Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Lucas
I woke that morning and reached for her out of habit. My arm landed on nothing. The silk sheets were empty, cold. Ella was gone.
For a second, I just lay there, confused.
Last night after my shower, I'd been too wired from work to sleep right away.
I didn't want to keep her up with my tossing and turning, so I went to my study to deal with emails first. By the time exhaustion finally hit and I came to bed, she was already out.
I remembered pulling her into my arms, her small body curling up against me like something seeking shelter.
Now the space beside me was empty. The sheets were cold to the touch.
When had she left?
I stared at the ceiling. An uneasy knot twisted in my stomach.
She must've gotten up early to make breakfast.
Ever since we married, whenever I was home, Ella would cook oatmeal from scratch. She'd throw in ginger and other weird stuff. My chronic gastritis—she'd fixed it bit by bit with those morning bowls.
I threw back the covers and headed for the dining room.
But when I pushed through the door, all I found was the standard English breakfast the cook had laid out. Boring. Impersonal.
I sat down and chewed mechanically, something hollow settling in my chest.
It's just oatmeal. Get over it.
But I couldn't convince myself.
It wasn't just breakfast. It was her time. Her attention. Since the wedding, she hadn't just cured my gastritis—she'd helped my insomnia too. As long as I held her close and listened to her slow, steady breathing, I could finally sleep.
Coming home to the manor. Seeing Ella. Everything settling into place—those three things had become inseparable in my mind. Her presence was as natural as air.
I'd never considered that I might wake up and not see her for over an hour. It made me deeply uneasy.
I went looking for her. Mrs. Hughes was arranging flowers in the living room.
"Good morning, sir." She smiled and nodded. Nothing unusual in her expression.
"Where's Ella?"
"Madam is in the glass conservatory, sir. She's helping Mr. Rockefeller with his physical therapy."
Right. I should've guessed. She spent most of her time with Grandfather. I shouldn't be jealous. I just hadn't expected her to start cutting breakfast from her schedule, too.
I strode toward the back garden and pushed open the conservatory door. Color everywhere—flowers in full bloom, heavy fragrance, sunlight pouring through the glass dome overhead, making the dust motes look like flecks of gold.
I heard Ella's voice.
"Try to relax..."
"Mr. Rockefeller, can you lift this leg for me..."
I softened my footsteps and followed her voice.
Past a massive monstera leaf, through a row of trimmed birds of paradise, I spotted her.
Ella was kneeling on the floor, patiently guiding Grandfather through leg extensions. She wore the simplest beige sweater, jeans hugging her soft curves, hair pulled back in a ponytail with a few loose strands brushing her cheeks in the morning breeze.
From where I stood, she looked unreal. The light wrapped around her like a hazy filter, made her look clean and almost transparent, like a carefully tended white camellia.
Gentle. Pure. Without a single flaw.
"Lucas?" Ella noticed me. Her pale blue eyes were clear and lovely.
"Yeah." I walked in and sat in the wicker chair beside Grandfather.
I watched her continue. Those hands I'd pinned to the sheets last night were now tenderly, professionally massaging his muscles.
"We're going to see your sister at the sanatorium today," I said suddenly.
Ella's hands paused.
She looked up, something unreadable flashing in her eyes.
"We?" Surprise caught in her voice.
"Yes," I smiled and nodded, repeating it for emphasis. "Together."
Ella didn't say anything. Just kept working. But her shoulders tensed. Just slightly. If I didn't know her so well, I might've missed it.
She was nervous.
The realization sent a dull ache through my chest. I'd been absent too long. She'd grown distant.
I leaned down and grabbed her wrist, holding it tight in my palm.
Her skin was still warm and slick from the massage oil. Her pulse jumped under my fingertips, fast, erratic, like a startled deer. I couldn't help running my thumb in circles, feeling that little flutter of panic under her skin.
I nodded to Grandfather, ready to take her away.
Something flickered in his cloudy eyes. He looked at me, then at Ella, a smile tugging at his mouth.
"Take care of Ella," he said slowly. "Don't upset her."
"Of course, Grandfather."
But confusion nagged at me. Had I done something to upset her?
