Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Lucas
After I got back to Manhattan, I locked myself in the executive lounge on the top floor.
Curtains drawn tight. The only light came from my computer screen.
I tore through emails, reviewed contracts, and jumped from one video call to the next.
I turned my brain into a machine running on overdrive, trying to fill every second with dry numbers and legal terms.
Because the moment I stopped, I thought of Ella.
Her back as she walked away. That divorce agreement locked in my drawer, still unsigned.
Mrs. Hughes called every day, her tone probing. "Sir, Mr. Rockefeller keeps asking when Miss Bruce is coming back."
"Tell him I'm handling it." I always hung up fast. I had no answer. So I ran. Hid in the safe zone built from work. Though even that zone was full of holes—the searching looks from colleagues and board members made me feel exposed.
Then a cross-border merger in London hit a snag. I practically leaped at the chance, had my assistant book the next international flight. Two months abroad. On the surface, I was sacrificing everything for work. But I knew the truth—I just couldn't keep living in a world without her.
London in November was cold and damp. I checked into a hotel by the Thames, got up at six every morning, and worked until past midnight. At the negotiating table, I was still that ruthless Rockefeller CEO. No one could see the cracks.
One day, I overheard my assistants whispering in the hallway.
"Mr. Rockefeller's becoming impossible," a young female assistant said quietly. "Last week he tore into the whole team over one tiny mistake."
"Shh, keep it down." Someone warned her. "He's like a ticking bomb now. No one knows when he'll explode."
I stood by the door, listening. Before, I never let anyone challenge me.
Once I made a decision, not even my beloved grandfather could change my mind.
But now, hearing words that could destroy team morale, I didn't want to argue back.
I even wondered—maybe my stubborn control had bled into my marriage. Maybe that's why Ella left.
If I'd been humble earlier, paid more attention to the people around me, maybe Ella wouldn't have walked away.
I thought I could keep running on empty forever.
Until late one night, Mrs. Hughes called across time zones.
"Mr. Rockefeller," her voice shook. "Miss Bruce is sick. She's in the ER."
My pen froze mid-stroke, leaving a huge black blot on the contract. "What happened?"
"I asked, sir," Mrs. Hughes spoke fast. "But the hospital's being difficult. They cited HIPAA regulations. Since I'm not her next of kin or designated representative, they won't tell me anything about her condition."
I stared at the black river outside. Suddenly, I saw her—last time we met, pale, hand pressed to her stomach, looking like she'd break apart any second.
I shot to my feet, dialed my assistant's extension.
"Book me on the fastest flight home."
"But the project isn't finalized yet, sir—"
I hung up. Sent the partners an explanatory email, dumped all remaining work on the VP. That multi-million dollar deal I'd spent two weeks negotiating? Worthless.
I suddenly realized. These two weeks of manic work were just me throwing a tantrum. No matter where I flew, no matter how much work I buried myself in, Ella was a splinter lodged in every breath I took.
If something happened to her, I couldn't even think about it.
The plane landed at Minneapolis-St. Paul International the next morning.
I rented a car and drove straight to Rochester.
The whole way, I kept checking my phone, calling Ella.
No answer. I contacted the security team I'd hired.
They told me they didn't know what happened—just that an ambulance had taken Ella away last night.
Useless idiots. I cursed them silently.
Earlier, the security team had called, saying Ella might have spotted them. So I told them to keep their distance. And now they didn't even know how she'd gotten hurt. What the hell was I paying them for?
When I reached the hospital, dawn was just breaking.
The corridors were quiet, only an occasional passing nurse. I found Ella's room number and looked through the small window in the door.
Then I saw something I'd never forget.
Ella lay in the hospital bed. A man was slumped beside her pillow, asleep. Their heads nearly touching. Breathing each other's air. The man wore a white coat, brown hair slightly messy.
I stared at that scene. My exhausted nerves felt branded with a hot iron, jolting from numbness to pure pain. My vision turned red, the whole world suddenly covered in a bloody fog.
If I'd had a gun, I would've shot that man without hesitation.
I studied his profile. The more I looked, the more familiar he seemed. Then it hit me!
Two days before Ella left Manhattan, I'd taken her to Saint Heart Sanatorium. I'd seen this man then!
