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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE — THE UNEXPECTED COLLAPSE
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2026-02-28 04:43:19Aria's POV
Lucien was still standing by the darkened television, his silhouette cast in jagged red by the emergency lights. He looked like a king standing amidst the ruins of his palace. His chest was heaving, his hand still white-knuckled around the grip of his gun.
"Lucien?" I stopped in my tracks as I called out.
My voice was cold, filtered through the new layer of distrust I felt. I still had the wooden box tucked behind my back, the silver compasses biting into my palm. I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to demand the name of the boy in the photo.
But Lucien didn’t turn around.
He stayed frozen, staring at the black screen where Vane’s face had been moments ago. Then, a strange sound came from him, a harsh, wet wheeze that sounded like air being forced through a crushed pipe.
His gun slipped from his hand. It hit the thick carpet with a dull thud.
"Lucien!"
My suspicion vanished, replaced by the sharp, electric jolt of my instincts. I dropped the wooden box and ran toward him just as his knees gave out. I caught him before his head hit the mahogany table, my arms straining under his dead weight.
He was burning hot, but his skin was clammy. His silver eyes were rolled back, flickering beneath his lids. His hand clutched at his chest, his fingers tearing at his expensive silk shirt as if trying to reach his own heart.
"Marcus! Get in here!" I screamed.
I lowered Lucien to the floor, tilting his head back to clear his airway. He wasn't breathing right. It was a shallow, ragged rhythm. His pulse under my thumb was a chaotic mess, skipping beats, racing, then stopping entirely for a terrifying second.
Marcus burst through the doors, his weapon already holstered. He took one look at the scene and his face went gray. He didn't ask what happened. He didn't look at the screen. He just dove for a hidden cabinet behind the library’s main desk.
"The stress," Marcus grunted, pulling out a professional-grade medical kit and a portable defibrillator. "The doctors told him... the last mission, the coma... his heart never fully recovered."
"What mission? What doctors?" I demanded, my hands shaking as I ripped open Lucien’s shirt.
The sight stopped my breath. Across Lucien’s chest was a map of old scars, jagged, angry lines that spoke of explosions and surgeries. Right over his heart was a deep, circular indentation that looked like a shrapnel wound.
"Not now, Aria," Marcus snapped, his professional mask sliding into place. "Help me get the leads on him."
For the next ten minutes, the room narrowed down to the red emergency lights and the rhythmic beep of the cardiac monitor Marcus had hooked up. My amnesia, the secret box, the boy on the beach, it all faded into the background. All that mattered was the man dying on the floor.
Lucien’s face was a mask of agony even in his unconsciousness. I watched the monitor. His heart rate was like a jagged mountain range, spiking to 180 before dropping to 40.
"He's in v-tach," Marcus whispered as his forehead beaded with sweat. "Clear!"
The portable unit delivered a shock. Lucien’s body arched off the floor, a silent, violent spasm.
I stared at him. This was the man who held the world in his hands. This was the "Dark Lord" who had threatened the most powerful board members in New York. Now, he was just a man with a broken heart, gasping for air on a library rug.
I reached out and grabbed his hand. It was ice cold.
"Come back," I whispered in a terrified tone. "You don't get to leave yet, Lucien. You still owe me the truth."
The monitor let out a long, steady tone. Then, a single, weak beep. Then another.
Lucien’s chest rose in a long, shaky breath as the rhythm on the screen stabilized into a slow, fragile line. He wasn't out of danger, but he was back.
"He's stable," Marcus said, leaning back against the desk and wiping his face with a trembling hand. "The medics are coming up the service elevator. They have a private ICU setup ready in the east wing."
I didn't let go of Lucien’s hand. I watched as the paramedics swarmed the room, lifting him onto a gurney. They moved with the silent efficiency that only Blackwood money could buy. Within minutes, the library was empty again, leaving only the lingering scent of ozone and hospital-grade antiseptic.
I stood up, my legs feeling like lead. My gaze fell to the floor, near the spot where Lucien had collapsed.
The wooden box lay open. The silver compasses had spilled out onto the carpet. The photograph, the one showing me and the boy I didn't remember, was face up.
I looked at the photo, then at the doorway where they had carried Lucien out.
My mind felt like a battlefield. One side of me was a woman who knew she was being manipulated, lied to, and caged. That woman wanted to take the photo, find a way out of this fortress, and hunt down Vane until he gave her the truth.
But the other side, the woman who had felt Lucien’s heart stop under her palms, was paralyzed.
Lucien had almost died. And according to Marcus, it was because of the toll the "last mission" had taken on him. What mission?
If he was a villain, why was he literally dying to keep me?
I picked up the wooden box and tucked the photo and the compasses back inside. My suspicion hadn't vanished, but it had changed shape. It was no longer a sharp weapon I wanted to use against him. It was a heavy, dull ache.
I walked toward the east wing, my footsteps echoing in the silent penthouse. The high-tech security scanners beeped as I passed, recognizing my retinas, my gait, my very existence as something that belonged to Lucien Blackwood.
I reached the door to his private medical suite. Through the glass, I could see him. He looked small amidst the wires and the glowing monitors. He was pale, a nasal cannula providing him with oxygen.
I sat in the chair beside his bed. The signal dampeners were back on and the screens were clear.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the bent compass. I looked at the J & A engraved on the back.
