Max guided Lake carefully toward the car, one arm wrapped securely around his waist. He reached out and pulled the passenger door open with one hand, the other steadying Lake."Slowly, Lake," Max mumbled, voice low with concern.Lake didn’t respond, but the way his body leaned heavier told Max he wasn’t doing as fine as he claimed. Once seated, Lake let out a shaky breath and immediately closed his eyes, head resting back against the seat. Max watched him for a beat longer, worry pinching the corners of his brows, then gently shut the door.As Max rounded the front of the car, his eyes landed on Leo, who stood by the curb with his hands in his pockets and an unreadable look on his face."You can find your way back, right?" Max asked, his tone cool and unconcerned.Leo scoffed, one brow rising. “You can actually ask that like you mean it, you know.”Max didn’t offer a response. He had already turned away, sliding into the driver’s seat without another word."Jerk," Leo muttered under h
“Sir, you need to step out and allow the patient to rest,” a female nurse said gently as she stepped into the room, clipboard in hand and concern in her eyes.Max didn’t move immediately. He was seated at the edge of the hospital bed, holding Lake’s mother’s hand, his brows drawn tight with worry. Her breathing was uneven, her eyes glassy with exhaustion, but she still held onto him like a lifeline.“Please,” she whispered, gripping his wrist, her voice hoarse with emotion. “Protect Lake. He might come off as cold… he acts like he doesn’t need anyone, but that’s just him trying not to get hurt again. Anthony—he abused him. I didn’t see it early enough. I didn’t stop it in time.”Max's heart clenched. His jaw tightened as the weight of her words sank in.The nurse approached, her tone firmer now but still kind. “Sir, I understand. But please, don’t stimulate the patient any further. She needs rest. We’ve already adjusted her IV and blood pressure medication. Please…”Max nodded slowly,
Monica blinked against the pale morning light filtering through the curtains. Her arm stretched across the bed instinctively—but all she found was cold sheets. She sat up slowly, pushing her hair out of her face with a sigh. Gone. Of course. She glanced around, her eyes narrowing slightly—until they landed on the tray near the nightstand. A plate of toast, fruit, and a cup of coffee sat neatly arranged. She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the small tug at the corner of her lips. Next to the coffee was a folded note. She picked it up, unfolded it without ceremony. “Didn’t want to wake you. You looked like you hadn’t slept in weeks.” “Went to the company—Diane’s on the verge of mutiny.” “Eat something. Don’t starve yourself out of spite.” “I’ll be back.” —Spencer. Monica stared at the note for a beat, then scoffed under her breath. “Of course he signed it like a damn villain.” But her chest clenched in that familiar, annoying way it always did with him. She dr
The door slammed open with a bang that echoed through the house. Spencer jolted awake, arm instinctively tightening around Monica, who lay curled beside him, asleep and unaware. Bootsteps thundered down the hall. Spencer didn’t need to guess—it could only be one person. He sat up quickly, pulling the sheet around Monica protectively. “Dad,” he said sharply as Charles appeared in the doorway, eyes blazing. “Keep your voice down. You’ll wake her.” Charles stopped short, frozen in the threshold like the sight had knocked the wind from him. His gaze swept over them—his youngest son half-naked in bed, tangled with Monica, his other son’s wife. “You…” Charles’s voice shook with restrained rage. “You’ve lost your goddamn mind.” “Lower your voice,” Spencer warned again, eyes steady. “She’s sleeping.” “Sleeping?!” Charles hissed, fists clenched. “You’re in bed with your brother’s wife, and you want me to whisper?” “She’s not his wife anymore,” Spencer said coolly, slipping out
The hospital lights dimmed to their nighttime setting. Monica hadn’t moved from the chair. Her arms were folded tightly around herself, her back stiff, her heart heavy. Liam hadn’t stirred. Nurses had come and gone, adjusting tubes and IVs. Still nothing. But Monica stayed. She didn’t cry anymore. She just sat, silent, eyes occasionally drifting to his face. What would he say when he woke up and learned the truth? That the man he called father had walked out. That the woman who raised him had lied. That the only one left in the room was the woman he’d betrayed. She should’ve left. But she hadn’t. A blanket had been draped over her by one of the nurses who had gently whispered, “You’ve been here a while, miss.” She hadn’t responded. Just stared at the pale rise and fall of Liam’s chest, her own breathing shallow. And she stayed. Spencer stood by his car, parked across the street under the dim glow of a streetlamp. The window was halfway rolled down. He’d been there for hours.
Monica sat in stunned silence in the corner of the VIP ward, her fingers clenched tightly together. Her mind was still spinning from the doctor’s words.Liam isn't his son.The door creaked open again, and this time, it wasn’t a nurse.It was Beatrice.Elegant as ever, though her lipstick was slightly smudged and her heels clicked a little too loudly against the sterile floor. Her eyes found Charles first, then drifted to Monica with barely restrained disdain.“How is he?” she asked, walking toward the bed.Charles didn’t answer immediately.Instead, he turned slowly to face her, his hands folded in front of him. There was a stillness in his demeanor that made Monica tense.“We need to talk,” he said, voice tight.Beatrice raised a brow. “Can it wait? I want to see my son.”“It can’t wait,” Charles replied coldly.Beatrice froze mid-step. Slowly, she turned. “What is it?”Charles stepped forward. “Liam needs a blood transfusion. His condition is stabilizing, but if it drops again, we