Elena didn't know how long she had been sitting there. In a daze, she finally lifted her gaze—and across the street, she saw a Bentley Mulsanne parked under the rain.
And beside it… Lucian.
Beneath the dim glow of the streetlight, amidst the pouring curtain of rain, he stood tall in a tailored suit, a black umbrella tilted over his shoulder. He didn't move, only stood there quietly, a cigarette flickering between his fingers, glowing and fading in the mist.
"Lucian!"
Elena bolted, instinctively running across the street toward him.
But the next second, headlights cut through the rain. A car screeched past, blocking her way.
Vivian had rushed over the moment she got the call. She jumped out of her car, and when she saw Elena—so disheveled, so broken—her heart twisted painfully. She ran forward and pulled Elena into her arms, bursting into tears.
"Elena, I'm here. I've come to take you home…"
Elena blinked awake from her trance. She turned her head again, but across the road—there was no Lucian.
It had been nothing but an illusion.
"Vivian…" Her eyes burned, brimming with tears. And then, with the gentlest slip, they spilled down her cheeks. "I'm so tired. Please, just let me hold you for a while…"
She hadn't cried when she caught Felix and Sophia in bed together.
She hadn't cried when she was falsely accused.
Not even when Derek had slapped her—twice.
But the moment Lucian appeared—just a phantom conjured by her own broken heart—her tears wouldn't stop.
"Elena," Vivian whispered, "don't go back to that house anymore. Stay here with me."
She brought Elena home, helped her shower, dressed her in clean clothes, and gently pressed a bandage to the cut on her forehead.
"Look at your family," Vivian muttered darkly. "That scumbag father, that stepmother, that fake little white-lotus sister—and a pack of wolves circling the wealth. Why go back at all?"
"Especially that sister of yours. Just looking at her makes me sick. One of these days, I'll have Selene put her in her place—only then will I feel better!"
She kept railing against the injustice, until finally remembering what really mattered. Her voice softened.
"Oh, right. Elena… did you see Lucian? Did he agree to donate his bone marrow to Sean?"
Elena's lashes trembled as she lifted her weary eyes. Her lips trembled, and her whole face seemed to collapse into despair.
"Vivian… Lucian is still Lucian…"
She choked back a sob. "He refused me."
Vivian froze, then fell silent. Only after a long pause did she dare to ask softly, "Elena… what happened back then? Why did things between you and Lucian turn so sour, so suddenly?"
"I… I don't know." Elena's voice cracked. "Ever since he got together with Lydia, he stopped caring about me altogether."
That night, she didn't sleep.
By morning, the doctor called. Sean had another fever.
Elena stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was swollen, her forehead scraped, her arms and knees covered with bruises. No amount of concealer could hide it.
If Sean saw her like this, he'd panic. His condition would only worsen.
She didn't dare go to the hospital. All she could hear was the doctor's heavy words—
"Miss Sung, please prepare yourself."
Prepare? For what?
No. Sean wouldn't die.
Not while she was alive.
She would drag him back from the edge of death, no matter what it took.
Her hand trembled as she scrolled through her contacts and dialed a number she hadn't touched in years.
"Elena?" A tentative male voice answered.
Even after so long, Ethan still recognized her voice. Elena pressed her lips together. "It's me."
A warm laugh sounded over the line. "Well, this is rare. I thought you'd sworn never to call me again. Honestly, I thought you might erase me from your life forever."
And once, she had thought the same.
When Lucian had left Jinjiang with Lydia, Elena, shattered and desperate, had changed her number. She had sworn she would never reach out to Lucian—or anyone close to him—ever again.
But fate was cruel. Circumstances had twisted until Lucian despised her with all his heart.
She knew he wouldn't take her calls. He wouldn't give her another chance to see him. Which left her with only one option—Ethan.
He was close to Lucian. He was the only one who could help.
There was no other way. For Sean's sake, she had to see Lucian.
Her voice tightened with urgency. "Ethan… I need your help."
"Anything. Tell me what it is—I'll help however I can."
"I need to see Lucian. Today. I must see him today."
A pause. Then Ethan sighed quietly. "All right. I'll think of something."
Elena lowered her gaze. "Thank you…"
Not long after they hung up, Ethan's secretary arrived with a key.
Moments later, her phone buzzed with Ethan's text. An address. A luxury apartment. And a final line:
Elena, the rest is up to you. I can only do this much.
That was enough. More than enough.
If Ethan gave her that key, it meant Lucian truly lived there.
Elena stayed at Vivian's for the day. Only by dusk did she finally remove the bandage, carefully wash herself again, and apply her makeup with precision. Then she left.
At the hospital, she paused at the doorway, watching the boy sleeping inside.
Sean's face was pale, his body so frail it seemed a touch might break him. Tubes and wires surrounded him, machines keeping fragile life tethered.
Even in sleep, he frowned, lashes trembling against his cheeks. His lips moved faintly, whispering one word—
"...Sister…"
That single word pierced her heart like a blade. Her tears welled, unstoppable.
"Sean, don't worry. I'll save you. I swear I will."
Clutching the cold metal key in her pocket, Elena turned and walked away.
She didn't know what expression she wore when she unlocked Lucian's apartment door. By the time she came to her senses, her dress was already slipping off her shoulders. She pulled on one of Lucian's white shirts instead.
Sean can't die.
That thought burned in her mind, relentless. It drove her to abandon shame, to sit on Lucian's bed, waiting for him to return.
The minutes crawled by. Her mind went blank. Her heart was numb.
Then—
A faint sound echoed from the living room.
Elena's eyes snapped open. Panic surged through her.
He was back.
Footsteps approached, steady, coming closer and closer to the bedroom.
Her hands clutched the hem of his shirt, damp with sweat. Strands of hair clung to her forehead. Her heart pounded wildly—thud, thud, thud—so loud it felt like it might burst out of her chest.