"Who is he, Lucien?" I whispered to the unconscious man. "And why are you so afraid of him that your own heart is giving up?"
Lucien didn't answer. He just breathed, slow, mechanical, and shallow.
I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the edge of his bed. For now, the hunt for Vane was over. The mystery of the boy on the beach would have to wait. Because as much as I hated the lies, I realized with a terrifying clarity that I wasn't ready to live in a world where Lucien Blackwood didn't exist.
The diversion worked. Vane was a ghost in the shadows, but Lucien was a dying man in front of me. And for a woman like me, I had never felt more powerless in my entire life.
บทล่าสุด
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Aria's POVThe morning sun filtered through the high-performance glass of the medical wing, turning the sterile room into a soft, hazy gold color. Lucien was still asleep, his breathing deep and even for the first time in hours. I hadn't moved from his side. My head was rested on the edge of his mattress, my hand still tucked firmly in his.The quietness was shattered by the sound of heavy, rhythmic footsteps in the hallway. These weren't the silent, tactical steps of Chen or Marcus. They were deliberate and commanding.The door slid open, and Helena Blackwood stepped inside.She wasn't wearing her usual structured boardroom armor. Instead, she wore a simple black silk wrap, her silver ha
FORCED TO WED THE BILLIONAIRE CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE — A LOVE MEAL
Aria's POVI sat by Lucien’s bed for hours, my hand locked in his. The nurse’s words looped in my mind, Genetic. Chronic stress. Alcohol. I looked at his pale face. This man, who moved mountains to keep me in a gilded cage, was crumbling from the inside out. Every time I had fought him, every time I had looked at him with cold suspicion, I had been pushing him closer to this bed. The guilt was like a heavy weight in my chest, heavier than the wooden box still tucked in my jacket.I didn't want to ask about Vane anymore. I didn't care about the boy on the beach or the "J" on the compass. Not right now. I just wanted the man in front of me to breathe without a machine.Around 4:00 A&z
FORCED TO WED THE BILLIONAIRE CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR — UNFORSEEN DISCOVERY
Aria's POVI stood outside the glass doors of the private medical suite, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of Lucien’s chest. He looked fragile, pinned to the bed by plastic tubes and glowing wires. The high-tech hum of the monitors felt like a countdown I couldn't stop.Marcus stood by the door, his arms crossed over his chest. His suit jacket was off, his shirtsleeves were rolled up, and his eyes were bloodshot. He looked like a man who had been at war for forty-eight hours straight."He’s stable," Marcus said, though his voice lacked its usual iron. "But the doctors say the next few hours are critical. The strain on his heart was too much."I turned to him, the wooden box with the silver compasses still heavy in my pocket. "Marcus, talk to me. What really happened? You said it was the mission, but I saw the scars. That wasn't just shrapnel. That looked like a lifetime of trauma."Marcus tightened his jaw. He looked at
FORCED TO WED THE BILLIONAIRE CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE — THE UNEXPECTED COLLAPSE
Aria's POVLucien was still standing by the darkened television, his silhouette cast in jagged red by the emergency lights. He looked like a king standing amidst the ruins of his palace. His chest was heaving, his hand still white-knuckled around the grip of his gun."Lucien?" I stopped in my tracks as I called out.My voice was cold, filtered through the new layer of distrust I felt. I still had the wooden box tucked behind my back, the silver compasses biting into my palm. I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to demand the name of the boy in the photo.But Lucien didn’t turn around.He stayed frozen, staring at the black screen where Vane’s face had been moments ago. Then, a strange sound came from him, a harsh, wet wheeze that sounded like air being forced through a crushed pipe.His gun slipped from his hand. It hit the thick carpet with a dull thud."Lucien!"My suspicion vanished, replaced by the sharp, electric jolt of my
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Aria's POVThe library was too cold. The air felt thin and clinical, like everything else in the high-tech prison Lucien called a home. I stood against the mahogany shelves, my fingers tightening around the small wooden box. Inside, the silver compasses clinked. The sound was soft, but in the dead silence, it sounded like a warning.I turned the bent compass over and I felt the tiny, jagged engraving on the back.J & A.The letters were old and faded. A was for Aria. That was me. But the J was like a hole in my life. My mind searched for a name, a face, or a voice but I found nothing. The amnesia was a solid wall, cold and unyielding.Lucien had told me I was alone. When I woke up in that hospital bed, he was the only thing I had. He told me my parents were dead. He said I had no siblings. He said he was the only anchor I had left in a dangerous world.Liar.The thought didn't come from my brain. It came from my
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Aria's POVThe silence following my question was more than just an absence of sound, it was a physical weight. Lucien’s hand, usually an immovable anchor of strength, was trembling against my waist. The "Dark Lord" who had just dismantled a boardroom full of predators looked like he was staring at his own executioner."Lucien," I repeated, my voice dropping to a whisper as I searched his face. "Who is Vane? Why are you reacting like this?"He didn't answer. He couldn't. He looked at Marcus, a silent command passing between them that I couldn't decipher. Without a word, Lucien hauled me toward the private elevator, his stride frantic and disjointed.As the doors hissed shut, plunging us into the high-speed descent, Lucien finally turned to me. His eyes were no longer silver, they had darkened to something terrifyingly black."Vane is a ghost I thought I had buried, Aria," he rasped, his voice sounding like grinding stones. "
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