Chapter 3

"Babe!"

She ran past me, threw herself into his arms.

He caught her.

Looked down at her and smiled.

A smile I hadn't seen in so long.

The elevator doors closed.

I couldn't see them anymore.

Just my own reflection in the elevator walls.

Face covered in tears.

Ugly.

The jacket draped over my shoulders. Warm.

But I couldn't stop shaking.

When I walked out of the restaurant, security handed me an umbrella.

I didn't take it.

Rain pounded down on me.

Bone-chilling cold.

I didn't want to hide. I wanted to wake up.

Wanted to wash away these twenty years.

By the time I got back to the villa, I was soaked through.

His jacket still on my shoulders.

I took it off. Fell onto the bed.

Cold.

My head felt numb.

Don't know how long passed. My eyelids got heavier.

When I woke up, my whole body was burning.

Head splitting like it was cracking open.

I touched my forehead.

Scalding.

I had a fever.

Images started flooding in, chaotic and blurred.

The first time he held my hand.

I was seven. Mom was gone. They brought me to the Ashford house.

He was three years older. Stood at the door, watched me for a long time.

Like a prince from a fairy tale. Held out his hand.

"Don't be scared. I'm here."

When I had cramps, he'd get me some ibuprofen.

And tuck a heating pad around me.

On my eighteenth birthday, he snuck in a cake.

Just the two of us.

He lit the candles. "Make a wish."

I asked, "What should I wish for?"

He looked at me. Word by word: "Wish that we'll always be together."

But then, the scene shifted.

Mom lying in a pool of blood.

When that car came at them, she pushed Lucas out of the way.

She couldn't dodge it.

He knelt on the ground. Hands covered in blood.

I ran to her. Held her.

She looked at me one last time. "Clara, take care of yourself."

I kept crying.

Tears so hot they felt like they'd evaporate.

I wanted Lucas.

I needed him.

Wanted to hear him say "I'm here" one more time.

My phone on the nightstand rang. I fumbled for it, half-conscious.

A voice came through. Not his.

A woman's.

Moaning. Over and over.

I gripped the phone. Tears sliding down my face.

Onto the pillow. Soaking it.

The other end went quiet.

Then his voice.

Amused. Breathless.

"Sorry. Butt dial."

He hung up.

I stared at the ceiling. The room spinning.

My stomach lurched.

I tried to get out of bed.

Too late. I threw up on the floor.

Nothing in my stomach. Just water.

Sour. Bitter. Mixed with tears.

I slumped over the edge of the bed.

The world was shaking.

The fever hadn't broken.

The images kept looping in my head.

Mom's last words. The woman's moans.

Back and forth.

I threw up again.

Nothing came out this time. Just dry heaving. Convulsing.

I collapsed back onto the bed. Closed my eyes.

When I opened them again, it was morning. I was in a hospital.

The fever had broken. My body ached.

Lucas sat by the bed. Don't know when he got here.

Leaning against the wall. Eyes closed.

Like he'd been keeping watch all morning.

I moved slightly.

He woke up.

Opened his eyes. Looked at me.

For a second, there was confusion in his gaze. Like he'd forgotten everything that happened between us.

Then he stood.

Reached out. Touched my forehead.

His palm was cool.

"Fever's gone."

His voice was hoarse.

I tried to speak, but my throat felt like I'd swallowed glass.

He looked into my eyes.

"Why didn't you call a doctor?"

"......"

"Why didn't you call me?"

"......"

"Clara, do you even realize you had a fever?"

When I didn't answer, he said one more thing.

"The engagement's off."

"Happy now?"

I froze.

"I—"

"Enough."

He cut me off. Tucked the blanket around me.

"Stop tormenting me."