of that grand house.
His hands trembled as he reached for his coffee. "What do you want?"
"Nothing from you," I said honestly. "Just arrange for Elena to meet me. That's all."
His entire body went rigid, coffee cup freezing halfway to his lips. The mild-mannered facade cracked, revealing something sharper underneath.
"I've tried everything else," I continued, frustration bleeding into my voice. "Sebastian has her locked down so tight I can't get within a mile of her. You're my only option."
"No." The word came out hard, definitive. "Whatever you're planning—"
"I'm not going to hurt her," I cut him off, leaning forward. "Relax. Elena and I just have some... misunderstandings that need clearing up. "
"She deserves to know that her engagement to me was stolen, that her life was derailed by her sister's greed. "
Robert's eyes widened. "You were meant to marry Elena?"
I leaned back in my chair, letting the truth settle between us. "Yes. Due to certain... circumstances, I mistook Vivienne for Elena."
The hatred I'd kept carefully controlled flickered in my eyes, sharp and bitter. "That's why I can't just let Vivienne walk away from this."
Robert hesitated, conflict clear in his features. "She's married now. Happy, from what I can tell. What good would it do?"
"How would you know if she's happy?" I challenged, my voice dropping lower. "Besides, don't you think this is rather unfair to me? I lost everything because of a lie, and I'm supposed to just... what? Accept it? Move on?"