Chapter 161
He could almost picture it Rose, cold and prideful, shattering under the weight of grief. Had she shed tears like these for him before, when it was too late to hold him, to scold him, to tell him that she cared? The thought tugged at his chest, a quiet ache blooming deep within him.
Yet, as the memory of his past life faded, the warmth of the present moment began to seep into him. The soft weight of her body against his, the way she clung to him so tightly as if he might disappear, made it hard to stay lost in the pain of what had been.
Lucian let out a slow, quiet breath, his heart softening as he looked down at his sister. Her shoulders still shook with the remnants of her sobs, and her fingers curled slightly into his shirt as if anchoring herself to him. He felt the dampness of her tears soaking through the fabric, but he didn’t mind.
His hand moved rhythmically along her back, gentle and soothing. He could feel the tension in her slowly easing under his touch, the tremors in her body fading little by little. Every stroke of his hand across her back felt like an unspoken reassurance, a silent promise that he wasn’t going anywhere.
A small, fragile smile began to form on his face, its warmth spreading like the first rays of dawn after a long, cold night. Despite the weight of the day its heartbreak, chaos, and pain he found himself feeling lighter. The heaviness in his chest gave way to something softer, something he hadn’t felt in years: hope.
Lucian closed his eyes briefly, letting the quiet settle around them. He wasn’t sure if he deserved this moment, this love. But he decided, just for now, to accept it. To let himself feel the warmth he had been longing for all this time.
Opening his eyes again, he looked down at Rose. Her tears had slowed, though her breathing still hitched slightly with each exhale. Her once-perfectly composed face was red and streaked with tear tracks, her pride forgotten in her desperation to hold onto him.
He chuckled softly, the sound barely audible. “You’re really something, Rose,” he whispered, his voice so gentle it was almost lost in the quiet room.
His hand moved up to her hair, his fingers threading softly through the strands. The motion felt natural, comforting, as if he were trying to soothe not just her, but himself.
Her grip on him didn’t loosen. If anything, she held him tighter, burying her face deeper into his chest. The quiet between them wasn’t empty it was full. Full of emotions too raw for words, but understood all the same.
Lucian tilted his head back slightly, letting his weight sink into the couch. His gaze softened as he stared at the ceiling, his thoughts turning inward.
Maybe… just maybe, this life doesn’t have to end the same way, he thought. His smile grew a little wider, a little sadder. Maybe I can still be someone worth crying for. Someone worth holding onto.
He patted Rose’s back again, his touch light and tender, as though afraid she might shatter if he let go too soon.
“Thank you,” he whispered, the words barely escaping his lips. He wasn’t sure if Rose heard him, but in that moment, it didn’t matter.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Lucian allowed himself to breathe. To feel the love that had always been there, waiting to be seen.
And for the first time in a long time, he felt like maybe just maybe he belonged.
Olivia stood silently, her gaze fixed on her children, who remained locked in their embrace. A storm of emotions swirled in her chest as she watched them. She was, of course, worried about how Lucian would react to Rose’s sudden outburst. He had become so sensitive and fragile these days one wrong word could send him spiraling.
Her heart clenched at the thought. Would he get angry? Withdraw? She didn’t know.
At the same time, she understood Rose’s outburst perfectly. She had witnessed Rose’s turmoil this morning, the way her emotions had been brimming beneath the surface. It had been painful for Rose to even breathe as she spoke about her fears and regrets, letting emotions she’d kept bottled up for years come pouring out.
Olivia had maintained her composure because she had known about Lucian’s scars and struggles for a while now. That didn’t mean she hadn’t felt desperate, scared, or emotionally unstable herself. She had but she had held it together for Lucian’s sake.
Yet seeing Rose, the one who Olivia thought was best at controlling her emotions, break down so completely… it was surprising.
As she watched Lucian gently pat Rose’s back, calming her as if nothing had happened even after the slap Olivia let out a quiet sigh of relief.
Her lips curved into a small, soft smile. He didn’t react negatively, she thought, her chest swelling with pride. Lucian was so sweet, so gentle. Even now, the faint red marks from Rose’s slap were still etched on his cheek, but he hadn’t said a word about it.
Her heart ached for him, but it also filled with warmth. He’s grown so much, she thought, tears welling up in her eyes. She wiped them away quickly with her thumb, unwilling to let them fall.
Down below, Lucian continued to pat Rose gently, his hand moving in slow, rhythmic motions across her back. His touch was careful, patient, as though he were cradling something fragile. It took about five minutes, but slowly, Rose’s breathing began to stabilize. The shuddering in her shoulders eased, and her sobs quieted until the room was filled with silence once again.
Rose finally lifted her head from Lucian’s chest, her tear-streaked face tilted upward to meet his gaze. Her eyes were puffy and pink, the skin around them raw from crying. Her cheeks were flushed red, and even her neck was tinged with a rosy hue. Tear tracks glistened on her face, a visible testament to her breakdown.
“Hey… are you alright now?” Lucian asked gently, his voice soft and soothing as he looked down at her.
Rose opened her mouth to speak but faltered, her lips parting slightly before closing again. Her gaze dropped to his shirt instead, now damp with her tears and, embarrassingly, perhaps even a little drool.
Her hand moved instinctively to brush the fabric, and as she did, she noticed something she hadn’t before. The upper buttons of his shirt had come undone, likely from all the crying and clinging, revealing a glimpse of his chest.
Her breath hitched as her fingers brushed against his abdomen, her touch lingering for just a second. Hard… definitely six-pack abs, she thought, her face growing hotter.
Her eyes darted up to his face briefly before falling back to his chest. Wait… when did he get so muscular? she wondered, her heart pounding. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him exercise, yet here he was, looking like a carved sculpture.
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