Chapter 84 84
The next morning unfolded with the same quiet routine that had settled over the mansion.
Blair sat beside him, helping him spoon the last few bites while Lucas stood at the counter, pouring coffee into a travel mug—black, no sugar, the way he’d always taken it.
Mave swung his legs under the table, already in his school uniform, backpack at his feet.
“Mommy and Daddy have to take me again today!” he declared, voice bright and final. “Like yesterday. All together in the back seat. It’s the rule.”
Blair smiled softly, wiping a milk mustache from his lip with her thumb.
“We’ll see, baby. Daddy’s got work—”
“No,” Mave interrupted, folding his arms. “Mommy and Daddy. Or I won’t go.”
Lucas turned from the counter, mug in hand. His expression was closed. He didn’t smile. Didn’t crouch to Mave’s level like he usually did. Just gave a single, curt nod.
“Fine. Back seat. Let’s go.”
Blair blinked, caught off guard by the flat tone. She glanced at him—really looked—and felt the shift like a cold draft.
Yesterday he’d laughed, carried her in a playful spin, apologized in the hallway with that raw sincerity in his eyes. This morning he wouldn’t even meet her gaze for more than a second.
Why the sudden cold attitude? she wondered silently, stomach twisting. Did I push too hard last night? Or… did Olivia get to him after I left?
She didn’t ask.
They walked out to the garage together—Mave between them, chattering happily about showing his rocket backpack to Wyatt again.
Lucas opened the rear door of the SUV without a word, helped Mave climb in, then slid in beside him. Blair took the other side, buckling Mave’s booster between them.
The driver pulled out smoothly.
Lucas stared straight ahead the entire drive, one elbow on the door armrest, fingers tapping once—twice—then stilling. No small talk. No glance at Blair. No hand resting near Mave’s knee like yesterday.
Blair kept stealing looks at him—his profile sharp in the morning light, jaw clenched, shoulders rigid. The silence felt heavier than any argument they’d ever had.
What changed overnight? she thought again, fingers twisting in her lap. He was… different last night. Softer. Almost sorry. And now this?
They reached Willowbrook Academy’s gates. Mave bounced out the moment the car stopped, backpack already on, waving wildly at the teacher waiting at the entrance.
Lucas stepped out, lifted Mave into a quick hug—
, brief—then set him down.
“Have a good day, son.”
Mave hugged Blair next—longer, tighter—then ran off toward the building.
Blair watched him go, heart squeezing the way it always did at drop-off.
She turned back toward the car.
Lucas was already sliding into the driver’s seat of a different black sedan that had pulled up silently beside the SUV—separate driver, separate vehicle.
His phone rang just as he closed the door.
He answered on the first ring—voice clipped.
“Brooks.”
A pause. Then his entire body went rigid.
“Is this Mr. Brooks?”
“Yes.”
“I’m calling from The Elite Hospital. We have some news… Mrs. Brooks—Olivia—overdosed last night. She’s currently unresponsive. We’ve stabilized her, but she’s in the ICU. You should come immediately.”
The color drained from Lucas’s face so fast Blair saw it even through the tinted window.
He ended the call without another word.
Mave was already inside the school gates, waving one last time before disappearing.
Lucas stared straight ahead for one long second.
Then he rolled down the window just enough.
“I’ll see you later, son,” he called—voice flat, —even though Mave couldn’t hear him anymore.
His cold eyes flicked to Blair—briefly.
Then he turned to the new driver.
“Elite Hospital. Now.”
The sedan pulled away—fast—tires biting pavement.
Blair stood frozen at the curb, watching the taillights disappear around the corner.
The SUV driver cleared his throat politely behind her.
“Ma’am? Shall I take you back to the house?”
She didn’t answer right away.
She just stared after the car that had just sped off—
And wondered, not for the first time, how much longer any of them could keep pretending the cracks weren’t showing.
The car pulled up to The Elite Hospital’s discreet VIP wing. Lucas was out before it fully stopped, striding through the glass doors without waiting for the driver.
A nurse recognized him immediately—Brooks name carried weight here—and led him straight to the ICU private suite.
Patricia Brooks was already there.
She stood at the foot of Olivia’s bed.
Olivia lay pale and still under crisp sheets, tubes and monitors beeping softly around her.
An empty vial and syringe sat on the bedside tray—
Eleanor turned the second Lucas entered.
Her hand cracked across his face before he could speak.
The slap echoed in the quiet room.
Lucas’s head snapped to the side. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t step back. Just slowly brought his hand up to his stinging cheek, eyes meeting his mother’s without surprise.
“How dare you, Lucas,” She hissed, voice low . “How dare you let this happen.”
He held his face a moment longer—knowing better than to interrupt when Patricia Brooks was this angry.
“I flew in from New York the second your grandmother called,” she continued, stepping closer so only he could hear. “I heard it from her—because you couldn’t be bothered to tell me yourself. You brought a little whore into our home. With a bastard child. And now this—” She gestured toward Olivia’s unconscious form. “—this is what happens when you play house with the past and leave your fiancée to rot.”
Lucas’s jaw clenched so hard the muscle jumped.
“Mother—”
“Don’t,” she cut him off. “Don’t you dare ‘Mother’ me right now. I raised you better than this. Olivia may not be perfect, but she’s been loyal. She’s been here. And you—” Her voice cracked for the first time. “You let some stripper from five years ago waltz back in with a child you never knew existed, and you expect me to believe this overdose is coincidence?”
Lucas looked past her—at Olivia’s pale face, the slow rise and fall of her chest under the hospital gown.
“I didn’t know she was going to—” He stopped himself. “I didn’t do this.”
Eleanor’s eyes narrowed.
“But you drove her to it. You humiliated her. You chose that woman over the one who waited five years for you to love her back.”
Lucas finally dropped his hand from his cheek—red mark already blooming.
“I didn’t choose anyone,” he said quietly. “I chose my son.”
Eleanor stared at him—long, searching—then turned back to the
bed.
“She’s stable,” she said, voice flat again. “They pumped her stomach. No permanent damage. But she’s not waking up yet. Take your pick.”