Chapter 53 53
Lucas walked out of the hospital like a storm given flesh.
The automatic doors slid open, but the air outside did nothing to cool the fury boiling inside him.
His jaw was clenched so tight it ached, eyes dark—empty of patience, mercy, or restraint.
Behind him, nurses froze. Doctors lowered their heads. No one dared speak.
This level of anger alone was enough to bankrupt the hospital.
His shoes hit the pavement hard. Once. Twice. Then he stopped abruptly.
“Sir—” the detective began carefully.
Lucas turned and slammed his fist into the concrete pillar beside the entrance.
Crack.
Pain exploded through his knuckles. Blood splattered, red against gray stone, dripping slowly to the ground.
He didn’t even flinch. He stared at his hand like it didn’t belong to him, like pain was an inconvenience rather than a warning.
“They lied,” he said quietly.
That tone was far more terrifying than shouting.
“They altered records. Restricted files. Someone is protecting her.” His lips twitched into something sharp and humorless. “They think I won’t find another way.”
The detective stepped closer, voice steady but urgent. “Don’t worry, Mr. Brooks. We’ll get another alternative. Different hospitals. Private clinics. Overseas records if we have to.”
Lucas laughed once.
“I don’t care if I have to burn the entire system down,” he said. “She exists. She had my child. And someone here knows exactly where she is.”
Blood dripped from his knuckles, staining the pavement like a promise.
He flexed his hand slowly, pain grounding him, fueling him.
“Find who falsified that file,” Lucas ordered. “Every nurse. Every doctor. Every administrator. I want names, accounts, weaknesses.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lucas turned toward the waiting car, shoulders rigid, fury rolling off him in waves.
His phone vibrated in his pocket.
Once.
Twice.
Relentless.
Lucas stood beside the car, blood still drying on his knuckles, eyes fixed on nothing.
“Sir,” the assistant’s voice came through the line, careful, professional. “You’ve got a business meeting in—”
He ended the call without a word.
The screen went dark.
“Home,” he said.
The driver didn’t ask questions. The car pulled away immediately, tires slicing through the road as the city blurred past the tinted windows.
Inside, Lucas sat rigid, jaw clenched, breathing shallow. His mind wouldn’t stop replaying it—
By the time they reached the mansion, his hands were shaking.
He stepped inside, ignored the greetings, the bowed heads, the murmurs of staff.
His shoes echoed sharply as he walked straight to his room and shut the door behind him.
Lucas went straight to the nightstand, yanked open the drawer, and pulled out the pill bottle.
His fingers fumbled—too tense, too angry. Pills spilled into his palm.
He didn’t bother with water.
One.
Two.
Then another.
He swallowed hard, bracing both hands on the edge of the table, head dropping as his breath stopped.
“Damn it…” he muttered.
The room spun slightly. His chest tightened, then slowly—agonizingly—began to loosen as the medication forced control back into his body.
Lucas sank onto the bed, elbows on his knees, hands tangled in his hair.
“No one takes what’s mine,” he whispered into the empty room. “No one.”
The pills dulled the edges—but not the obsession.
He pulled off his clothes and his tatted body came into view. He turned towards the bath.
The water thundered down his shoulders, steam filling the glass walls until the world blurred into nothing but heat and sound.
Lucas braced his palms against the tiles and shut his eyes.
And there she was.
Not her face—never her face.
But her eyes.
The kind that looked at him like he wasn’t a monster or a billionaire or a man drowning in pills and power—but just him.
His breath stopped.
“Stop…” he muttered, dragging a hand through his wet hair, gripping his head as if the memory physically hurt.
But it didn’t stop.
He remembered her touch— the way she had caressed him, slowly, like she was afraid he might disappear if she held on too tightly.
Fingers gliding over his arm, his chest, grounding him when he was already falling apart.
A broken sound tore from his throat.
“I was trying,” he whispered to the empty shower. “I swear I was.”
His forehead rested against the cool tile now, water running down his face, indistinguishable from the moisture in his eyes.
“I promise…” His voice cracked. “Just come to me.”
The memory grew warm—her closeness, her quiet breath, the way she had made him feel.
“I’ll be a good boy,” he said softly, and desperately, like a confession meant only for her. “Stop punishing me.”
His chest rose and fell unevenly as the water kept pouring, washing over a man who had everything—except the one woman his mind refused to forget.
Lucas finally shut off the water.
Silence crashed in—too loud.
He stepped out of the bath, water dripping down his chest, steam curling around him like it was trying to keep him company.
He grabbed a towel, wrapped it low around his waist, and stared at his reflection in the mirror.
Wet hair. Red eyes. A man who definitely did not look like the feared Brooks heir.
His mind cleared its throat.
So…
If she walks in right now, are you going to tell her you’ve been crying for two hours like a heartbroken teenager?
He scoffed, roughly drying his hair.
“Shut up.”
Oh? That’s the plan? “Hello, . Ignore the swollen eyes. It’s allergies. Very emotional allergies.”
Lucas glared at the mirror.
“I do not cry.”
You literally begged the tiles five minutes ago.
“That was… strategic suffering.”
Ah yes. The Brooks family tradition.
He tied the towel tighter and reached for his robe.
Also, hypothetical question, his mind continued innocently. If she appears and asks why you smell like sadness and expensive soap, what then?
“I’ll tell her I was thinking.”
Thinking or spiraling?
He paused mid-button.
“…Thinking intensely.”
Sure. And the red eyes?
“Lack of sleep.”
And the part where you whispered ‘I’ll be a good boy’?
Lucas froze.
“…You imagined that.”
I absolutely did not.
He ran a hand down his face, groaning.
“This is why I take pills.”
Correction: this is why you need her.
He straightened, shoulders squaring automatically, billionaire mask sliding back into place.
“She’s not here,” he said firmly.
Yet, his mind sing-songed. But if she ever is—try not to look like you just lost a fight with your emotions. Terrible first impression.
Lucas smirked despite himself, shaking his head as he walked toward the bedroom.
“Next time,” he muttered, “I’m installing a mute button for you.”
Good luck with that, Brooks, his mind replied smugly. I’m permanent.