Chapter 19 19
The first thing she saw was his back — broad shoulders, the clean lines of his suit, the way he leaned over his desk.
Then he turned.
His eyes landed on her.
Like he was seeing through her, not at her.
Her breath caught for one foolish second… then she snapped herself back to reality, tightening her grip on the tray.
Nope.
Not doing this. He’s just a boss. A rude, arrogant, unfair boss.
A monster.
She stepped inside without a single smile, without hesitation, keeping her gaze glued to the tray.
“Coffee for Mr. Brooks,” she said, deliberately flat and emotionless.
Blair set the cup on the edge of his desk, careful not to look at him longer than a second.
Lucas didn’t acknowledge her at first—just scribbled something on a document, eyes flicking across the page.
Then, without even lifting his head fully, he muttered:
“Thank you.”
Cold and rude like she was a background noise.
Blair nodded stiffly and turned to leave, her ponytail swaying as she headed for the door.
She’d taken only three steps when—
“—khff—”
A sharp cough broke the silence.
Then another.
And another.
Blair froze.
She turned just in time to see Lucas press a hand to his chest, his other gripping the edge of the desk as his coughs grew harsher, deeper.
His brows pinched, jaw tight as if he was fighting for steadiness.
The coffee cup trembled slightly where it sat.
Blair’s eyes widened, breath catching.
Oh no.
Something’s wrong.
Blair blinked as Lucas’s coughing slowly died down… but something was off.
Very off.
He straightened suddenly, pushing away from the desk too fast.
His chair screeched.
Papers fluttered to the floor.
He stumbled—actually stumbled—and caught the corner of a cabinet.
Blair’s heartbeat jumped.
“Sir…?”
Lucas dragged a hand through his hair, eyes unfocused, chest rising and falling unevenly.
He wasn’t drunk—he never drank.
But he looked like someone who hadn’t slept in days, someone whose body was starting to betray him.
“Lucas…?” she whispered before she could stop herself.
He turned sharply, almost glaring—but his vision blurred, and he bumped into the glass tray on his shelf.
It shattered.
A sharp piece sliced across his palm.
Blair gasped.
Blood immediately welled up and trickled down his wrist.
“Oh my God—you’re bleeding!”
He tried brushing it off, jaw tight.
“I’m fine,” he said roughly, voice low and strained.
But the stagger in his step betrayed him.
Blair rushed forward instinctively. “You’re not fine, you’re hurt—let me get the first aid—”
She reached for the door—
BANG.
The sound thundered through the room.
Blair jumped, grip tightening on the doorknob.
The door didn’t budge.
Someone had locked it.
From the outside.
Lucas frowned, disoriented. “What the hell…?”
Blair’s chest tightened.
No first aid.
No help.
Just her, him… and blood dripping onto the polished floor.
Her breath trembled as she turned back to him.
Lucas hissed under his own breath, trying to wipe the blood with his shirt—but it only smeared.
“Stop,” Blair whispered, stepping closer despite every voice in her head screaming don’t.
“Let me… just let me help.”
Her fingers shook as she grabbed the hem of her dress.
She hesitated for one second—
Then tore a strip clean off, fabric ripping loudly in the quiet room.
Lucas watched her, chest heaving, eyes darker than before—
Blair swallowed hard, stepping into his space, gently taking his injured hand.
“Hold still,” she murmured.
Her fingers were soft but sure as she wrapped the torn cloth around his palm, tying it tight enough to stop the bleeding.
Lucas stared at her face the entire time.
Too close.
Too intense.
Blair kept her eyes on his hand because if she met his gaze—God help her, she’d crumble.
“There,” she whispered, trying to mask her shaking voice. “At least it won’t keep bleeding.”
Blair tied the last knot and stepped back a little, exhaling shakily.
Lucas didn’t move.
He just stared at her—at the torn fabric on his hand… at her trembling fingers… at the smudge of his blood on her lips where she’d absentmindedly touched her face while helping him.
He lifted his good hand slowly.
Too slowly.
Blair’s breath froze.
His thumb brushed her bottom lip softly.
Her heart lurched as he wiped the streak of red from her mouth, his thumb grazing her skin like he’d done it a hundred times before.
“I’ll be fine,” he whispered—voice low, rough, far too intimate for a room with locked doors.
Blair’s knees nearly buckled.
Her eyes shut on instinct.
And in that split-second darkness—
The memory hit.
Five years ago.
His breath, hot against her ear.
His hand holding her waist as he caressed her tattoo.
Her lips burning for days afterward.
The same whisper.
The same touch.
The same man.
Her eyes snapped open—panic flooding her chest.
She shoved his hand away so fast he blinked in surprise.
“S–Stop,” she stammered, stepping back, adjusting her torn dress like a shield. “Don’t—don’t touch me.”
Lucas straightened slowly, expression tightening, jaw flexing like he was anchoring himself.
Blair swallowed hard, forcing her voice steady.
“I’ll get the nurse,” she said quickly, avoiding his eyes. “Just… don’t move too much.”
She turned toward the door and rattled the knob again even though she knew it was locked—she just needed space, air, distance, anything—
Her voice cracked.
“You need medical help. I’ll… I’ll go get someone.”
Blair fumbled with the door latch, twisting it this way and that, her tongue peeking out slightly in concentration.
Her little hands kept slipping on the polished handle, and she let out a soft, frustrated sigh.
Lucas, leaning casually against the wall, watched her from across the room.
A low, soft chuckle escaped him, quiet enough that only he could hear it—but it made Blair freeze mid-twist.
“Wait.”
She froze mid-step, her pulse spiking.
He took a slow step toward her, his eyes locked on hers.
The blood on his hand, the torn dress, the tension in the air—it all vanished from her mind in the face of those gray eyes.
“Have… we met before?” he asked, his tone calm, almost casual, but with an edge that made her chest tighten.