Thirteen

Lucien felt too drained to move.

He lay back on the bed and closed his eyes again.

Sleep came quickly.

He did not know if it was the medication or the weight in his chest, but he had no strength to wake up.

The whole afternoon passed like that.

David came to call him for lunch, knocking several times, but Lucien did not respond.

He heard him.

He just chose not to move.

His chest felt hollow.

There was no appetite, no desire to see anyone.

Only the memories kept repeating, over and over again.

When he finally woke up in the evening, he lay still, staring at the ceiling with empty eyes.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Master, it’s already six,” David’s voice came from outside. “You haven’t eaten anything. Please come downstairs.”

“You’re still weak. You need food, and you need to take your medicine. If the mistress finds out, she will scold us. Please come out.”

Lucien stayed silent for a moment.

Then his stomach growled.

Loudly.

Only then did he realize he had not eaten since morning.

They had gone to the mall without breakfast.

Now the hunger hit him all at once.

Slowly, he got up, washed his face, and went downstairs.

The dining table was filled with food.

The smell alone made his stomach tighten.

He sat down and picked up a spoon, about to eat.

“Having lunch at this time?” a cold voice cut in.

Lyra.

“Do you want to end up in the hospital again, or is this another trick to get my attention?”

Lucien paused.

So she came back.

Earlier, when Lyra had called home, the butler had told her that Lucien had not left his room all afternoon and had not eaten.

Her first thought had been irritation.

Does he want to die?

He just left the hospital, and he is already skipping meals?

It reminded her of how he used to act before.

Always creating trouble just to get her attention.

That thought alone had darkened her mood.

Without thinking further, she had canceled her evening schedule and returned home.

Now, standing here, her expression was still cold.

Lucien frowned slightly.

He was too tired to argue.

“Why would I skip a meal just to get your attention?” he said quietly. “You wouldn’t care even if I died.”

His voice was calm, but heavy.

“When three months in the hospital couldn’t get your attention, what difference would skipping one meal make?”

Lyra’s expression stiffened.

She had canceled everything just to come back.

And this was what she got?

She opened her mouth to respond, but suddenly—

Lucien coughed.

Hard.

He had choked on his food.

His face paled as he struggled to breathe.

Lyra’s reaction was immediate.

She moved closer and patted his back.

“Slow down,” she said, her voice losing its sharp edge.

After a moment, his breathing steadied.

He sat back, quiet again.

Lyra withdrew her hand.

Neither of them spoke about what just happened.

He continued eating.

She sat beside him and joined in, having barely eaten earlier herself.

The meal passed in silence.

…

Later, they moved to the living room for tea.

It was quiet.

Calm.

The kind of quiet they had never shared before.

Lyra glanced at him from time to time.

Lucien sat straight, composed.

One hand rested lightly on his lap, the other holding the teacup.

Every movement was controlled.

Elegant.

Natural.

Even the servants could not help but notice the difference.

He carried himself like someone who belonged to a completely different world.

Lyra watched him quietly.

Something about him felt… different.

After a while, Lucien spoke.

“Lyra?”

She hummed softly, taking a sip of her tea.

“Do you hate me that much,” he asked, his voice steady, “that you wouldn’t have cared if I had died?”

Her hand froze midair.

Slowly, she turned to look at him.

His face was calm.

Empty.

Unreadable.

For a moment, she said nothing.

She just stared at him.