In one of Southville's exclusive private lounges, music thundered through the walls. Laughter, drunken shouts, and flashes of bare thighs filled the smoky air.
In the corner of a leather sofa, a man who had been resting suddenly opened his eyes. With a frown of disgust, Lucian shoved away the woman draped over him and rose to his feet in one swift motion.
"Hey—Lucian! Where are you going?" Ethan shouted, catching sight of him heading for the door.
But the pounding bass swallowed his voice whole. Lucian didn't so much as glance back. He pushed the door open and was gone.
Ethan blinked, stunned, then jabbed Adrian in the ribs. "What's up with him?"
Adrian lifted his brows lazily. "What's what?"
Ethan scoffed. "He's the one who called us out here. And what does he do? Doesn't drink, doesn't touch the girls, just lies there half-asleep—and now he leaves without a word? If that's not weird, I don't know what is."
He clicked his tongue. "Lucian's been acting strange lately. I swear, it's got to do with Elena. I just don't get it. He used to be good to her, didn't he? So why the sudden 180? What the hell did she do to make him hate her this much? To crush her like this?"
"He's forced her to her knees, driven her to the edge of buildings, and in the end, she stabbed herself in the chest! What kind of hatred does that take?"
Adrian drawled, unbothered, "I don't know about hatred. What I do know is this—when Elena got down on her knees that night, he drank until morning. When she jumped, he followed her off the ledge. And when she put a knife to her heart, he grabbed the blade with his bare hands—and nearly bled out."
Ethan gaped. Adrian smirked. "So tell me—why would he do all that?"
"Holy shit!" Ethan swore. "Lucian's lost his damn mind. He has to be insane!"
Adrian sighed, long-suffering. "He's been insane for years. And you're only figuring it out now? Remarkable."
"…Uh. Was that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?"
Adrian's lips curved. "Take a guess."
Ethan groaned. "Fine. You win."
Elena stayed in the hospital for more than a week without catching so much as a glimpse of Lucian. Only Lucas, his assistant, came by.
The first time was to inform her of Sean's surgery schedule. He added a warning: "Mr. Sterling says you are not to leave the ward without his permission. If you do—the consequences are yours to bear."
The second time was the morning of Sean's surgery. Elena had been frantic, but Lucas handed her a change of clothes and led her to wait outside the operating room.
Four hours dragged by with no news. Elena pressed her forehead again and again to the cold wall outside the surgical doors. Each dull thud was a desperate attempt to calm her fear.
Bone marrow transplants had high success rates, yes—but never a hundred percent. And she was terrified. Terrified that her brother would never come out alive. Sweat drenched her back despite the hospital's cold air-conditioning.
Please, God. Just once. Let Sean live. He's so good, so obedient, so kind. You won't take him, will you? You can't.
She prayed again and again, lips moving silently. And as if Heaven heard, the surgical doors finally opened half an hour later.
Sean was wheeled out, unconscious, tubes and wires everywhere, an oxygen mask over his face.
"The operation was a success, Miss Sung. You can rest easy now."
The words shattered the dam inside her. Elena clutched her mouth with both hands and sobbed. Uncle, I promised I'd protect Sean. I did it. I really did it.
She cried like a child, gasping until her lips turned blue.
In a quiet corner, Lucas dialed his employer. "Mr. Sterling, you can relax. Dr. Daryl said the surgery was a complete success."
The line was silent. Only faint breathing assured him Lucian was still there. Concern edged his voice.
"Sir, you donated marrow this morning. The doctor insisted you stay for observation. Why did you leave? If anything happens to you—"
"No matter," Lucian's low, raspy voice cut him off.
The line went dead.
"Mr. Sterling? Hello?" Lucas stared at the phone, caught between worry and helplessness.
Outside, a black Audi sat idling by the curb.
Behind the wheel, Lucian rested one hand on the steering wheel, the other flicking ash from a cigarette out the window. His posture was leisurely, almost careless—until one looked closer. His skin was ghostly pale, his lips tinged gray, like a patient hovering on the edge of death.
But he smoked anyway, eyes locked on the hospital's surgical wing.
The phone on his dashboard buzzed. He glanced at the screen—an unknown number. He didn't answer.
Moments later, a message arrived.
I know you blocked me. I used Sean's phone to call, but you wouldn't pick up. So this is the only way I can reach you.
Lucian, where are you? I want to see you.
Thirteen words. Simple. Plain.
But he stared at them for a long, long time.
At last, something bitter flickered across his eyes. With a sharp motion, he slammed the phone face-down on the dashboard and pressed the accelerator.
The car shot away, leaving the phone to buzz again and again with unanswered messages.
That night, Sean woke briefly. Through the glass of the sterile room, Elena watched him convulse with nausea, vomiting painfully. Her heart twisted.
A doctor touched her shoulder gently. "Don't worry. It's a normal reaction. He'll suffer for a while, but he'll recover."
By 2 a.m., Sean had stabilized and fallen asleep, IV line running steadily into his arm. Nurses kept watch inside. No one else was allowed in.
Elena stood vigil from outside nearly an hour before exhaustion forced her to step away.
On a bench in the corridor, she pulled out Sean's phone. The last message in his outbox was one she had sent that afternoon.
Thank you.
Lucian had never replied. Not once.
Not a single word.
For a week after the surgery, Elena stayed in the hospital without leaving Sean's side.
