Lucian sat at the breakfast table, staring at the food in front of him. His stomach churned, the residue of last night's sickness still clinging to him. He lifted his coffee cup, but his hand trembled faintly before he steadied it.
Across from him, Clara was already dressed for work, her blazer neat, her posture sharp. Her eyes lingered on him briefly before she returned to her plate.
"You reek less of whiskey this morning," she said coolly. "Should we count that as progress?"
Lucian's jaw tightened. "…I wasn't drinking."
Clara let out a dry laugh. "That's rich. The night before yesterday, you were stumbling through the halls like a man twice your age. Mother was worried sick, but of course, you wouldn't notice. You never do."
"I said I wasn't drinking," Lucian repeated, his voice firmer, though it wavered with something close to desperation.
Clara's gaze was cold, unwavering. "And I'm supposed to believe you? After years of excuses, after you spat on everything this family gave you—our name, our trust—you expect me to take your word?"
He swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "…I'm not who I was."
For a moment, surprise flickered across her face. But then it hardened. "Then prove it. At the company. At home. Everywhere. Because talk is all you've ever been good at, Lucian."
She stood smoothly, picked up her bag, and headed for the door. "Try not to embarrass us further today." With that, she left.
Edward set aside his newspaper, adjusted his cufflinks, and rose as well. He paused only once, looking at Lucian.
"I can't keep holding the board anymore, Lucian. Think carefully."
Then he left without waiting for an answer.
His mother gave him one long, unreadable glance before following after them, silent as she disappeared down the hall.
The house fell quiet again, the same cold silence that pressed against him last night.
Lucian sat there for a long moment, staring at his untouched plate, before pushing back his chair. His body felt heavier than it should, his chest tight, the sour taste from last night lingering.
By midmorning, he found himself walking into the hospital, unable to ignore what his body was telling him anymore.