Chapter 220
The pen slipped from Lucien’s hand.
For a moment, all he could hear was the ticking of the clock on his wall, the faint hum of the city outside his glass office. It was as if the world had gone soundless.
When he finally found his voice, it came out rough, restrained. “Where?”
“Not far from the border. One of the old ports we’d flagged during the trafficking investigations years ago.” Liang’s voice wavered slightly, and Lucien knew that meant it was bad. “She was found at a medical outpost. Someone left her there… she’s alive, sir, but…”
“But what?” Lucien demanded, standing abruptly.
“…she’s not in a good state.”
Lucien’s jaw clenched. “Meaning?”
“She’s barely conscious. Malnourished. Doctors say she’s been through… months of trauma. They’re still running tests, but...”
Liang hesitated, as though saying the words would make them real. “...she doesn’t remember much. She barely responds to her name.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Lucien turned toward the window, the sunlight cutting sharp lines across his face. His reflection stared back at him, a man used to control, to power, to precision. But now, something cracked behind his composed exterior.
“Send me the coordinates,” he said finally, his voice a low growl. “And call the hospital. I want her transferred to our facility now. Quietly. No press, no leaks.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lucien ended the call and exhaled slowly, pressing his hands against the edge of the desk. His chest felt tight, too tight, like something heavy had lodged itself inside and refused to move.
Meilin. Alive.
For years, he’d carried the guilt of that name, the girl he’d once saved, then lost to the same darkness he’d sworn to destroy. He’d told himself she was gone. It was easier that way.
But now…
Now she was alive. And broken.
He lowered his head, jaw tightening until the veins in his neck stood out. This wasn’t supposed to reach Serena, not yet. Not like this. Not when she’d just started to trust him again.
The door opened softly, and his assistant, Aaron, stepped in with a folder. “Sir, the Zhao Group’s final board transition documents...”
“Cancel all my afternoon meetings,” Lucien cut in, not even looking up.
Aaron blinked, thrown off. “All of them, sir?”
Lucien finally lifted his gaze, dark, cold, resolute. “All of them. And get the jet ready. I’m flying out in thirty minutes.”
Aaron hesitated. “Should I inform Mrs. Feng?”
Lucien paused, the mention of Serena’s name slicing through the haze in his mind.
He could almost see her in his thoughts, her laughter over breakfast, her calm confidence in the boardroom, the way she’d looked at him when she said she believed him again.
He didn’t want to worry her. Not yet. Not until he knew exactly what state Meilin was in.
“No,” he said finally, his tone soft but firm. “Don’t tell her anything yet. Just say I had to handle an urgent matter overseas.”
Aaron nodded and left quietly.
Lucien exhaled and pressed a hand over his face, dragging his palm down slowly. His reflection in the window looked back at him, still and composed, but behind the eyes, there was something else.
A storm.
He grabbed his jacket and headed for the elevator, his steps fast, determined.
Because Meilin’s name wasn’t just a ghost from the past. It was a secret that had almost cost him Serena once.
And if the wrong people found out she was alive, if Ethan, or Arabelle caught wind of it, it could all spiral again.
This time, Lucien promised himself as he stepped into the elevator, he wouldn’t let history repeat itself.
Not with Serena.
Not with Meilin.
Not with anyone.
The elevator doors slid shut, cutting him off from the city’s noise, and in that quiet, only one thought echoed through Lucien Feng’s mind, “If Meilin’s alive… then who’s been pulling the strings all along?”
The drive from the airstrip to the secluded medical facility felt longer than any international flight Lucien had ever taken.
His security team led him down a quiet hallway lined with dim fluorescent lights. Everything smelled of antiseptic and cold metal, sterile, suffocating.
Two men in black suits waited outside a private ward, their expressions grim as they stepped aside the moment they saw him.
“Sir,” one of them said quietly, “the doctors are inside. She’s stable… for now.”
Lucien didn’t answer. He pushed the door open himself.
Inside, the room was small, kept dark except for one dim lamp by the bed.
And on that bed, barely recognizable, lay Meilin.
Lucien stopped in the doorway.
For a second, his breath deserted him.
She was pale, too thin, her wrists bruised as though restraints had once bitten into her skin. There were faint scars on her arms, her lips cracked, her hair shorn unevenly. Her eyes were closed, but even unconscious, she looked… haunted.
A far cry from the bright, stubborn girl who he had known.
He moved closer, slow, controlled, but his hands had curled into fists.
The doctor, an older man with tired eyes, stepped forward.
“Mr. Feng. We’ve done all preliminary scans. There’s no internal bleeding, but the signs of long term malnutrition are severe. She’s dehydrated, underweight, and shows evidence of prolonged cycles of stress.” He paused, lowering his voice. “We’re still assessing psychological trauma.”
Lucien’s jaw clenched until it ached.
“What about her mind?” he asked quietly.
The doctor exhaled. “She wakes up for seconds at a time. Says one or two words. Then fades out. She doesn’t seem to fully recognize her surroundings.”
Lucien swallowed hard.
“Is she in pain?”
“We’ve managed her symptoms. But her body is exhausted.” The doctor hesitated. “Mr. Feng… whatever she went through, it was not recent. It’s been months, years maybe.”
Lucien closed his eyes for just a heartbeat.
Years.
Meilin had been suffering for months, under someone’s control.
Someone powerful enough to hide her.
Someone who had a reason to use her as leverage.
And someone who knew exactly what Meilin meant to Serena.