Chapter 50
Matthew didn't answer right away.
After a long silence, he finally spoke. "She's busy. So busy she sometimes doesn't even have time to eat. But every morning, she gets up before me to heat a glass of milk and fry me a soft-boiled egg. She says kids need to eat a good breakfast to grow tall."
"When I was three, I had a high fever—got so delirious I was talking nonsense. She carried me up and down the hospital hallway all night long. By morning, her voice was gone."
"She reads me really difficult medical texts. Not to force me to learn, but because she thinks anatomical diagrams are fascinating. And she never lies to me. When I asked why people die, she gave me a serious answer—told me it's the endpoint of life, just like how flowers bloom and eventually wilt."
He didn't use the word "love" once. Didn't describe how gentle Juliana was. He just recounted small, everyday moments.
Lucas leaned back in his chair, an image of Juliana surfacing in his mind—that cool, composed face, those eyes always touched with exhaustion yet impossibly clear.
So she had that soft side too.
"She also said," Matthew lifted his gaze, looking directly at Lucas, "if I had a twin brother out there somewhere and she ever found him, she'd bring him home. She'd treat him just as well as she treats me."
Lucas froze.
Those words struck like lightning, cutting through all the fog in his mind.
He'd never understood why Juliana treated Damian so well. He'd suspected her, schemed against her, even used the vilest language to second-guess her motives. He'd thought it was all calculated—her way of worming into the Sharp family, her ticket to marrying money.
Now this child had given him the answer.
It wasn't calculation. It was her maternal instinct, the way she loved her child.
That's why her expression had been so complicated when she saw Damian. That's why she'd been so furious when he'd accused her.
Lucas's heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand—aching, swelling, unable to draw breath.
His throat worked, his voice even hoarser than before. "So that's why you're here? And Dami—where is he?"
"We switched identities. Right now, he should be at my house."
Lucas wanted to ask more, to say something, but in the next second, consciousness slipped away completely. He slumped back heavily into the wide leather chair.
Matthew watched him, waited a few seconds. When there was still no movement, he slid down from his chair and padded over on his short legs, reaching out to poke the man's arm.
Still nothing.
He turned and walked to the study door, giving orders to the servants waiting outside in a tone far too calm and composed for a child. "He's drunk. Get him to his room."
The servants blinked in surprise before hurrying to comply, hauling the unconscious Lucas out between them.
The vast study was suddenly empty again except for Matthew. He looked at the black computer screen on the desk.
He'd said what needed to be said.
This man—though slow on the uptake, overbearing, and quick to jump to conclusions—maybe he wasn't beyond saving.
At least that last question had shown a glimmer of sense.
An expression far too mature for his age crossed Matthew's small face.
This battle was only just beginning.
Downstairs in the black Bentley, Lucas sat in the back seat, redialing that number. Still no answer.
He frowned and tried again. Same automated message.
That flicker of tenderness his son's words had sparked was instantly swamped by familiar irritation.
He went upstairs and found the room empty. The closet was bare, the luggage gone.
She'd just left without a word.
Lucas's chest felt stuffed with cotton, burning with nameless fury.
Well played, Juliana.
Just then, his phone buzzed. An unknown number had sent him a text—an address for a newly completed residential complex on the west side of the city.
Another message came through from the same number, this time with a photo. He recognized Juliana's retreating figure immediately.
Lucas's throat worked. Gripping his phone, he turned and strode quickly downstairs.
At the west side residential complex, Damian had just finished secretly tipping Lucas off when a harsh smell hit him, making him cough.
Juliana's expression changed instantly. She knew that smell all too well.
Formaldehyde. And the concentration was terrifyingly high.
"What's going on?" She turned to Joshua, who'd been following behind.
His face looked grim too. "The realtor said this was move-in ready. I was pressed for time—didn't have a chance to come check it out first."
"We can't stay here."
No sooner had she spoken than a pot-bellied middle-aged man walked in. The landlord.
"What do you mean you can't stay? I've been living here half a month! You people are just too picky! The rent's paid—take it or leave it!"
"This is fraud!" Juliana was already on edge about Lucas tracking them down after the move, and now dealing with this slumlord pushed her over the edge. "You want us to get chronic poisoning from this place? Refund our money!"
"Refund? In your dreams! Go ahead and sue me if you're so tough!"
Looking at his shameless expression, Juliana's blood boiled. She could sue him, could go through legal channels, but right now, with two children in tow—where could they possibly go?
As the standoff continued, several cars screeched to a halt downstairs.
The door burst open. Lucas appeared in the doorway, radiating cold fury.
He swept a glance over the scene, his gaze landing on the belligerent landlord. His eyes turned glacial.
The landlord actually shuddered. Before he could speak, a suited assistant stepped forward from behind Lucas, holding out a document.
"Sir, you've been illegally subletting property owned by the Sharp Group. Our legal department will be filing formal charges against you."
The color drained from the landlord's face in an instant.
The assistant dismissed him and turned to Juliana with a respectful bow. "Ms. Wells, this property was purchased by Mr. Sharp two years ago and has remained vacant. We had no idea the property manager was subletting it without authorization. We sincerely apologize for the trouble this has caused you."
Juliana stood frozen.
This apartment... belonged to Lucas?
What were the odds?
Lucas fixed the now-terrified landlord with an icy stare and bit out two words. "Get out."
The man practically crawled away.
Only then did Lucas turn his attention to Juliana. His expression was impossible to read—anger, helplessness, and something else he probably didn't even recognize himself. Exhaustion.
"Come with me."