The Uninvited Guest

The hospital ward was unusually quiet that afternoon. Amara had just finished helping her mother sip water when the door opened.

She expected a nurse.

Instead, Ethan stepped inside again, carrying a book under his arm.

Amara’s eyes narrowed. “Ethan—”

But before she could finish, her mother’s face lit up. “Mr. Blake. What a nice surprise.”

Ethan smiled, his charm effortless. “I thought I’d come read to you both for a while. Amara deserves a rest.”

Amara’s chest tightened. “You don’t need to—”

Her mother cut her off, patting the chair beside the bed. “Let him, my girl. It will be nice to have company.”

Amara’s reply crumbled in silence. If it gave her mother comfort, how could she argue?

But unease gnawed at her as Ethan settled in and opened the book, his voice low and steady as he began to read.

Her mother’s expression softened, her eyes fluttering closed as she listened. For a moment, Amara simply watched—her heart torn between gratitude and suspicion.

That was when the door opened again.

Lucian stepped inside.

The world froze.

He filled the doorway, his presence sharp as a blade. His gaze swept the room in one swift glance—Amara by the bed, her mother smiling faintly, and Ethan seated comfortably like he belonged there.

The temperature seemed to drop.

“Lucian,” Amara said quickly, rising to her feet. “You—”

But his eyes weren’t on her.

They were locked on Ethan, dark and lethal. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Ethan closed the book slowly, unbothered.

He rose with unhurried grace, offering Amara’s mother a reassuring smile before turning to Lucian..

“Keeping your wife company. And her mother.”

Lucian’s jaw flexed. “You think this is your place?”

Ethan’s smile widened, dangerous. “Funny.

From where I’m standing, it doesn’t look like you’ve been filling it.”

The air crackled, heavy with unspoken threats.

Amara’s mother stirred, her weak voice cutting through the tension. “Lucian… is that you? Come closer.”

Lucian blinked, his mask slipping for the briefest second. He crossed to the bed, his voice softening as he bent down. “Yes, ma’am. It’s me.”

Her mother’s frail hand reached for his, and he took it carefully.

Her eyes, though tired, still held warmth. “Take care of my girl. She’s strong, but she shouldn’t have to carry everything alone.”

Lucian’s throat tightened. For once, he couldn’t find words.

Ethan’s gaze flicked to Amara, sharp and knowing.

He had seen the hesitation in Lucian’s silence, the way pride kept him from speaking the truth her mother needed to hear.

“Don’t worry, ma’am,” Ethan said smoothly, his tone deliberate. “She won’t have to carry it alone.”

The words hung in the room like smoke.

Lucian’s head snapped up, his eyes blazing. “Get out.”

Ethan smirked, his victory quiet but cutting. “As you wish.”

He left without another word, but the damage lingered long after the door shut.

Lucian stood stiffly by the bed, his fists clenched, his pride bleeding.

Amara watched him, her heart racing. She didn’t know what scared her more—Ethan’s persistence, or Lucian’s silence.

The door clicked shut behind Ethan, leaving silence in his wake. It wasn’t a comfortable silence.

It was sharp, brittle, dangerous—like glass stretched too thin.

Lucian still stood by the bed, his hand in Amara’s mother’s, his eyes fixed on her fragile face.

He hadn’t moved since Ethan’s parting words, but the rigid line of his shoulders betrayed the storm beneath the surface.

Amara watched him carefully, her own chest tight. She expected rage.

A cutting remark.

A demand. Instead, there was nothing. Just the suffocating weight of his silence.

Her mother drifted back to sleep, her weak breaths steadying the room.

Amara eased her hand away from Lucian’s, whispering, “She needs rest.”

He nodded once, but his gaze never left her mother’s face.

Minutes ticked by. Finally, Amara couldn’t bear it. “You’re quiet,” she said softly.

Lucian’s jaw flexed, but his voice, when it came, was low and flat. “What do you want me to say?”

“Anything,” she whispered. “Something.”

His eyes flicked to hers then, dark and unreadable. “He doesn’t belong here.”

“Maybe not,” she admitted.

“But he was here. And he was kind to her.”

The muscle in his jaw tightened again. He said nothing.