Grandfather said nothing more. Just shook his head. That expression made me uncomfortable, like he knew something I didn't and wasn't planning to tell me.
I tightened my grip on Ella's wrist.
Her hand trembled slightly in mine, but she didn't pull away.
She was always like this. Compliant. Quiet. No fuss.
It was one of the things I liked about her.
But when we got to the car, something unexpected happened. Ella refused the passenger seat.
"Why?" I watched her pull open the back door with determination.
She kept her eyes down, voice cool. "I don't want to sit where someone else sat."
It wasn't until I slid behind the wheel that I understood what she meant.
The car reeked of rose perfume. Vivian's scent from yesterday.
She always wore that cloying sweetness, like she wanted to mark every space she passed through.
I'd never thought much of it. The office was full of different perfumes.
I was used to it. But now, seeing Ella's slightly furrowed brow, I realized she hated it.
She preferred fresh, natural scents. Green things. Living things. Like the conservatory.
"I won't let her wear that perfume anymore," I said, switching on the air circulation and opening the windows and sunroof, trying to clear it out fast.
Ella quietly opened the back window, too.
We merged onto the highway.
Wind roared through the car. I wanted to talk to her, so I reached for the window controls, but she stopped me. "Don't!"
I glanced in the rearview mirror. Ella kept her face turned toward the window, hair whipping wildly around her, hiding her expression.
I wanted to ask if she was feeling better.
But my words got ripped away by the wind.
Those broken syllables must've reached her, but she showed no reaction. Just kept staring out the window. Too focused. Like she hadn't heard me at all.
Something was off with Ella today.
Too quiet.
Which shouldn't have been strange. Ella was naturally quiet.
Back when work wasn't so insane, I used to bring files home.
She'd curl up on the study sofa and read her physical therapy books in the sunlight by the window.
All I had to do was look up, and there she was.
Still as a painting. Peaceful. We could spend whole afternoons together without speaking, never disturbing each other but still there. Together.
That silence had been comfortable. This was different.
I could feel something else threaded through her silence now. Some emotion I couldn't identify.
I gripped the steering wheel tighter, confused. I didn't understand why Ella had changed. She'd been fine with Grandfather just now...
Maybe she was worried about Maya.
That had to be it.
I stopped trying to make conversation and pressed harder on the gas, pushing the speedometer to one-eighty. Once she saw Maya, Ella would be herself again. I told myself that.
When we reached Saint Heart Sanatorium, I barely had the car in park before Ella shoved open her door.
She walked fast.
Completely unlike her. Usually, she waited for me to get out first, then followed behind with that careful, dignified bearing expected of an upper-class wife.
But now she practically ran toward the entrance.
The security guards saw Ella and immediately tipped their hats. "Mrs. Rockefeller, you're here." Their eyes were warm, caring.
I followed, but they stopped me. "And you are?"
"Her husband." Annoyance edged my voice.
The guards kept up their rigid routine, making me lose sight of Ella. Just as they were about to say something worse, like asking for ID, I cut them off. I fixed them with the kind of look I used in negotiations. The kind that made it immediately clear who was in control.
The guards backed down quickly and let me through.
By the time I stepped into the Saint Heart lobby, I understood why Ella had been so desperate to get inside.
I'd been here twice before when Grandfather stayed briefly. My memory of the place was bleak. Stale air, lifeless corners, depressed people clustered together waiting to die. The atmosphere made it hard to breathe. I avoided coming here.
But now the whole room was lit up.
Nearly everyone crowded around Ella, talking over each other.
"Ella's here!"
"Ella! Our little angel!"
"Come here, Ella, let me see you!"
I leaned against the doorframe, my gaze cutting through the crowd to land on Ella's radiant face. My irritation and confusion smoothed out.
Look at my Ella. Like a star with her own light.
She had this gentle, compassionate presence, her smiling eyes full of something like scattered starlight, making her impossibly captivating.
I hadn't seen someone smile like that in years. Not the fake mask everyone wore at galas. This was real. One genuine heart meeting another.
I wasn't the only one drawn to her. Nearly everyone in the lobby surrounded her. The half-finished chess game sat abandoned. Knitting lay forgotten on the sofa. No one was watching TV anymore.
