Lucian stepped out of the eting hall, his footsteps echoing softly against the marbled floor as the heavy double doors closed behind him with a gentle thud.
For the first ti in weeks, there was sothing light in his chest, sothing like satisfaction. A eting that hadn’t ended in tension or unresolved argunts.
Ever since Serena had fallen unconscious, every encounter, every negotiation, every damn discussion had felt like dragging a boulder uphill. But not today. Today, he’d managed to strike a good deal. Not just any deal, but one that promised real benefit and most importantly, an ally. One that could make all the difference in the days to co. And yet...
The mont he spotted Adrian waiting by the sleek black car just outside the hall, the small flicker of relief he felt dimd again. The success of the eting couldn’t outweigh the heaviness that had taken permanent residence in his chest these past sixteen days.
As he climbed into the car and shut the door behind him, silence draped itself around him like a familiar, unwelco cloak. Adrian offered him a small nod from the driver’s seat, sensing the shift in his deanor, but wisely said nothing.
"Drive to that gift shop," Lucian said, his voice quiet but firm, carrying the weight of purpose.
Adrian didn’t need further explanation. He simply gave a slight nod and started the engine, steering them smoothly into traffic with practiced ease.
Lucian leaned back against the cool leather seat, his eyes fluttering shut as the buildings rolled past outside the window. The exhaustion in his limbs was nothing compared to the weight dragging at his heart. Going back ho ant going back to the silence of that room, the dim lighting, and the rhythmic beeping of machines.
Sixteen long days of sitting beside her bed and whispering into the void.
He’d made promises, so many of them, whispered like prayers into her ear, hoping she’d find her way back to him. But nothing. And maybe that was the problem. Maybe promises weren’t enough. Maybe, just maybe... she needed more. Not words, but actions. A gesture. Sothing real she could hold on to—if only her fingers would move again.
He rembered that small item he had seen weeks ago. Sothing that had reminded him of her. Sothing he hadn’t bought back then because he had felt it would be considered he was trying to compete with that Vincent bastard.
But he wasn’t going to wait any longer. If it would give her even the smallest reason to fight her way back, then he was going to get it. And if the shop no longer had it, then he’d search every damn store in the city until he found it again.
When the car rolled to a stop in front of the quaint little shop nestled between taller buildings, Lucian stepped out without a word. The wind tousled his hair slightly as he pushed the glass door open, the chi above tinkling gently to announce his entrance.
He made a beeline straight for that corner. His heart pounded in his chest with a mix of hope and dread as his eyes scanned the shelves.
Then he saw it.
Right there, still sitting exactly where he had last seen it. As if waiting patiently, untouched by ti or strangers. A breath of relief escaped his lips, his shoulders sagging slightly. He stepped forward and picked it up, cradling it in his hands with sothing close to reverence.
Without a word, he walked to the counter, placed it down, and waited as it was carefully wrapped in smooth paper and tied with a neat ribbon. He paid without glancing at the total, took the package, and left.
Back in the car, he held it gently in his lap, staring down at it as if willing it to work so kind of miracle.
By the ti they reached ho, the sky had already begun to dim into evening. Lucian didn’t waste a second. He stepped out of the car and strode purposefully into the house, his footsteps echoing against the tiles as he made his way upstairs.
As always, his first stop was Serena’s room.
That routine had beco etched into his bones. He didn’t even have to think about it anymore.
He opened the door and slipped inside, the familiar sound of the machines greeting him like a somber lullaby. The room slled faintly of antiseptics and roses—Marlowe’s doing. She’d insisted on keeping fresh flowers in the room, believing scent might stir sothing in Serena’s subconscious.
Lucian walked over to the single-seater beside the bed and dropped himself into it with a quiet sigh.
"Hey, stubborn girl, I’m back. Won’t you say welco to ?" he asked, his voice light, teasing, but laced with a desperate kind of longing as he gazed at her still form.
