The meeting ended in his favor again. Another negotiation sealed, another ripple of surprise through the boardroom. By the time Lucian returned to his office, the whispers of doubt had dimmed, though not vanished. His secretary placed a fresh cup of coffee on his desk without hesitation this time, offering a small, professional nod before retreating.
For the first time in months, the office felt less like a cage. But when the last of the staff left, silence wrapped around him, heavy and close.
Lucian pushed back his chair and rose, intending to wash his face, but the moment he stepped into the bathroom, the pain struck. A sharp, twisting ache beneath his ribs, radiating through his side. His breath hitched, one hand braced against the sink.
Cold sweat beaded across his forehead. He gripped the porcelain, forcing himself not to fold. The doctor's words returned unbidden — warnings about his liver, about how much damage of excess liquor had done.
For one terrible moment, the old instinct clawed at him. A drink. Just one would steady his hands, dull the pain.
But there was no bottle here. Only his reflection in the mirror — pale, strained, and furious at its own weakness.
Lucian turned the faucet on, splashing cold water over his face until the worst of it ebbed. He stood there, breathing hard, until the tremor in his hands finally stilled.
When he stepped out into the night, the city greeted him with its restless glow. Cars streamed down the avenues, restaurants spilled laughter onto the sidewalks, couples huddled close beneath shared umbrellas as the drizzle began.
Lucian walked without direction, the ache in his body muted but not gone, replaced by something deeper — the hollowness of being utterly alone.
He had family, yes. A company. Responsibilities. But no one waiting for him. No one to share the silence with when the doors closed behind him.
Still, when he returned to the mansion, he bypassed the liquor cabinet without a glance. Instead, he poured a glass of water, set it beside his notebook, and began to sketch out tomorrow's schedule in steady, deliberate strokes.
It wasn't much. But for a man who once drowned himself nightly, it was a small act of rebellion against his own ruin.
Later, standing by the window, he looked out at the scattered lights of the city. For the first time, Seraphina's name drifted through his mind like a distant echo, carrying no fire, only the weight of something that belonged to another life.
"If I can survive my own shadow," he murmured to the glass, "maybe I can learn how to live."
The city gave no answer. But for the first time, the silence didn't feel quite as suffocating.