The fluorescent lights of the doctor's office felt like cold needles against Ken's skin. Dr. Finn took a deep, weary breath, the kind that precedes a death sentence.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Ken," the doctor said, his voice heavy with professional regret. "But she isn't responding as planned. The aggressive nature of the cell division is outstripping the efficacy of the experimental cycle. It is sad to say, but... she has less than six months to live."
The news hit Ken like a meteor strike. A chilling numbness swept through his spine, paralyzing his lungs. He had clutched at the fragments of hope despite his mother's gaunt physical appearance, but now the truth had dawned on him with a final, brutal clarity. The inevitable had arrived.
He walked back toward his mother's room like a rat drenched in a freezing rain—slow, exhausted, and shivering from the inside out. He had truly thought he had finally earned a chance to breathe. He had escaped the suffocating luxury of Lucien's penthouse and the emotional manipulation of the Newman family, only to find that reality had crafted a newer, sharper cage.
Ken reached the door and stopped. He stood there for a long minute, rubbing his face and forcing his breathing to level out. He didn't want her to see the wreckage of his expression; he didn't want her last months to be spent worrying about his fragility. He took a deep, trembling breath, composed his features into a practiced smile, and pushed the door open.
"So, Mom, I was thinking..." he started, intending to steer the conversation back to their earlier lighthearted talk, hoping to avoid any questions about the consultation.
"I'm sorry, Ken."
Her voice was thin, cold, and laced with the salt of tears she had already shed. In that moment, he realized she didn't need to ask. She already knew. The mother's intuition he had always admired had turned into a cruel weapon.
He sat beside her on the narrow hospital bed, and the dam finally broke. For months, he hadn't been allowed a single moment of peace. It had been one drama after another, one betrayal followed by another, and now the only family he had left was being stolen from him. He collapsed into her arms, sobbing with a raw, guttural intensity that shook his entire frame. She held him close, her thin arms surprisingly strong as she let him weep. She knew how it felt; she knew the unfairness of the world, and she knew that sometimes, there are no words to fix a broken life.
Ken eventually cried himself into a state of total exhaustion. He fell asleep in his mother's arms, waking up late in the night to the sound of his own growling stomach. The only meal he'd had all day was the breakfast Lucien had served him that morning.
He sat up, noticing his mother was fast asleep, her breathing shallow but steady. He moved toward the door to find a vending machine, but his eyes caught a black bowl sitting on the small side table. He walked toward it, puzzled.
It was a perfectly packed bowl of Ramen noodles, the steam still curling from the lid, and beside it sat a bottle of fresh apple juice—exactly the brand and temperature Lucien had given him previously. It was fresh and hot, smelling of rich broth and spices. He noticed a small, elegant tag attached to the side. When he pulled it, he saw his own name written in a precise, flowing script.
The aesthetics, the timing, and the sheer perfection of the meal suggested only one person.
He came here? Ken thought, his eyes darting toward the closed door.
He stared at the food for a long time. He was too tired to go out into the dark streets to find a convenience store, and yet he was still wary of whatever "deal" Lucien was trying to seal with these favors. But exhaustion and hunger were powerful motivators. He sat on the floor, leaning against the hospital wall, and opened the meal.
The flavor was a masterpiece—a level of culinary perfection that only Lucien seemed capable of attaining. He finished every drop, feeling the warmth spread through his shivering body. If only the world would give me a moment to breathe, he thought, just a moment to exist without being watched.
After the meal, Ken curled into a ball in the corner of the room. He stared at the heart monitor's rhythmic green pulse, watching the woman who was his entire world. His life was changing, drifting toward a dark horizon, and he realized with a terrifying certainty that there was nothing he could do to stop it. He fell asleep clutching his knees.
Ken was jolted awake the next morning by the abrupt thud of a door closing. He sat up, heart racing, but the only person in the room was his mother, who was still in a deep sleep.
He stood up, scanning the area. To his surprise, the windowsill had been transformed again. A fresh set of vibrant daffodils sat in a clean vase, flanked by a bowl of polished apples. Beside them was a large, insulated bowl—his breakfast.
He was just here! Ken scrambled to his feet and ran out of the room. He ignored the confused looks of the nurses as he bolted down the hallway and toward the hospital parking lot. He reached the entrance just in time to see a sleek, black SUV pulling away, its tinted windows reflecting the morning sun as it vanished into the city traffic.
