Chapter 239
Lucas's POV
I'd just finished wrapping the ice pack around Claire's ankle when my phone buzzed in my pocket.
The first-floor medical station was quiet, clinical, the kind of sterile silence that made every sound feel amplified.
Claire was perched on the examination table, her expression carefully arranged into something between brave and fragile. I wasn't buying it. Her "injury" had been too convenient, too perfectly timed to pull me away from the conference room.
But I'd gone through the motions anyway. Checked her ankle. Applied ice. Let her lean on me just enough to satisfy whatever game she was playing.
My phone buzzed again.
I pulled it out, glancing at the screen. Sophia's name flashed there, and my jaw tightened.
She never called. Always texted. Clean, efficient messages that gave me exactly what I needed without demanding my attention.
A call meant something had gone wrong.
I was about to answer when Claire's hand shot out, her fingers wrapping around my wrist.
"Lucas." Her voice was bright, almost desperate. "After this, can we go shopping? There's this boutique near the Champs-Élysées I've been dying to—"
She leaned in as she spoke, her body pressing against my arm, and my phone slipped from my hand. It clattered to the tile floor, the call still ringing.
"Shit." I bent to pick it up, but Claire was faster, her heel "accidentally" nudging it under the bench.
"Oh no, I'm so sorry!" She made a show of trying to reach for it, wincing dramatically. "My ankle—I can't—"
I crouched down and grabbed the phone myself. The screen was dark now. Missed call.
My jaw clenched. "Claire."
"It was an accident." She blinked up at me, all wide-eyed innocence. "I didn't mean to—"
"Stay here." I straightened, already moving toward the door.
"What? Lucas, where are you—"
"I said stay here." I didn't look back.
Something was off. Sophia didn't call unless she had no other choice. And now she wasn't answering.
I jabbed the elevator button, but the car was on the eighth floor. Too slow. I turned and headed for the stairs instead, taking them two at a time.
Twelfth floor. Conference room at the end of the hall. I knew exactly where they were.
My phone buzzed again—a text this time. I pulled it up without slowing down.
Sophia: Lucas
That was it. Just my name. No punctuation, no explanation.
My chest tightened, and I ran faster.
---
When I kicked the door open, the scene that greeted me told me everything I needed to know.
Richard had Sophia pinned against the wall, one hand clamped over her mouth, the other fumbling with the buttons of her blouse. Her eyes were glazed, unfocused—pupils blown wide, skin flushed, breathing shallow.
Drugged.
She'd been fucking drugged.
I suddenly understood what game Sophia was playing.
Her gaze found mine, and I saw the relief flicker there, mixed with fear and shame and something that looked like desperation.
I crossed the room in two strides and grabbed Richard by the collar, yanking him away from her. He stumbled backward, his face flushed, his expression shifting from surprise to indignation.
"What the hell, Reynolds?" He straightened his tie, trying to salvage some dignity. "This is a private—"
I didn't let him finish. My fist connected with his jaw, and he went down hard, blood spurting from his split lip.
"You fucking idiot." I followed him to the floor, my knee slamming into his chest. "You knew who she belonged to."
He clawed at my hands, gasping. "She—she came on to me! I swear, she was—"
"Bullshit." I grabbed him by the throat, squeezing just hard enough to make him choke. "She can barely stand. You think I don't know what drugged looks like?"
"I didn't—Claire said—"
"Claire." I laughed, low and bitter. "Of course. And you were stupid enough to go along with it."
Behind me, I heard Sophia make a small sound—a whimper or a sob. I looked over my shoulder and saw her sliding down the wall, her legs giving out.
I let go of Richard's throat and went to her, catching her before she hit the floor. She was burning up, her skin slick with sweat, her breathing ragged.
"Can you stand?" I asked, my voice clipped.
She shook her head, and I cursed under my breath.
I cupped her face, forcing her to focus on me. "Sophia, what was in the coffee?"
"I don't... know..." Her words slurred together. "Hot. Everything's..."
She trailed off, her eyes rolling back.
"Fuck." I scooped her up, ignoring the way she flinched at the contact. She was too out of it to fight me, which was probably for the best.
Behind me, Richard was struggling to his feet, one hand pressed to his bleeding mouth.
"Reynolds, listen—I didn't know she was yours, all right? Claire made it sound like she was just some—"
"Some what?" I turned to look at him, and whatever he saw in my face made him take a step back. "Some nobody? Some secretary you could fuck and forget?"
"I—I thought—"
"You thought wrong." I shifted Sophia's weight in my arms, feeling her shiver against me. "You put your hands on something that belongs to me. You knew she was with me, and you did it anyway."
"It was a mistake," he stammered. "I swear, I didn't—"
"You're right. It was a mistake." I moved toward the door, my voice dropping to something cold and final. "And you're going to pay for it."
"What are you going to do?" His voice cracked. "Reynolds, please—I have a family, a business—"
"Should've thought of that before you touched her." I paused at the door, glancing back at him. "If I ever see you near her again—if I even hear you've been in the same city as her—I'll make sure you lose everything. Understood?"
He nodded frantically, blood dripping from his chin.
I didn't wait for him to say anything else. I just turned and walked out, carrying Sophia toward the elevator.
She was still trembling, her fingers clutching weakly at my shirt.
"Lucas," she whispered. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"
"Stop talking." My voice came out harsher than I intended. "Save your strength."
"But the coffee... I should have—"
"I said stop." I tightened my hold on her, my jaw clenched. "You didn't do anything wrong. He did. And he's going to regret it."