"Take a breath," I said quietly.
She took it mechanically, but her hands shook so badly the water nearly spilled. I steadied her wrist and helped guide the cup to her lips.
The water wet her mouth. After a few minutes, color crept back into her face, from deathly pale to something closer to normal.
I watched her the whole time. Her profile looked exhausted under the fluorescent lights, deep circles carved beneath her eyes. But even like this, she was so beautiful I couldn't look away.
Her lips had gone white from biting down too hard. Her lashes were long, casting shadows on her cheeks. Those lashes were still wet with tears, catching the light like shattered diamonds. She looked so fragile she might break at a touch.
My throat tightened.
She looked like she should make me feel protective. Instead, I felt something I shouldn't.
I wanted to kiss her. Wanted to pull her close and kiss her hard—punishment for nearly a month of her freezing me out. But this wasn't the time. She'd just been beaten and humiliated. She needed comfort, not my goddamn desire.
I turned away, took a deep breath, and tried to get myself under control.
"Why did you leave without a word?" I finally asked the question I'd been holding for nearly a month.
No response. Like punching cotton—nothing came back. Being ignored like this pissed me off.
"Why won't you answer my calls?" I kept my voice low, demanding, "I called you a hundred times. What couldn't you say over the phone?"
Ella finally reacted. She looked up, those ice-blue almond eyes meeting mine. Her lids were swollen, tears still pooling, but the sadness in her gaze made my chest constrict.
"You're seriously asking me that?" Her voice shook, water sloshing from the cup. "Two years, Lucas. Two whole years. How many times did you answer my calls? Return my texts?"
"That's different." I heard myself say it, but there was no conviction in my voice. "I was busy with work!"
It was bulletproof in Manhattan. Time converted to dollars, busy meant successful. I'd used that excuse to deflect everyuseless obligation. But now, facing Ella's empty stare, it sounded pathetic.
"How is it different?" Ella's expression was blank. "Lucas, what makes you think your work is always more important than me?"
I opened my mouth, instinctively wanting to argue, to tell her what I'd said a thousand times before, that staying at Rockefeller Manor meant she didn't have to struggle for survival. But after she left, this past month showed me how much she'd actually done. Running a home wasn't cold numbers. Grandfather needed her. Mrs. Hughes needed her. Even the charities she supported... She was the grease that kept everything running perfectly. I never had to worry about a thing, so I'd gotten used to nothing happening and ignored everything Ella contributed.
Until she left. Then the manor became a soulless concrete shell.
I was wrong.
The realization hit hard. I wanted to say those words, but my throat closed up.
"I've been swamped the past six months, so much that I overlooked you." I softened my voice, reaching out. "If you need to get away, I can make time to—"
She laughed bitterly, her eyes colder than I'd ever seen. "Lucas, I don't have time for your same old excuses."
I froze. When did Ella start seeing me like this?
"You're not the only one who's busy. I'm busy too," Ella said, looking past my shoulder. "Taking care of my sister. Studying for exams."
Footsteps rushed up behind me. I turned to see the attending physician from earlier, striding over with his mask pulled down, his expression grim.
"Miss Bruce. Your sister's condition is critical. All her vitals are alarming. She absolutely cannot handle any more stress."
Ella's body trembled. She dropped her head, voice hoarse. "Can I see her now?"
The doctor nodded. "She needs family supervision all day today."
Ella thanked him. She ran to the room, opened the door, went inside, and locked it behind her.
