"No." I refused immediately. "Maya's here. And I've learned plenty from my nursing studies. I know how to take care of myself."
"But—" He tried to argue.
"Lucas." I cut him off. "I'm doing fine. This normal life gives me peace. I don't need caregivers or nutritionists. I just need to live at my own pace. Can you understand that?"
Another pause, then carefully, "I ordered fresh berries for your fridge—air-shipped from the West Coast. The delivery guy gets there in half an hour. Please don't throw him out."
"Fine." I gave in reluctantly and hung up.
This push and pull became our new normal. He no longer imposed his will arrogantly—he was learning to track my smallest mood shifts. Once, I casually complained that the air was too dry, and the next day, a top-of-the-line humidifier system appeared at my door.
Lucas had changed.
I couldn't deny it. He wasn't cold and distant anymore. He acted like an ordinary husband, constantly attentive to his wife's every move.
But was that enough? I didn't know.
I still remembered his neglect through two years of marriage. Waiting alone in the manor from dawn to dusk. Getting nothing but tabloid photos of him with other women.
Some wounds don't heal just because he's different now. They linger in memory like scars—no longer bleeding, but aching when touched.
I needed time. I needed to see real, sustained change. Not one month or two, but longer. Enough to know he wouldn't hurt me like before.
I needed to know he was worth the risk.
That evening, Lucas called again.
"Ella," he said.
"Yeah?" I'd been reading, and I closed the book when I heard his voice.
"I want to ask you something." He sounded hesitant.
"What?"
"Have you thought about when I'm coming back?"
I froze. The question was too direct—so direct I didn't know how to answer.
"Why do you ask?" I said carefully.
"Because I can't stop thinking about it." His voice slowed, each word pushed from his throat. "I know you need space. I don't want to pressure you. But, Ella, I want to be with you.I want to be there through your pregnancy, be there when the baby's born."
My heart raced. My hand shook holding the phone.
"How much longer are you in Manhattan?" I heard myself ask.
His breathing turned heavy. Lucas went silent for so long I thought the call had dropped.
"Maybe a month this time, Ella." His voice was hoarse. "I'm handling the transition. I'm giving up executive control of the company."
I froze, nearly dropping the phone. "Giving it up? What are you thinking, Lucas! You fought for years to inherit that from your grandfather. You always said work was your life!"
"It's not my everything," he answered calmly. "You are. You and the baby are."
My throat closed.
"But Mr. Rockefeller..." I barely found my voice. "Will he agree?"
