Chapter 98
Lucas whipped around, radiating a terrifying aura, and shoved the hospital room door open again.
Ashley jumped at the sudden intrusion. Seeing her son's expression—dark enough to drip venom—her heart sank.
"Where is my son?"
Ashley looked at him and actually laughed. It was the sickly, triumphant laugh of someone holding all the cards.
"You want to see him? Sure." She drawled the words out slowly. "Deal with that disaster Juliana first. Otherwise, you'll never see him again. Not in this lifetime."
Lucas's fists clenched so tight his knuckles cracked audibly.
He walked up to the bed step by step, looking down at the woman who'd given birth to him and raised him. His eyes churned with towering fury and bitter disappointment.
"You're forcing my hand."
"That's exactly what I'm doing!" Ashley was completely shameless. She pointed at the monitors attached to her body. "Lucas, you know better than anyone how bad my condition is. If you push me any further, I'll pull these tubes out right now."
She looked at him and delivered her ultimatum, word by deliberate word.
"Either make Juliana leave New Seashire and never come back."
"Or prepare to bury me."
"Your choice."
Lucas stared at her, his chest heaving violently.
He wanted to explode. Wanted to smash something. Wanted to shake this unreasonable woman until she came to her senses.
But he couldn't.
She was his mother.
After a long moment, his rigid shoulders sagged in defeat.
He lowered his head. No one could see his expression.
"Get the surgery first."
……
After Lucas left, Paul tactfully took Damian to the inner rest room, leaving Juliana alone.
Juliana sat on the couch, Lucas's parting words echoing in her mind—"Wait for me"—and that final look he'd given her.
Apologetic.
Why was he apologizing?
Because his mother was sick and he had to leave? Or because his mother was using her illness to force him to compromise?
She wasn't afraid of Ashley's threats or the Sharp family's power. She'd dared to gamble everything because Lucas stood behind her.
But now Ashley was using her own life as a weapon, standing between them.
On one side, the mother who'd raised him. On the other, her and their children.
How could he possibly choose?
"Mom."
Damian walked up to Juliana, holding a cup of warm water.
"Uncle Paul said drinking water might make you feel better."
Juliana took the cup and looked at her son's worried face, forcing a smile. "Mom's fine."
"You're lying. You look like the princess from those cartoons who gets captured by the big bad guy and waits for the prince to rescue her. But Mom, you're not a princess. You're a queen."
Juliana froze.
Damian climbed onto the couch beside her. "And Dad's not a prince either. He's a king. Kings and queens aren't supposed to fight battles alone. Are you hiding something from Dad?"
Juliana's heart lurched.
"When Dad knelt down today, he said he'd protect you from Grandma. But just now, the second Grandma got sick, Dad left. You're probably thinking Dad doesn't want us anymore, right?"
The little guy's words cut through her defenses like a precision scalpel.
Juliana's eyes instantly reddened.
"Uncle Paul told me everything. Grandma has a really serious illness—cancer. Mom, you're a doctor. You should know that sick people get unreasonable. That's what's happening with Grandma right now."
"You're here overthinking everything by yourself, and Dad's at the hospital overthinking everything by himself. If you keep doing this, nothing will ever get solved."
Damian grabbed Juliana's hand and shook it firmly.
"Just call Dad. Tell him what you're worried about, and ask him what he's really thinking. Dad said you're going to be a family now. And families work through problems together, not separately."
Juliana looked into her son's clear, determined eyes.
He was right.
She and Lucas weren't in the same situation they'd been in seven years ago.
They were their children's parents. They were allies about to fight side by side. Yet she was still operating from old patterns—second-guessing him, doubting him, closing herself off.
She took a deep breath, as if making a major decision.
She pulled out her phone, hesitated for a moment, then dialed Lucas's number.
The call was answered almost immediately.
"Juliana."
"Where are you? We need to talk. In person."
There was silence on the other end for a few seconds.
"Alright. I'll come get you."
……
Lucas drove them to a quiet spot by the river.
Juliana gripped the hem of her shirt, about to speak, when the man beside her spoke first.
"I'm sorry."
Lucas turned toward her.
"I know everything my mother did."
All the words Juliana had prepared on the drive over lodged in her throat.
She stared at him in shock.
"She tricked you into signing that agreement. Made you carry my child..." Lucas's voice was low, each word coming out with difficulty. "And Damian, and Matthew who she took—they're both our sons."
He saw her stunned expression and gave a bitter smile, the pain in his eyes deepening.
"I'm apologizing to you for everything my mother has done."
He was taking all the blame onto himself.
Without warning, tears fell from Juliana's eyes.
Seven years of grievances. Seven years of holding everything in. Seven years of secrets she couldn't speak aloud. In the face of his "I'm sorry," all her defenses crumbled.
Lucas watched her cry. He reached out wanting to hold her, but felt like he'd lost the right to even touch her.
"Yes, she made me be a surrogate... and she said..." Juliana sobbed uncontrollably, forcing out the rest in broken fragments. "She said as long as I gave birth, she'd let me marry you... She said it was your father's dying wish..."
"When I went into labor, I hemorrhaged... The doctor asked her whether to save the mother or the baby..."
Juliana couldn't continue. That cold operating table, that cruel "save the baby"—it had been her nightmare every single midnight for seven years.
The pain and guilt in Lucas's eyes were instantly replaced by a towering, destructive rage.
He finally understood why she'd been afraid to trust him.
"Damn it!"
A suppressed roar tore from deep in his throat.
The next second, he unbuckled his seatbelt and pulled her trembling body into his arms with desperate force, holding her so tightly it was like he wanted to meld her into his bones—as if only this could make up for all those years she'd fought alone at death's door, drowning in terror and despair.
"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, Juliana..."
He buried his face in the curve of her neck, repeating those three words over and over.
His voice was hoarse, broken, trembling in a way even he hadn't noticed.
Never in his life had he hated his own helplessness this much.