And when I'd come to Rochester hospital before, a thin doctor had entered Maya's room. He'd worn a mask, but the build and face—it was the same man.
Which meant Ella had been spending time with him. A lot of time.
My hand was already on the door handle, about to push it open, when a nurse suddenly stopped me.
"Sir, please don't disturb the patient."
"I'm here to see her." My voice was ice.
The nurse paused, glanced at the room, then looked at me with irritation. "Miss Bruce has Dr. Morrison with her now. You can come back later."
"With her?" The words tasted bitter.
"Yeah." Another passing nurse chimed in, lowering her voice. "He didn't even go home after his shift last night. Stayed with Miss Bruce the whole time, never left her side. It's so sweet. I wish my boyfriend was that thoughtful."
Another nurse quickly said, "They're not officially together yet. Don't spread rumors."
"It's only a matter of time." The nurse winked. "Haven't you seen the way Dr. Morrison looks at Miss Bruce? Like he wants to carve her into his heart. Plus, they're both gorgeous. If they got together, they'd be perfect."
I felt like someone had stabbed a knife straight through my chest. Pain everywhere.
What should I do now?
If they really were that compatible, barging in would just make Ella angry. She'd storm off like last time. She'd already decided to leave me. My impulse couldn't change anything.
And she was sick now, lying in that bed, pale as snow. If I pushed her now, she'd hate me. Though she already hated me. I couldn't make things worse.
I released the door handle and turned away from the hospital.
I told myself—even if she'd moved on, I could win her back. I wouldn't act like a coward, picking fights with a sick person over nothing.
After all, Ella's health mattered more than anything. I had patience. I had time.
Though I comforted myself this way, my stomach kept aching. I'd heard the stomach was an emotional organ. Without Ella, even my body seemed beyond my control.
During the day, I worked from a café near Ella's apartment. I opened my laptop, processed emails, and reviewed contracts, but couldn't concentrate at all. My eyes kept drifting toward the window, afraid I'd miss her. Even though I knew she wouldn't be back this early, I couldn't help it.
At seven PM, the security company sent a message: Ella had been discharged.
I immediately packed up and headed to her apartment.
The café was close by. When I arrived, she wasn't there yet.
So I stood at the end of the hallway, waiting.
Time had never moved this slowly. I wondered if Ella used to wait for me like this at the manor.
The thought made me feel like I owed her everything.
No stars, no moon above. Heavy clouds hung low. Rain was coming.
I worried whether Ella had brought an umbrella. I was about to head back to the hospital to pick her up.
Then I saw a beat-up used Toyota pull up outside the apartment building.
Streetlight illuminated everything. I saw Ella's face. Just as excitement surged through me, I noticed someone moving in the driver's seat.
My cigarette fell to the ground.
It was Joe. He was practically leaning over Ella, helping her unbuckle her seatbelt. Their bodies pressed together in that cramped space. Skin to skin. Ella didn't resist at all, as if she was used to it.
Then the man turned his head and kissed her lips. His hand cradled the back of her head, fingers threading into her blonde hair. From my angle, they looked completely intertwined. Ella accepted it docilely, even tilted her head slightly to respond.
In that moment, my world completely collapsed. Jealousy roared like a caged beast in my chest, tearing me apart. My hands clenched into fists, nails digging into my palms, but I felt no pain.
I leaned against the wall, closed my eyes, and took deep breaths. I told myself to stay calm, but reason was useless now. Only one thought filled my head—I wanted to kill that man.
Just as I was about to rush downstairs, they finally separated.
Ella got out of the car and walked toward the apartment building.
In that instant, my emotions were impossibly complicated.
At least they weren't living together yet—that thought flashed through my mind.
How pathetic. I was so desperate, clinging to even a one-in-ten-thousand chance that I could still salvage things with Ella.
I was afraid of making her angry.
The pain of losing her was drowning me like a whirlpool. To keep from falling apart, I could only chain-smoke, trying to pull the rage out of my body through massive doses of nicotine.
The elevator opened. Ella stepped out. The look in her eyes when she saw me cut straight through my heart.
We stood facing each other in the hallway. Total silence around us.
Finally, before I suffocated, I took a deep breath and spoke first.