He suffered severe rejection reactions, almost every day burning with fever and vomiting.
Through the thick glass of the sterile ward, Elena watched the young boy writhe in pain. Her heart ached so much that she wished she could take his place—fall ill for him, suffer for him.
Fortunately, as the days passed, Sean finally began to show signs of improvement.
That day, his condition stabilized again.
Exhausted, he eventually drifted into a deep sleep. Elena remained outside the ward, unwilling to leave.
She didn't know how much time had passed when a familiar voice called out beside her.
"Elena!"
Turning her head, she saw him. "Ryan?"
Dressed casually, Ryan's handsome features carried an easy confidence. Elena blinked in surprise. "Ryan, what brings you here? Is something wrong?"
Ryan was her agent, so her first instinct was to think it must be about work.
"Can't I come to see Sean?" he teased.
"That's not what I meant… It's just, you're always busy."
"Today I happened to be free." He smiled faintly. "I just spoke to the attending doctor. Dr. Zhao said Sean's recovery is considered excellent in terms of bone marrow transplants. You don't need to worry too much."
The mere mention of Sean made Elena's eyes sting with tears. "I know…"
"Come outside and sit with me, will you?"
She glanced at Sean sleeping soundly in the sterile ward, then nodded. "Alright."
To her surprise, Ryan only led her as far as the hospital garden, settling onto a bench.
"Knowing how worried you are about your brother, I didn't want to take you too far," he explained.
Patting the space beside him, he added, "Don't just stand there, sit."
Elena sat down.
The garden was dotted with patients in hospital gowns walking slowly, accompanied by family members offering comfort. The sight made Elena's chest tighten. She thought of Sean and felt her heart twist in pain.
"When will you return to the company?" Ryan asked suddenly, his tone direct now.
"I…"
"Elena, you should know your situation better than anyone." He cut her off before she could finish. "The Song family is useless. After Sean's surgery, his medical bills will only grow. Do you really think you can handle them if you're not working? Even the medication for post-op rejection—you won't be able to afford it."
His words hit her where it hurt most.
Sean's surgery fees had already been covered by Selene and Vivian. They had told her not to worry about repayment, but Elena could not accept their help without guilt—especially since Vivian had practically emptied her savings for it.
Elena remembered every debt, every favor, clearly in her heart.
Now, with their funds nearly gone, she knew the upcoming costs would be unbearable.
Pressing her lips together, she spoke with determination. "Ryan, give me a little more time. Once Sean is stable enough to be moved to a regular ward, I'll return to work immediately."
She needed money—desperately.
But Lucian's five million? She refused to touch it. That was her last boundary, one she would stubbornly protect unless absolutely forced to break it.
Ryan, unusually gentle, reached out to ruffle her hair. "Fine. I'll be waiting at the company. Meanwhile, I'll check if there are any suitable scripts for you…"
"Mr. Sterling…"
Not far away, Lucas stood stiffly beside Lucian, chilled to the bone by the freezing aura radiating from his boss. The way Lucian stared at Elena's agent was terrifying—like he could slice him apart on the spot.
Because Ryan's hand had touched Elena's hair.
Lucas swallowed nervously and whispered, "Mr. Sterling, I've completed Miss Sung's discharge papers. You asked me to handle them so you could bring her back to the South Bay villa…"
Before Lucas could finish, Lucian had already turned on his heel, face dark as a storm, striding away.
Hey, wait—what about Elena? Should he bring her or not?
Lucas looked between his furious boss's retreating back and Elena sitting close to her agent, clutching his head in silent despair.
Heaven help him—who had he offended to end up in the middle of this?
…
That evening, Elena received Ryan's call.
"There's a lingerie show at Jinjiang International tomorrow night. The organizers need a last-minute replacement. Want to take it?"
"It runs from seven to ten, just three hours. You'll still have plenty of time for your brother."
Jinjiang International—one of the country's top luxury malls. Modeling there meant serious pay. Elena's heart wavered instantly.
But lingerie? With so many eyes watching… she hesitated. "Ryan, let me think it over tonight, alright?"
"I don't have time for that," Ryan said bluntly. "Decide now. Ten thousand yuan for three hours. If you don't want it, I'll hand it to a rookie."
At the mention of ten thousand, Elena's hesitation vanished. "I'll do it!"
She needed money. She had no choice.
"Good. I'll sign the contract for you. Just show up tomorrow."
"Thank you, Ryan."
Most of the time, Sean slept under IV drips, barely conscious. Time passed quickly.
The next afternoon at five, Elena took a cab to Jinjiang International. Expecting rush-hour traffic, she left more than an hour early, but the congestion was worse than she imagined. She nearly arrived late.
"You're finally here!" Ryan greeted her the moment she stepped inside the mall.
Elena blinked at his appearance. "Ryan, why are you so bundled up in this heat?"
He wore a mask, sunglasses, and a cap—looking like a pop idol sneaking through the streets.
"Don't even ask," Ryan muttered darkly. "I got ambushed in my garage last night—clubbed on the head, beaten up. Bastards nearly broke my right hand. If I ever find out who it was, I'll skin them alive."
Elena gasped. "Did you call the police? Check the cameras?"
"Pointless," Ryan spat. "The surveillance system's been down for days, and the property managers never fixed it. Idiots."
He shook it off. "Forget it. Work comes first."
Dragging her along, he handed her to the show's manager. "Take good care of her," he instructed, before hurrying off.