Chapter 183

Chapter 183

But Angela just stared at him, refusing to take it.

He had no choice but to sigh and set the glass back on the table.

"Don't be like this. The doctor said you just finished your tests, and the treatment plan still needs me to—"

"There are world-class doctors here. Professional nurses." Angela cut him off, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Having you here just makes things harder for me. Honestly, I don't want to see you anymore. I don't want to be your burden."

That word hit Lucas like a punch to the chest.

His throat tightened. He dropped to one knee beside the bed and reached for Angela's hand, but she pulled away without making it obvious.

His hand curled into a helpless fist.

"Angela, taking care of you is not a burden." His voice came out rough, threaded with something close to desperation. "It's the only thing I can do right now. The only thing I have any right to do. Please don't push me away."

"Any right to do?"

Angela looked at him, something cool settling in her eyes. "Lucas, I think you've misunderstood something. Back home, the only reason I let you follow me — and even took your private jet to Novaria — was because you said you wanted a chance to make things right."

She drew a slow breath, her chest rising and falling sharply as she steadied herself.

"And you have. You got me into the best hospital in Novaria. You put in tens of millions in research funding. You even sorted out a place for me to stay. Whatever you owed me — it's paid. We're even."

Even.

That word broke something in Lucas that no curse ever could.

"We are not even!" His head snapped up, his composure starting to crack.

"Angela, I don't want us to be even. I want to take care of you. I want to love you — the right way, the way I should have from the start. I was blind. I was an idiot. But I mean it now. I want to spend whatever time I have left making it up to you."

"Love me? Make it up to me?"

Watching him fall apart like this, Angela felt no warmth. If anything, it struck her as almost sad.

She laid the truth out plainly.

"Lucas, be honest with yourself. Even if I make it through this — even if the CAR-T therapy actually works — my body is already broken. I will never be able to have children. Not ever."

She paused, her eyes locked on his.

"And you are the only heir to the Conway Group. The future of the entire Conway family rests on you. Do you really think they would accept a woman who can't give them children? Do you think your grandmother — no matter how much she loves me — could watch the Conway family line end? Maybe you don't care right now. But what about five years from now? Ten? I don't want us to end up in the same place again. There's no future for us. There never was."

Angela's words dragged everything Lucas had been trying not to see out into the open, with nowhere left to hide.

"Stop. Please stop."

He cut her off, his eyes wide with something between fear and refusal.

"Can we not do this right now? Just focus on getting better. We can deal with the rest later. I don't want to hear this. Not a single word of it."

He leaned in and pulled her into his arms.

For days, he had been holding himself together through sheer willpower, refusing to break.

But the moment he held her, everything gave way.

Only then — with her actually in his arms — did he understand just how much of her was gone.

He held on, and there was nothing there. No softness. Just bone pressing sharp against his hands.

She was so thin.

The pain of it nearly undid him.

"Angela... Angela..."

He buried his face in the curve of her neck, his breath hot against her cold skin. He held her tight, and when he spoke, his voice was wrecked.

"When I first found out you were sick... I thought I was losing my mind. I was angry at you for not telling me. More angry at myself for not seeing it. Angela, do you want to know why I lost my memory? Because I was a coward. I couldn't face it. I couldn't let myself believe you were sick — so I ran from it the only way I knew how. Angela, if something happens to you, I won't survive it. I mean that. I won't make it."

Hot tears slid down Angela's neck, one by one, disappearing into the collar of her gown.

Lucas's tears.

Listening to his quiet, broken crying, Angela felt her eyes burn and give way. Tears slipped down the sides of her face without a sound.

How could she not be hurting?

But she was so tired.

Every part of her ached — bone-deep, relentless. She didn't even have the strength to lift her hand and offer him the smallest comfort.

All she could do was let herself go soft against him, and sit inside the pain they were both carrying.

"Go," she whispered, eyes closed, tears still falling. Her voice was so faint it could have dissolved in the air. "Lucas, I don't want to drag you down. I don't want to drag anyone down anymore."

The room went quiet, filled only with the cold hum of machines and the sound of a man trying not to fall apart.

In the end, Lucas didn't force himself to stay and make things worse.

He gave ground — but he didn't leave.

He moved into a house he'd bought near the hospital.

Outside of what work couldn't wait, he spent his time personally overseeing the nutritionist, going over Angela's daily health data and lab results to put together meals that would be easiest on her body and easiest to get down.

He checked every step himself — sourcing the ingredients, keeping the cooking environment sterile, making sure everything stayed at the right temperature on the way over.

Every day at 11:30 in the morning and 5:30 in the evening, he appeared at the door of her room without fail.

Neither of them spoke. They were like two people who knew each other too well and not at all.

He would watch the nurse coax a few bites into her, or watch her drift off to sleep.

Then he'd pick up the empty containers and leave without a word.

The research funds for Dr. Daniel's team arrived every day without delay.

Even calls from Alan and Frances went through him first — he'd screen them to make sure Angela was rested enough before putting them through.

Lucas understood, more clearly than anyone, why she was acting so distant. Why she was so determined to cut him off.

She was afraid.

Afraid the CAR-T therapy would fail in the end. Afraid she would consume everyone's energy, money, and hope.

And still not make it.

She didn't want to give him something to hold onto, only to take it away.

Lucas stood on the villa's terrace, looking out toward the hospital.

The night had grown heavy. A breeze moved through, carrying a edge of cold.

He lit a cigarette but didn't smoke it. He just let the ember glow and fade between his fingers.

'Angela,' he thought, 'if you want to push me away, fine. I'll let you. But this time — whatever happens — I'm not letting go.'