Chapter 23 23
Lucas pushed his front door open, already loosening his tie, mind still full of meetings and noise.
But the moment he stepped in, he stopped.
Completely.
There were blood stains on the floor.
Small, dark smudges leading toward the hallway… and bits of broken glass scattered near the entry table.
His breath caught for a second.
He looked around slowly, like his brain needed time to accept what his eyes were seeing.
“What the hell…” he muttered under his breath.
“Welcome, Master Sir,” one of the older maids said the second Lucas stepped into the living room. She wrung her hands nervously, eyes wide. “Ma’am is upstairs. She—she’s hurting herself again.”
Lucas didn’t even let her finish.
He tossed his suit jacket onto the couch and was already running for the stairs.
“Olivia!” he called, his voice echoing through the house.
The maid flinched at the sharpness of it, but Lucas didn’t slow down. He took the steps two at a time, heart pounding in his ears.
“Olivia!” he yelled again as he reached the hallway.
Something crashed behind her bedroom door.
Lucas froze for a split second, then shoved the door open with his shoulder.
“Olivia!” Lucas rushed in, eyes widening the moment he saw her. “What are you doing?”
He walked straight to her, kneeling down without even thinking.
“You’re hurting yourself,” he said, his voice low but urgent as he carefully took the glass from her hand.
Olivia swallowed hard, tears rolling again.
“I—I didn’t mean to,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I just… I couldn’t breathe, Lucas. I thought you were leaving me again.”
Lucas let out a slow breath, trying to calm his own racing heart.
He reached for her wrist gently, checking for cuts.
“Olivia… you can’t do this to yourself,” he said, barely above a whisper. “You’re bleeding.”
She looked up at him — eyes swollen, voice cracking.
“I don’t know what to do anymore,” she cried. “I’m losing you… and I can’t lose you, Lucas. I can’t.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, jaw tight, fighting the storm inside him.
Then he wrapped his hand around hers —
“Let me help you up,” he said quietly. “Come on.”
Olivia leaned into him weakly, her tears soaking into his shirt as he helped her stand.
“Don’t leave me,” she whispered into his chest.
Lucas sat on the edge of the bed, cleaning the small cuts on Olivia’s arm with slow, careful movements.
Her breathing had steadied a little, her eyes half-closed from exhaustion and crying.
He wrapped the bandage around her wrist, tightening it gently — and that was when he heard it.
A soft mumble.
At first he thought she was awake, but her eyes were shut… her face relaxed.
She was sleep talking.
“You let her… touch you…” Olivia whispered, voice trembling even in sleep.
Lucas froze.
Her next words hit harder.
“I can’t unsee it,” she breathed out, a tear slipping from the corner of her closed eye.
“How you let her… caress you…”
Lucas swallowed hard, his fingers stilling on the bandage.
“You never let me that close,” she whispered again, her voice tiny, broken.
“Why her… and not me?”
He looked away sharply, chest tightening in a way he didn’t want to name.
Because she was talking about Blair.
About the moment Blair held him while he was half-gone, half-breaking.
A moment he barely remembered — but somehow remembered enough.
He let out a slow, shaky breath and pulled the blanket over Olivia’s shoulder.
“Get some rest,” he muttered quietly, even though she couldn’t hear him.
He stood up, jaw clenching, and walked to the door.
But her last whisper stopped him cold.
“You’ll leave me… like everyone else…”
He stepped out of the bedroom and walked down the hall like he was holding his breath the whole way.
The house was quiet again, too quiet — the kind that made every thought louder.
He didn’t stop until he reached his study.
The moment he walked in, he shut the door a little harder than necessary.
His hands were shaking — whether from anger, confusion, or the weight of everything happening at once, he didn’t know. Didn’t care.
He dragged a hand through his hair.
“Fuck…”
Lucas sank back into his chair, running a hand through his hair.
Then the voice in his head started — familiar, teasing and impossible to ignore.
You didn’t take your coffee today…
He frowned, almost scowling at the empty desk in front of him. Shut up, he muttered under his breath.
Remember, you don’t sleep without coffee, Brooks. Just like Granny used to make it… thick, strong, bitter enough .
Yeah, yeah… I know, he muttered, gripping the edge of the desk. But I don’t have time for memories. I need coffee.
And then, against his better judgment, he realized the thought that had been hovering all day — Blair’s coffee.
The one she made.
The one he hated to admit he craved.
You’re insane, he whispered to himself. You’re craving her coffee now? After everything?
The silence of the study pressed in, heavy, but the voice inside him wouldn’t let go. She makes it perfect, Brooks. You know it. You need it. Just one cup… just like Granny used to.
He let out a long, frustrated breath and finally stood, almost trembling.
Fine. One cup. That’s all. Just coffee.
———-
Blair gently laid Maverick on his little bed, smoothing his curls and tucking the blanket around him.
The press, the gossip, Lucas, the investors… it was all swirling together in one unbearable storm.
She sank onto the couch, head in her hands. “What have I done?” she whispered to no one, her voice cracking. “Why can’t I just… be normal? Why does it always have to be like this?”
Her phone beeped insistently on the counter. She wiped her tears, blinking, and picked it up.
The screen lit up with his name: Mr. Brooks.
Her stomach dropped. She hesitated, her fingers hovering over the screen.
Two cups. Delivered promptly. Espresso, not too bitter. Don’t be late.
Her hands shook as she read the message. Her heart raced. She had barely survived today; the thought of going near him again made her stomach twist.