Chapter 3

I didn't even look up. "Moving out."

"Moving out?" He laughed—a cold, humorless sound. "Because of yesterday? When did you get so immature?"

Sienna peeked out from behind his shoulder, tugging his sleeve with a trembling voice:

"Lucas... did I do something wrong? Should I not have come? Is that why you and Claire are fighting?"

Lucas's expression melted instantly. He turned, shielding her with his body.

"Sienna, this isn't your fault. Claire's blowing things out of proportion."

Then he turned back to me, disappointment dripping from every word.

"Claire, how many times do I have to tell you? My father died in that fire. And if Sienna's father hadn't run in to save me, I would've died right alongside him."

"Without them, I wouldn't be standing here today."

"I canceled the wedding. I'm getting divorced from her. What else do you want from me?"

"She's not just some girl—she's family. I owe a debt I'll spend my whole life repaying. If you can't accept that, then apologize and let's move on."

"Otherwise—get the hell out."

I looked at him, standing there like a shield between me and Sienna, and heard the words debt and family echo in my skull.

My throat burned.

Sienna broke into sobs. "Claire's right. I'm too much. I should just leave."

She bolted for the door. Lucas grabbed her.

"Claire, look what you've done! She's hysterical!"

He pointed to the door. "Apologize. Or get out."

I stared at him for a long moment.

Then I grabbed my bag and walked.

"I'm out."

And this time, I didn't look back.

It was pouring rain. I had no umbrella, no ride. Just the streets and the storm.

The rain on my face felt like the only thing keeping me from breaking apart.

I walked until I couldn't. And then I collapsed into a puddle, the world going black.

I don't know how long I was out. When I opened my eyes, I was in a hospital bed.

Someone was holding my hand.

"You're awake, Claire."

Lucas's tired face swam into focus. Dark circles under his eyes. A shadow of stubble on his jaw. He looked like he'd been there for hours.

If this had been before, I'd have worried. Told him to go rest, that he'd make himself sick.

Now I just pulled my hand away without a word and turned to the window.

He stared at his empty palm for a second, then let out a relieved laugh.

"Still mad? Don't worry—I already finalized the divorce with Sienna. Happy now?"

The way he said it—like he was doing me a favor by ending a marriage that never should've happened.

He sighed and sat down, his voice heavy with condescension.

"Claire, I get that you're upset. But can you cut me some slack?"

"Sienna's father died for us. You know that."

"Those arsonists came for my family. Her parents gave their lives pulling me out of that fire. Without them, I'd be dead."

"I owe them everything. That debt doesn't just go away."

"If you're gonna be with me, you need to accept that. Stop treating Sienna like the enemy."

I listened to him run through the same speech he'd recited a hundred times over eight years.

Every fight. Every argument. Every time I was hurt.

Sienna's father saved my life. Sienna's my responsibility. She's family.

I'd swallowed it every time because he was right—you don't forget a life debt.

But lying in that hospital bed, with rainwater still damp in my lungs, something clicked.

I looked him straight in the eye and said:

"Sienna's father died saving you."

"So what does that have to do with me?"

"Why does your debt always have to be paid with my sacrifices?"

Lucas went completely still.

His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

Nothing came out.

For the first time ever, I saw something in his eyes that I didn't recognize.

Shock. Confusion. The ugly look of a man who had no answer.

He just stood there, speechless.

And then—

The door creaked open.

Sienna stood in the gap, gripping the handle, tears streaming silently down her face.

She looked at me. Then at Lucas.

Her voice broke:

"Lucas... I shouldn't be here."

"It's all my fault."

She turned and ran.

Lucas moved—instinct. He was already stepping toward the door.

But he stopped. Looked back at me.

"Claire. You've really disappointed me."

"We'll talk when you've calmed down."

He was gone before the door finished swinging shut.

And with it, whatever tiny sliver of hope I had left.

I didn't cry. Not then. I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling nothing but cold.

I checked myself out that night. Went home. Grabbed my bags.

And I left without looking back.

But this time, I took the bank card he'd given me as a bride price. Thirty thousand dollars. I figured that was fair compensation for the engagement apartment he'd bought—call it depreciation.

After that, I was done with that whole family.

(Lucas's POV)

Lucas caught up to Sienna in the hallway outside. She was crumpled in the corner, sobbing.

He crouched down and pulled her into his arms. "Sienna, don't cry. This isn't your fault."

"Claire's being dramatic. Too sensitive. This has nothing to do with you."

Sienna looked up through wet lashes. "Bro... does she really hate me?"

He stroked her hair. "No. She just needs time. I'll talk to her when she cools off. She'll come around."

Sienna sniffled and nodded.

He took her home, tucked her in, made sure she was okay.

But he couldn't settle. He sat on the couch, staring into space, replaying Claire's face over and over.

It wasn't anger.

It wasn't sadness.

It was something worse.

It was final.

Like she'd seen through every excuse he'd ever made and decided there was nothing left worth saving.

His chest tightened. He grabbed his keys.

"I need to find her."

And then his phone rang.

Unknown number.

He hesitated. Then answered.

"Hello?"

An old, raspy voice came through—labored breathing, like each word cost something.

"Lucas Williams?"

"Yeah. Who's this?"

"I'm one of the survivors... from that fire."

Lucas's hand went ice-cold.

"I've been hiding all these years. Afraid to show my face."

"I'm dying now. Doctors say I've got days left."

"So before I go... I wanted to tell you the truth about what really happened that night."