There was no twitch. No blink. No movent. But the machines beeped steadily, confirming that she was still there, still breathing. Still fighting, maybe.
His gaze softened as he studied her face. Pale, unmoving, and yet so achingly familiar.
"Rember I promised to buy you sothing special if you woke up? Well," he said, reaching over and placing the gift gently on the bedside stool, "I’ve gone the extra length and got it for you. Even though you haven’t woken up yet. So will you wake up now and open your gift? Hmm?"
He tilted his head, watching her as if she’d suddenly sit up and give him one of her sarcastic replies. But nothing ca.
Lucian sighed deeply, dragging a hand through his hair before rising from the chair. He paced slowly to the other side of the room, stopping in front of the wall where the painting of the single black rose was.
He stared at the rose, its petals edged in gold. For a long mont, he just stood there, studying the delicate strokes and muted shimr.
"Is this place too dark?" he murmured aloud, tilting his head. "Is that why you’re not waking up? Maybe I should move you to a brighter room so that you’ll think it’s morning and not night, and you’ll wake up."
He reached up, almost absently, and began tracing the golden outline of the rose with his fingers, his touch soft and slow.
"Serena, Serena, Serena," he muttered, voice growing quieter with each repetition. "Wake up. Serena, wake up. I can’t do this anymore. Please wake up. My heart is aching. Please... wake up. Serena... Serena... Serena..."
Unknown to him, while he was muttering, her eyelids fluttered.
It was a slow, almost imperceptible movent at first. Then, inch by inch, they parted, revealing dazed, glassy eyes that tried to adjust to the light.
Her vision was blurry, her surroundings swimming in and out of focus. She blinked once. Twice. Her lashes fluttered like a hesitant butterfly trying to take flight.
Where was she?
Her eyes turned toward the soft, rhythmic beeping that punctuated the silence. A machine. She was hooked to a machine.
Why?
And then... she heard it. A voice. Soone saying her na, over and over. Whispering it like a prayer.
She turned her head slowly toward the source and saw Lucian, standing across the room, tracing sothing on the wall, talking to himself.
No... talking to her.
He was saying his heart was aching. Telling her to wake up.
Serena furrowed her brows, trying to understand why he was there. Why he sounded so broken. What was he doing?
She opened her mouth to ask, but her throat felt like it was filled with sandpaper. No words ca out.
So instead, she cleared her throat, releasing a soft, rasping sound.
Lucian’s hand froze mid-trace. His entire body stilled.
He turned around instantly, even though a part of him feared it was all in his head. Another cruel hallucination. His imagination playing tricks on him.
But when he looked at the bed, his heart stopped. Her eyes were open. Not just open, but looking directly at him.
"Serena?" he breathed, voice cracking. His legs moved on their own as he rushed to her side, sinking to his knees beside the bed.
"You’re awake," he said, his voice trembling, eyes darting across her face as if morizing every twitch of her lashes, every breath she took.
"Mmm," Serena murmured, blinking slowly, her confusion evident. Her gaze flickered across his face, then the room, as if trying to piece together the puzzle.
Lucian frowned deeply, reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone. His fingers moved quickly as he dialed.
"Co upstairs now," he said to Marlowe the mont the call connected. Then he ended it.
"I—I need water," Serena rasped, her voice barely audible.
Lucian bolted up like he’d been shot. He rushed to the small cabinet where Marlowe had kept bottled water and supplies in hopes and faith that Serena would wake up.
He twisted the cap open, ca back to her side, and gently helped her lift her head as he brought the bottle to her lips.
Serena watched him move, his face taut with panic, relief, disbelief, all jumbled into one. Her mory was still hazy, but pieces began clicking together, like fragnts of a dream slowly being rembered.
She rembered her last monts before everything went dark.
But what she couldn’t quite understand was why he was there.
Why did he look like he hadn’t slept in days?
Why did he look like he’d been waiting for her?
The silence between them stretched as she sipped the water, her eyes never leaving his.
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