She bent down to hug an old woman in a wheelchair. Then took another elderly person's hand, patiently asking about their recovery. Busy. Completely absorbed.
I watched for a while, surprised.
Ella remembered every single person's condition and needs. She repeated the same small tasks over and over with the patience I had to admire.
Gradually, the order returned. Some of the residents who'd seen Ella or received treatment went back to what they'd been doing. The rest lined up neatly, waiting for simple physical therapy or just to talk to her.
At some point, a brown-haired man in a white coat appeared beside Ella, helping her.
By the time I really looked at him, he was already bent over, his movements quick and professional as he helped Ella with an elderly patient's neck therapy. They worked together seamlessly, like they'd practiced it a thousand times.
I stayed by the door, my brow furrowing involuntarily.
Who the hell was this guy?
He was younger than me, radiating the kind of enthusiasm I'd lost years ago. But what really got under my skin was the way he looked at Ella—careful, hopeful. He kept glancing up at her like he was waiting for her to notice him.
The more I watched, the less I liked it.
That was how a man looked at a woman. I knew it too well.
I shoved my hands in my pockets and walked over.
"Ella." My voice came out harder than I'd intended, cutting through their conversation.
She turned, surprise flickering in her eyes, like she'd only just realized I was there. That delayed reaction made my chest tight, irritation spiking hot behind my eyes.
"Shouldn't you go see your sister?" I looked at her, my tone leaving no room for argument.
Ella froze for a second, her gaze bouncing between me and the guy in the white coat. Then she nodded.
She gave the man a few brief instructions.
"Keep an eye on David's blood pressure monitoring—increase the frequency. And Annie missed her anticoagulant again..."
Watching the brown-haired guy write it all down so eagerly made me want to snap. Shouldn't this stuff be logged in daily care files? This guy was obviously staff. If he couldn't handle basic work, he was useless.
The whole time, I noticed him glancing at me. Bold. Like a challenge. I stared back coldly until he finally looked away, uncomfortable.
Finally, it was over. I took Ella's hand and left the activity hall quickly.
Maya's wing was behind the main building, down a long corridor through the back door. I walked beside Ella, our footsteps echoing in the empty hall.
In those few short minutes, I noticed Ella had changed again.
Her head tilted down slightly, eyes fixed on the floor. She still looked gentle and compliant, but it was like someone had hit mute. Nothing like the vibrant girl in the lobby minutes ago.
My chest knotted. This wasn't right.
Ella seemed different around other people than she was around me.
Why?
People kept greeting Ella as we walked. She seemed to know all of them. I didn't recognize a single one. When Ella smiled back, a bit of that earlier brightness returned to her face. But as soon as they left, she went dim again.
Her small figure was swallowed by my shadow.
She looked like she was living in my shadow.
I wanted to ask her why, but couldn't figure out how to start. Then a well-dressed elderly woman stopped us.
The old woman's cloudy eyes were sharp, carrying the careful scrutiny of someone used to power. When Grandfather had stayed here, I'd heard Saint Heart sheltered some mysterious figures with serious status.
She smiled at Ella first, then turned her gaze on me.
"Ella, is this your husband?"
"Yes, Eleanor." Ella's answer was barely audible.
"Doesn't look like a husband," the old woman said, narrowing her eyes. "More like a creditor."
The hand in mine went rigid.
Creditor?
I almost laughed. Who was this stranger to comment on our marriage?
But what shocked me more was Ella's reaction. Her lips moved like she wanted to argue, or explain, but in the end, she pressed them shut.
She didn't deny it.
My stomach dropped.
A doubt I'd never felt before crept in.
Why? Wasn't she happy with me?
I gripped her hand tighter, my fingers unconsciously pressing too hard, like she might disappear.
Maybe too tight, because I felt her pull back slightly.
I loosened my hold a little, told myself not to rush. Ella was shy by nature. She just didn't like displaying marital affection in public. And we'd barely seen each other for over two months. Some emotional distance was natural.
As her husband, I needed to be more proactive about maintaining our relationship.
I pulled out my phone and sent Vivian a message.
"Book two tickets. Reykjavik."
She replied quickly. "Will do. Should I bring the tickets to you?"