Chapter 53 Fifty Three

Chapter 53 Fifty Three

VALERIE

By the time I got home, Vanessa’s voice still echoed in my head, each word settling deeper than the last.

I entered the elevator and leaned against it. My mind kept replaying what happened at the café.

For a moment, I just stood there. Breathing felt optional. Feeling felt impossible.

My eyes burned, but no tears came. The weight of the day came crashing down all at once. My chest felt tight, swollen with things I didn’t have the strength to release.

I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t even tell if I wanted to.

It was as though my body had decided it was done reacting, done breaking, leaving me suspended in something hollow and unrecognizable.

Everything had gone wrong so fast it felt unreal. Hours ago, I had been at the cafe with Sofia talking about confusion, about chaos—about how nothing made sense anymore.

The next, Vanessa had walked in; unbothered and unapologetic—like she hadn’t been the earthquake beneath my feet.

She hadn’t looked guilty. Not even a little.

I had spent days building defenses around myself, not because I didn’t feel—God, I felt too much—but because loving Lucas had become dangerous.

He wasn’t supposed to take up this much space in my mind. He wasn’t supposed to matter the way he did.

Yet he did. Because I loved him.

And despite everything, I didn’t regret it.

I had wanted everything to end. I had prayed for clarity, for closure, for peace. But now that Vanessa was back, I realized I didn’t know how to want anything anymore—especially knowing how happy Lucas would be when he saw her again.

That realization hurt more than I was prepared for.

My heart would never come out of this untouched. I knew that much. The doors slid open and I stepped out of the elevator, walking into the house absentmindedly.

“Valerie.” I froze as Lucas' voice called me back to the present.

Lucas was seated in the living room, his arm stretched out as Dr. Cartez hovered over him, methodically tending to a bandage.

They both looked at me, Dr. Cartez with quiet acknowledgment, Lucas with something far heavier.

His gaze swept over me, sharp and searching, before locking onto my eyes.

His brows furrowed, concern etched deeply into his face.

I sucked in a breath.

How had I walked in without noticing them?

I shifted my gaze to Dr. Cartez, managed a small smile, and forced myself to move. My legs felt heavier than they should have as I walked toward them.

“Dr. Cartez… I didn’t know you were coming today.”

I could still feel Lucas’s eyes on me, but I didn't look at him.

“Yes, Mrs. Castillo,” Dr. Cartez replied warmly. “I stopped by to check in on Lucas. His arm has improved significantly. I just needed to change the bandage and check mobility.”

He began unwrapping the bandage, his tone clinical, reassuring.

“That’s great news,” I said, adjusting the strap of my bag, my smile polite but distant.

Lucas hadn’t looked away from me once.

Dr. Cartez examined the skin briefly before straightening. “All right, Mr. Castillo. Try rotating your wrist for me. Slowly.”

Lucas complied, flexed his arm, and rotated his wrist. “No pain,” he said. “It feels stable now.”

Dr. Cartez smiled. “That’s what we like to hear.”

Lucas lowered his arm. “It’s a lot better now.”

“Excellent,” Dr. Cartez said. “You’re healing faster than anticipated, Mr. Castillo. Keep avoiding strain for now.”

He gave a few final instructions, then straightened. “I’ll leave you both now.”

Lucas rose from the couch with ease and extended his hand. “Thank you, Doctor.”

Dr. Cartez shook it firmly, satisfaction flickering across his face. “Take care of yourself, Mr. Castillo.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” I said quietly.

Lucas gave him a curt nod. We watched him till the elevator doors slid shut.

The silence that followed felt louder than any argument.

Lucas finally shifted, his gaze lifted to me as he tucked his hands into his pockets. I kept my eyes fixed on the floor, watching the marble floor like it held answers.

A few seconds stretched between us.

“I didn’t know when you left,” he said.

His tone wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t accusing. If anything, it sounded… careful.

“I didn’t think it mattered,” I replied quietly. “I was with Sofia.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw him nod once before stepping closer.

“You’re my responsibility, Valerie,” he said. “You’re my wife. I should know when you leave this house.” His jaw tightened slightly.

“I tried calling. You didn’t answer.”

I lifted my eyes then.

He’s never called me when I’m out.

That thought lodged itself deep.

I held his gaze for a few seconds longer than I meant to.

There was something there I couldn’t name. His eyes were softer than usual—too attentive, too focused.

I didn’t want to call it concern. I didn’t want to call it fear. So I looked away.

“I’m glad your arm healed,” I cut in, my voice thin. “That’s good news.”

He smiled faintly. “Yeah. Guess I survived house arrest.”

I looked at him.

Then I looked away.

I turned to leave.

A tug at my wrist stopped me.

Before I could react, Lucas stepped in front of me. His fingers tilted my chin up gently, his eyes narrowed as they searched my face. “Have you been crying, Valerie?”

My breath hitched.

I pulled away immediately, adjusting my bag. “Of course not.”

I tried to step past him.

He blocked my path.

“Come on, Valerie,” he said, frustration bleeding into worry. “Who the fuck made you cry? Was it me?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck… I called earlier because I wanted us to talk. There’s something I need to tell you.”

Whatever he wanted to say, I didn’t have the strength to hear it.

“There’s no need for that, Lucas,” I said quietly. “I’m fine. As you can see.” I gestured vaguely.

“Now that you’ve recovered, your focus should be on work. On finalizing the contract.”

“For the love of God,” he snapped, “can you stop talking about that damn contract, Valerie?”

I flinched. Vanessa’s face flashed through my mind.

He pulled out his phone. “I’ll call Sofia. She won’t lie to me.”

“Lucas,” I said, my voice cracking despite myself, “please don’t.”

His brows shot up. “Why not?”

“So what if I’ve been crying?” I said quietly. “It’s not your business to investigate.”

“I’m not something you need to examine,” I said. “And my tears don’t need an explanation.”

He froze.

“If I cried,” I added, “I survived it. And that should be enough.”

Lucas’s eyes held mine, searching, like he was trying to find where I had gone.

His jaw tightened once.

Then his gaze dropped just briefly, and when he looked back up, something flickered there—confusion, maybe.

I looked up at him then—really looked at him—and smiled softly, because smiling was easier than explaining.

“Good night, Lucas,” I said, and brushed past him.

I didn’t look back.

I didn’t want to see the confusion or the hurt. I was probably imagining it anyway.