Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ella
The door clicked shut behind me. I'd locked Lucas out.
I collapsed into the chair, eyes squeezed shut, trying to steady my breathing. I couldn't. My whole body was shaking.
Since Rochester, Lucas had stopped ignoring my calls.
But I never expected him to slip back into old habits.
In the past, whenever I needed him, all I got was a busy signal.
After I'd asked for a divorce, Lucas had changed so much.
I thought those days were behind us. But now I knew better.
What happened never really disappears. It just burrows inside you.
And when things go wrong again, those memories crawl out like demons from hell and strangle your sanity.
I turned toward the dim hospital bed. Maya's brow was creased tight—her sleep restless. She was stable, but her body was still suffering. She'd only managed to drift off after medication loaded with sedatives. And I'd just screamed at that man right beside my sister's bed.
I wanted to slap myself.
A faint click. Almost imperceptible. Lucas pushed the door open again.
"Ella, I need to show you something."
I didn't look at him. Wouldn't give him even a glance. If the hospital door had a lock, I would've bolted it.
A rush of air. Lucas crossed to the desk, flipped open his briefcase, and pulled out three phones like a magician producing cards.
I'll admit—that caught me off guard. I couldn't help but look.
"I carry three phones." He lined them up like a general inspecting troops.
"This one's corporate. Monitored 24/7 by assistants, secretaries, and the whole PR team. Company business. Board directives."
"This one's encrypted. For resources that can't be… public. Security details in certain areas, that kind of thing."
"And this one…" He picked up the black personal phone. The screen lit up—packed with my missed calls. Every red notification burned my cheeks.
"This one's the real private line. Family. Friends. And… you."
I stared at him. A bitter laugh scraped my throat.
Something dark flickered across Lucas's face. "I'll admit—before, I poured everything into that corporate phone and the encrypted one. In my world, every second meant millions moving. This personal phone? I assumed nothing urgent would ever come through."
His voice dropped lower, guilt bleeding into every word.
But all I felt was the absurdity of it. That classic elite arrogance sparked my hatred all over again.
He'd reduced my life to a security clearance and a credit card balance.
Quantified my existence as a material supply, never once asking what I actually needed.
"I was wrong."
When Lucas said those words, I thought I'd misheard. But when his head dropped, shoulders sagging like his spine had given out, I actually felt his pain.
Like the same shell suddenly housed a different soul.
The silence pressed down. I could hear Maya's shallow breathing. Footsteps passing in the hall.
Then Lucas did something that shocked me.
He pried open all three phones. Efficient as disassembling a weapon. One by one, he pulled out the SIM cards—those tiny chips pinched between his fingers—and snapped them in half.
The crack echoed sharply in the quiet room.
"From now on, one phone," he said. "Your calls come first. I don't care what meeting I'm in, what deal I'm closing. You call, I answer."
I stared at the broken SIM cards scattered on the floor. Lost.
"Why?" My voice shook. "Why not before?"
Lucas was silent for a long time. His throat worked.
"I need to admit something humiliating." He closed the distance, bent down, hands gripping the armrests, caging me between his broad chest and the chair.
"Ella, at first, I kept you at arm's length on purpose. That whole detached arrangement—I thought it proved I'd escaped my grandfather's control. I ignored that phone deliberately. Buried myself in work to remind myself I was in charge. Of the household. Of my marriage."
He let out a self-mocking laugh, then grabbed my hand, forcing me to meet his eyes. I saw pain there. Real pain. Like if I didn't absorb his emotion, he'd shatter.
"Then it became a habit. I stopped answering your calls. Put work first. Decided your problems weren't important. I knew it was wrong, but I never changed. Until now."
"Until now?"
"Yes." He looked at me. I saw my reflection in his eyes, wavering through a sheen of moisture. "I've finally realized my mistake. Ella, I need you to give me one more chance. What we have is too fragile. It can't take another hit."
Something churned in my chest. Anger. Grief. Something I couldn't name.
"Lucas, you think some late apology fixes what you did to me?" My voice broke apart. "I can't even hear a phone ring anymore! When no one picks up, I can't breathe! I shake uncontrollably, like the whole world's collapsing! I know I sound crazy, but I can't stop it!"
"Ella." Lucas tried to hold me. His arms came around, trying to pull me in.
I shoved him away hard.
"You left me with serious psychological trauma!"
He stumbled back, face full of shock and hurt. His mouth opened—
The door burst open.
Hawkins walked in, white coat, clipboard in hand. He'd clearly heard our commotion. His brow knotted into a hard line.
"Could you two keep it down?" His tone was severe. "This is ICU. You're disturbing patients."
Lucas and I froze.
Hawkins's gaze landed on me, then dropped to my stomach. His expression shifted from anger to concern.
"Especially you, Mrs. Rockefeller." He stepped closer. "You're five months pregnant. At this stage, the fetus's auditory and nervous systems are developing. If you keep getting this agitated, I'm admitting you to maternity for bed rest observation."
The room plunged into a deathly silence.
Worse than the shouting.
I stood paralyzed, mind blank. The secret I'd fought so hard to hide had just been ripped open—worst possible moment, worst possible place.
I couldn't look at Lucas, but I felt the air pressure drop to freezing.
"What did you say?"
Lucas's voice was terrifyingly low, threaded with a tremor that raised goosebumps. He stood like a stone statue, eyes locked on my stomach.
Hawkins didn't pick up on the shift. He scribbled notes, muttering, "I said control her emotions. Five months—this isn't a joke. Are all expectant fathers this irresponsible these days? Pick your fights better."
He shook his head and left, closing the door behind him.
Just the two of us again. Lucas moved toward me slowly. Each step light, but landing on my raw nerves. He stopped in front of me, hand trembling as it reached for my stomach, then froze mid-air—like he might break a fragile dream.
"Five months?" He lifted his head slowly, eyes bloodshot and terrifying, voice shaking beyond recognition. "Ella, is that my child? Our child?"
I shut my eyes in despair. Two streams of tears slid down my cheeks. The secret was out. In that moment, all my defenses, all my plans, all my escape routes—turned to dust.
I couldn't meet Lucas's gaze. My heart was being torn apart.