Chapter 25 25
Olivia swallowed, blinking slowly as if she might cry — or scream.
Then she whispered, “Lucas… tell me you don’t feel anything when she’s close.”
He looked away.
And that was her answer.
Olivia stood there for one long second… waiting.
Waiting for him to soften.
Waiting for him to stop her.
Waiting for anything that looked like the Lucas she wanted.
But he didn’t move.
Not one step.
Not one word.
His eyes stayed cold. His hands stayed still.
He didn’t try to hold her back. Didn’t call her name. Didn’t say stay.
So she lifted her chin, swallowed the hurt burning in her throat, and walked out.
Her heels snapped sharply across the hallway.
The front door opened closed.
.
And Lucas finally exhaled —
He gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles whitening.
“No…” he whispered under his breath, eyes squeezed shut. “It can’t be her… it can’t be…”
He pressed a hand to his sternum, eyes wide, trying to stay upright.
“Calm… calm down… it’s not her… you’re imagining it… you’re sick… you’re just tired…” he muttered to himself, voice cracking.
Lucas choked on a breath, shaking his head over and over.
“No… it can’t be her… right?… right?”
He ran a hand through his hair again, pushing it back, but it fell immediately over his face.
“God… where is she?” he groaned, voice breaking. “Why can’t I… find… her…?”
Lucas dragged himself off the floor, still breathing hard, and stumbled toward the drawer he never let anyone touch.
His hands shook as he yanked it open.
The little wooden box sat there — the one he kept locked, the one he never let-his mom even look at.
He lifted it out with both hands, like it was fragile, like it was sacred.
Slowly… he opened it.
Inside were the only pieces of a night he barely remembered —
His fingers hovered over the items… then curled, trembling, as he pulled the box close to his chest.
His voice cracked when he finally spoke.
“No one is going to find you,” he whispered to the box, almost like a promise. “No one. Not before I do.”
He hugged it tighter, like he was afraid someone would rip it out of his arms.
“I’m gonna find you first,” he breathed, eyes squeezing shut. “I swear… I swear I will.”
His shoulders shook once — not from weakness, but from a fear so deep it nearly knocked the air out of him.
He pressed his forehead to the edge of the box.
“Please… just don’t disappear
He stumbled backward, hitting the corner of his desk. The box slipped from his grip and fell to the floor with a sharp thunk.
His chest tightened. Sharp, stabbing pain shot through his ribs. He gasped, tried to take a full breath, but his lungs rebelled.
“This… can’t… end…”
He stumbled toward the cupboard where he kept his pills.
Each step felt like he was dragging a hundred kilos.
He reached out.
His fingers hovered just inches from the pill bottle.
Just a little further—
His hand slipped.
The world spun violently.
The oxygen left his lungs.
His knees buckled.
“Come on,” he choked, trying again, reaching with shaking fingers. “Come on—”
He couldn’t reach.
His body wasn’t listening.
His palm slammed weakly against the cupboard door as he slid down to the floor.
The cabinet handle was right above him.
His pills — right there.
But his vision kept fading in and out like broken lights.
The door burst open.
“Master! Sir! Oh my God!” a maid screamed, rushing in. Her voice cracked with panic as she stumbled toward him.
The commotion drew the butler and other staff, their faces pale, voices frantic.
“Call the medics! Quick, someone call the hospital!” the maid yelled, almost hysterical.
Lucas’s eyes rolled back, hands clawing at his chest, lips blue at the edges. His breaths came in short, shallow bursts, a sound that made the staff freeze for a heartbeat.
“Stay with me, sir! Help is coming!” the butler shouted, lifting a hand to steady him.
Lucas flinched, thrashing slightly, muttering under his breath, half-coherent.
“You… can’t… leave… me…” he rasped, voice cracking like glass.
A nurse arrived moments later, rushing to his side, checking his pulse, trying to stabilize him.
———-
Lucas’s eyelids fluttered open. Light seeped through the curtains.
Every muscle ached, his chest still tight, his throat sore from gasping.
He blinked, trying to focus, and the familiar scent of lavender and warm linen filled the room.
His gaze landed on the figure sitting nearby.
“Mom…” he croaked, voice hoarse, raw.
She reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair from his forehead. “Lucas… you scared me half to death. Don’t ever do that again,” she murmured, her voice shaking.
He groaned, rolling slightly, the ache radiating through his limbs. “Everything… hurts,” he admitted, each word a struggle.
“You had an episode,” she explained gently, worry lacing every syllable. “The staff called me immediately. You could have…” Her voice faltered, emotions threatening to spill over.
Lucas shut his eyes, pressing a hand to his chest, feeling the dull throb of panic still lingering beneath the surface. “I… I don’t remember much,” he whispered, voice tight with frustration and lingering fear.
His mother sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing the blanket over him. “You really had me worried this time,” she said, shaking her head. “All because of some silly argument, huh?”
Lucas groaned softly, pressing a hand over his eyes.
“Oh, don’t look so guilty,” she chuckled lightly, though worry still lingered in her eyes. “It’s obvious, Lucas.
You and Olivia—you two lovebirds. Always arguing, always getting dramatic. Honestly, this little episode? Just a tiny tiff gone wrong.”
Lucas’s jaw tightened, but he stayed quiet, his chest still tight from the lingering panic.
She leaned closer, voice warm but teasing. “I swear, you two need to get married already.
Just a little fight and look at you—messing with yourself like this. You should take better care of yourself, my son.”
Lucas exhaled slowly, staring at the ceiling, unsure whether to feel embarrassed, frustrated, or… conflicted.
His mother’s assumption made things more complicated in ways he wasn’t ready to untangle.
Before Lucas could respond, the door creaked open. A maid peeked in, her hands folded neatly.
“Master, there’s a man waiting for you in the foyer,” she said softly, her eyes flicking toward him.
Lucas sat up slowly, rubbing his temple, his chest still tight. “A man?” he repeated, voice rough, still half-lost in the remnants of his episode.
“Yes, sir. He says it’s important,” the maid added, a slight frown knitting her brow.
Lucas let out a long breath, trying to steady himself. He swung his legs over the bed, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. Send him in.”