Chapter 33

Lila's POV

The moment I saw Drew’s name on the screen, my chest tightened.

I hesitated.

After everything that had just happened with Max, I wasn’t ready for another emotional ambush. But something made me answer anyway.

“Hello?” I said cautiously.

His voice came through the line, hoarse, fragile, and strangely quiet. “Lila…”

Just one word. My name. But the way he said it...

It broke something in me.

He sounded wrecked. Like he was standing on the edge of something he couldn’t name.

It was the same voice he had when I found him in his office, clutching his head like the world was caving in on him.

“Drew?” My tone shifted instantly. “What’s wrong?”

There was a pause. I heard the faint sound of his breathing; ragged and unsteady and then almost whispering he said those words that I didn't think he could ever say. “I…I just…” he trailed off, as though forming words was too much effort. “I need you. Please… can you come?”

And then the line went dead.

I stared at the phone in my hand, blinking like I hadn’t fully processed what just happened. I stared at the screen like it might offer me some kind of explanation. Anything to help me make sense of what just happened.

The silence in my apartment grew louder, pounding between my ears. My heart slammed against my ribcage.

He needed me.

The man who never asked for help. The man who pushed me away with words sharp enough to bruise. The man who told me I was a mistake… had just said please.

I should have felt guarded. I should have remembered the last time I walked into Drew's world without a plan and ended up with a life inside me, with shattered expectations, and a storm I hadn’t been prepared to weather.

But I didn’t feel any of that.

All I heard was his voice; frayed, fragile, aching.

It wasn’t like Drew to ask for help. Hell, it wasn’t like him to even admit something was wrong. But tonight, he didn’t just admit it.

He called me.

But that wasn’t the only thing haunting me. The memory of that night, the night I ended up in his penthouse the first time, broken, searching for comfort and ending up with regret clawed at the back of my mind. That one night had upended my life.

I stood there frozen, keys clutched in my hand. Going back felt dangerous. Too many memories lived in those walls. And yet…

His voice.

I had never heard Drew sound like that before. Not even during the worst of our fights. It was as if something inside him had cracked open.

My mind screamed to stay. But my heart and something even deeper said go.

I grabbed my bag, tossed on my jacket, and left. Every step felt like a contradiction. A war between logic and instinct. Between what was smart and what felt necessary.

___________

Drew's POV

The moment I got home, the carefully built wall I used to survive my days began to crumble.

The penthouse was immaculate. Cold, polished floors. Spotless surfaces. Everything in place, untouched.

I dropped my keys on the console and stood in the center of the living room. That same hollowness returned. A vacuum in the middle of all this perfection.

I loosened my tie and tossed it carelessly onto the floor, barely making it to the couch before collapsing into it. My head throbbed. My chest felt tight.

I quickly stood up, walked to the medicine cabinet, took something for the pain, and then sat back on the edge of the couch, waiting for it to kick in. But it didn’t.

If anything, it got worse.

I ran a hand down my face, but even that felt exhausting.

The walls of my home; pristine, expensive, echoing luxury felt like a prison. Every piece of art was meticulously placed. Every surface gleamed. Yet none of it felt alive. None of it felt like home.

I leaned back and closed my eyes, but instead of the calm peace I longed for, images assaulted me.

Kimberley’s smirk.

Her lips pressed against mine.

Her voice, “I’ve missed you.”

It all played on repeat like a twisted loop I couldn’t shut off.

The silence was deafening. My chest tightened more. My breathing began to shorten. That familiar spiral began.

The pressure started behind my eyes, then crept into my throat. My fingers curled into my palms, nails digging into skin.

The terrifying sensation had returned. It always started this way. A sense of dread. Like I was falling without moving. Like the world was too loud and too still at the same time.

I stumbled once again to the medicine cabinet, pulled open the drawer, and retrieved the small bottle of pills, the one prescribed for this exact situation. My hand shook as I twisted the cap off and dry swallowed one.

Then another.

I stood there, waiting. Breathing. Willing the world to slow down.

But it didn’t.

Nothing changed.

The walls were too close. The lights, too dim. My skin felt hot and too tight.

I dropped to my knees.

Everything was spinning.

This was the second attack I was having today alone.

I gripped the floor. I tried to anchor myself. But the panic kept rising, swallowing logic, swallowing breath.

The pill wasn’t working.

The panic crept in anyway, icy fingers wrapping around my lungs.

I slid to the floor slowly, back pressed against the cold marble cabinet, hands on my head.

I couldn’t do this again.

I couldn’t…

And then her face flickered in my mind.

Lila.

The one person whose voice had reached through the fog when it happened in my office. The one person who hadn’t looked at me with pity or confusion… but with understanding.

I reached for my phone, hands trembling, vision blurry. Her number was already there, open. Like my subconscious had been waiting for this moment.

I pressed the call button.

“Lila…” I managed to say.

Her concern was instant, clear in the way she said my name.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. I could hear the fear in her voice.

I wanted to explain, to tell her I was fine, that I could handle this like I always had.

But I couldn’t.

So I said the only thing I could.

“I need you. Please… come.”

And I hung up.

I didn’t want her to hear the rest. The stifled gasp. The way I clutched at my chest like I could rip the panic out with my hands.

I slid lower, my back fully against the floor now. Staring at the ceiling, I counted the seconds between each breath. It was all I could do. Count. Breathe. Wait. And hope that she will come.

Because if she didn’t... I wasn’t sure what would happen next.