Novel-novel oleh Lara P

LUCYThe door opens.Damian King steps inside.I sit up slowly, ignoring the pull in my ribs. This time I see him clearly.Tall–the kind that makes this already-small hospital room feel even smaller. His hair's a bit too long, like he's overdue for a cut, and there's stubble along his jaw. But what I notice first is the suit. Charcoal gray. The kind that fits like it was made just for him. His watch catches the light when he moves his hand. Expensive. Everything about him looks expensive.But his eyes look exhausted.Haunted.Mrs. Henderson stands. "I'll give you two some privacy." She nods at him on her way out. "Mr. King.""Thank you, Mrs. Henderson."The door clicks shut.We're alone.He steps closer to my bed. Hands slide into his pockets."How are you feeling today?""I'm–"He stops. Leans forward slightly."Are you crying?""N-no." I wipe my face with the towel on my bed. "I'm not crying."But I am. I was. I've been crying since this morning. Since Dr. Jorge told me I'd be disch

LUCYThe beeping wakes me.Steady. Rhythmic. Close.I try to count how long I've been under—hours? Days? My brain won't hold the numbers. Everything feels thick, heavy, like I'm underwater.I force my eyes open. Slowly. The light stabs.A figure moves beside the bed. Mrs. Henderson. Her face comes into focus, and her eyes go wide."Oh thank God—you're awake." She presses the call button on the wall. "Let me get the doctor."She hurries out.I'm alone for a moment. The beeping. The white ceiling. The IV in my arm.Then footsteps in the hall.Dr. Jorge appears, Mrs. Henderson behind him."Good to see you awake, Lucy." He moves to my bedside, checks the monitors. "How are you feeling?"I try to speak—need to ask where I am, what happened, how long—The sound that comes out isn't words.It's a rasp. Broken. Wrong.Pain explodes through my throat like I've swallowed glass.My hand flies to my neck."Don't—" Dr. Jorge steps closer, his hand briefly touching my wrist to stop me from pressing

DAMIAN"You didn't tell me you were coming."Mom's sitting in my office when I walk in. She's thinner. The navy blazer that had always got her hangs loose on her frame. Her skin has a faint yellow tint that wasn't there before–jaundice, probably. And there are shadows under her eyes that makeup can't quite hide.How long has it been since I actually looked at her?Two weeks since her last call. Maybe a month since I saw her in person.Too long."That's because you've been avoiding me." Her voice is sharp. "You haven't taken my calls in two weeks."I close the door. Move to my desk. Don't look at her directly because if I do, I'll have to acknowledge what I'm seeing."I've been busy.""You're always busy."There's something in her voice that makes me stop. Something that sounds like the end of patience.I turn.She's already pulling something from her handbag–thick manila envelope. She places it on my desk carefully, like it's fragile. Or explosive.It lands with a soft thud that feels

DAMIAN Three days after the accident, Marcus calls again. "Tell me you're not going back to the hospital." I keep my eyes on the road. "I'm going." "Damian—" "She's awake." Silence. "The hospital called this morning," I continue. "She woke up an hour ago." "That changes nothing. You called the ambulance. You gave your statement to the police. Your legal obligation is done." "She's alone, Marcus." "How do you know that?" "The hospital told me. No ID. No family has come forward." I switch lanes. "No one." "Which is exactly why you need to stay away." His voice sharpens. "If she sues—and she will sue—every hospital visit you make strengthens her case. You're establishing a pattern of guilt." "I am guilty." "You hit someone who walked into traffic at night—" "I should have seen her." "The police cleared you." "I don't care." He makes a sound like he wants to throw his phone. "You're impossible to defend." "I'm not asking you to defend it." I hang up. --- My father di

LUCY "I'm sorry," Robert tells them, his voice breaking. "I need to get her out of here." "Of course," David says quietly. "Whatever she needs." Robert helps me stand. My legs won't work. He wraps an arm around my waist, supporting my weight. "Come on," he says gently. "Let's go." I don't remember walking to his car or the gate closing behind us. Just fragments: streetlights sliding past the window. Robert's knuckles white on the steering wheel. My breath fogging the glass. And the thought, over and over: My father died thinking I didn't care enough to come home. --- Robert helps me inside his house and sits me on the couch. He sits across from me, elbows on his knees. "I thought you knew," he says finally. "Lucy, I swear I thought you knew. Kelvin told everyone at the funeral that you'd just had surgery. Emergency surgery. That you couldn't travel. That it was too dangerous for you to come." I stare at him. "There was no s-surgery." My voice comes out hoarse. "I was her

LUCY "We're here, miss." I look up. The iron gates of Oakridge estate stand exactly where they've always stood. Tall. Black. Home. My hands shake as I pay the driver. The Uber pulls away. The gate's right there. Twenty feet away. I walk. My legs feel disconnected from my body. I knock. Metal against metal. The gate opens a crack. A man peers out, suspicious. "Yes?" "I–I need to c-come inside." "Who are you looking for?" "My father. Richard M-Morrison." His brow furrows. "Morrison?" "Yes. He owns this place. I'm his d-daughter." "I don't know any Morrison." His tone sharpens. "Who told you to come here?" "N-no one told me. This is my f-father's house. I grew up here." "Look, I don't know what you're—" Headlights sweep across us. A car slows at the gate. Expensive. Silver sedan. The guard steps back. "That's Mr. Chen." The gate swings open. The car rolls forward, then stops. The window lowers. A man leans out, his wife beside him. Both studying me. "Is there a pro