He stood there, breathless, watching the car disappear. His mother's words from the day before echoed in his mind: "I know what desire looks like, Ken... my best guess is he wants you." He stood in the cool morning air and whispered to himself, "Maybe... just maybe... I'm not alone after all."
The days of the week blurred together. Ken spent every waking moment at the hospital. He brought his own books to study, he brought fruit, and he slept on the uncomfortable chair. But every morning, before he even opened his eyes, the daffodils were replaced, and a fresh, hot meal was waiting. Not once did he see Lucien eye-to-eye, yet Lucien's presence was a constant, haunting shadow that kept the world at bay.
Sunday morning brought a different energy to the Newman apartment. Mikael woke up early, the weight of the past week finally feeling manageable. He put on his headset, adjusted his grey sweatpants, and headed out for a jog. Emily hadn't spoken to him since the night of the breakup, and he had decided to give her the space she needed. He knew he had been wrong—he had been a terrible person—but he was determined to be honest now. No more using people. No more masks.
As he jogged through the local park, his phone buzzed. A message from Emily.
Emily: Can we talk?
Mikael stopped in his tracks, his chest heaving. He typed back instantly.
Mikael: Yeah, sure. Where are you?
Emily: At the park.
He looked up, scanning the familiar green landscape. He soon spotted her seated under a large oak tree, wearing a soft green sweater and tight jeans. He walked toward her, his pace slowing as he approached. He sat on the bench beside her, and for a few minutes, they sat in a heavy, awkward silence.
"Mikael," Emily said, breaking the quiet. "I went to see Ken."
Mikael froze. His voice was unsteady as he asked, "How... how is he?"
"He said he'll be fine," Emily replied softly, her eyes on the horizon. "He understands why you broke up with him."
"Does he?" Mikael's voice dropped an octave, laced with shame. "I still can't face him. I know I was wrong. I hope one day he finds it in his heart to forgive me... but until I have the courage to look him in the eye, all I can do is hope."
"Well," Emily asked, turning to him. "What do we do from here?"
Mikael looked into her eyes. The girl he had lost, the girl he had hunted for through every person he'd dated since. "Maybe a retry?"
A small, genuine smile appeared on Emily's face. "Maybe."
Their hands moved simultaneously on the wooden bench, Mikael's palm covering hers. They sat there in the Sunday sun, a couple who had decided on a do-over, oblivious to the wreckage they had left behind.
Monday morning arrived, and Ken prepared for his return to campus. He had been on-and-off for a month, but today he felt a strange sense of resolve.
"No boy problems. No silly distractions," Ken told his reflection as he shouldered his bag. "Just me."
The walk to school felt strangely liberating. The sunlight was refreshing, and the breeze felt clear. For the first time in a long time, the heavy weight in his chest seemed to have shifted. He arrived at the college gates with a focused mind, his thoughts centered on the Art Club. He was going to reclaim the parts of himself he'd given away.
As he crossed the parking lot, his eyes inadvertently drifted toward a familiar car. He saw Mikael step out, looking like a ball of sunshine, his smile radiant. He walked around to the passenger side with a practiced, graceful charm and opened the door for Emily. They were giggling, lost in their own world. Mikael took her bags, and they headed toward the main hall, arms brushed against each other.
Ken's mood plummeted. It was easy to tell himself he had moved on, but seeing them together was a physical ache he couldn't ignore. He felt like a ghost watching a movie of his own life. He quickly shook the feeling off, forcing his feet to move toward his department.
Nearby, parked in the shadows of a large oak tree, sat the black SUV.
Lucien sat in the back, watching the scene through the tinted glass. He closed the leather-bound novel in his lap and set it aside. Sylvia, sitting in the driver's seat, caught his cold stare in the rearview mirror. She could feel the atmosphere in the car shift. It was heavy, dark, and predatory.
She had hoped the drama would end with the breakup, but she knew her Lord better than anyone. Lucien wasn't done.
"If I may, Lord Hades," Sylvia whispered, her voice respectful but cautious. "What is your next move?"
Lucien's gaze remained fixed on the retreating figures of Mikael and Emily as they entered the building. A faint, chilling grin touched his lips.
"It is time," Lucien muttered, his voice like grinding stone, "to remove the distractions."