Lucio's POV:

The memory of her wrist—small, fragile, and bruised under my grasp—would not leave me. It looped in my head like a torturous film, each frame sharper than the last. Jordan hadn't spoken a word to me all day, and his disgust was palpable every time I caught his gaze. Michen wasn't much better; his usual brash humor was replaced with a cold anger that burned every time he looked my way.

I deserved it.

No amount of whiskey could dull the memory. The feel of her delicate bones under my hand, the tremble in her voice when she challenged me even as tears glistened in her eyes—it haunted me. It had been a moment of drunken rage. She had defied me in front of everyone, and in my warped, intoxicated mind, I needed to assert control. But instead of control, I'd unleashed something dark and destructive.m

The argument began like a low rumble, a discontent bubbling just beneath the surface of a quiet dinner. The scent of roasted chicken and garlic filled the dining room, mingling with the sharp aroma of freshly baked bread and herbs. The large table was laden with dishes, but one glaring absence overshadowed the meal: Kate.

Her seat, unassuming but central in its emptiness, drew everyone's attention. Plates clinked as forks scraped against porcelain, but the usual camaraderie had a tense edge.

"Where's Kate?" Steven broke the silence, his voice unusually solemn as he glanced at the empty seat. He always had a soft spot for her, the only one who didn't treat her as if she were invisible.

Michen, seated across from me, leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable but his eyes heavy with accusation. "She probably doesn't feel like joining us after what you did," he said, his voice sharp as the knife he twirled absently in his hand.

I tightened my grip on my glass, the amber whiskey inside swirling dangerously close to the rim. The tension in the room thickened, each word an invisible chain pulling me down. "What's that supposed to mean?" My tone was low but steady, carrying an unspoken warning.

"You know exactly what it means," Michen replied, his gaze unrelenting. "You hurt her."

"She deserved it," I muttered, though the words tasted bitter. "She's here because of her parents, not because I asked her to be."

"That doesn't give you the right to—" Michen's voice rose, but Steven interjected.

"Enough!" Steven said, his hand slapping the table. "She's not your pawn, Lucio. She's a person, and whatever you did, you need to fix it."

"I don't owe her anything," I snapped, though my words felt hollow. "She's not a guest; she's an asset."

"An asset?" Jordan, who had been silent, looked up from his plate, his eyes simmering with disgust. "Do you even hear yourself? You sound like a goddamn robot."

"She's not one of your men," Michen added, his tone icy. "She's a small girl who's been through enough without you adding to it."

The argument was cut short by the faint sound of footsteps. All heads turned toward the staircase, the muted thud of her movements punctuating the tense silence. Kate emerged, her petite frame framed by the dim light filtering through the tall windows. Her face was pale but determined, her gaze sweeping the room with an unspoken challenge.

She carried herself boldly, her chin tilted upward, but the shadows under her eyes betrayed her exhaustion. Her bandaged wrist was a glaring reminder of what had transpired, the makeshift wrap barely hiding the bruising beneath.

"Katie, will you be joining us?" Steven asked, his voice soft with an attempt at encouragement. He smiled, but the expression faltered when Kate didn't even glance his way, let alone respond. Instead, she strode past the table, her focus elsewhere.

Steven frowned, his smile vanishing as he turned his accusing glare toward me. "What exactly did you do to her?" His voice dropped to a whisper, though his anger was palpable. "She wasn't herself at all, even when she was cooking this food. Why do you have to make things unbearable, King?"

I didn't respond. What could I say? The guilt gnawed at me, but I wouldn't let it show. Admitting fault would be tantamount to weakness.

"Kate, wait up," Michen called, standing from his chair as he hurried after her. His heavy footsteps echoed against the polished floors.

Kate stopped abruptly, her body stiff as he moved to block her path. Her silence was unnerving, a stark contrast to her usual fiery responses. Michen gently placed a hand on her shoulder, his concern evident in the lines etched across his brow. "Hey, talk to me. What's going on?"

Kate didn't answer. She remained still, her expression distant as if she were lost in a world far removed from this one.

"Kate?" Michen's voice softened, a rare occurrence. He shook her lightly, trying to pull her from her daze, but the glass she held in her hand slipped and shattered against the floor.

"Shit! She's bleeding, Michen!" Steven exclaimed, his chair scraping loudly as he rushed to her side. Joseph followed closely, his usual aloof demeanor replaced with worry.

Kate knelt down, her hands trembling as she began picking up the shards of glass. A thin line of blood trailed down her finger, but she didn't seem to notice. "Don't worry, I'm fine," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She forced a weak smile, though it didn't reach her eyes.

"You're not fine," Steven said firmly, taking her hand to inspect the cut. "Let me help."

The night spiraled downward faster than I could control. Every sound seemed sharper, every movement exaggerated in the echoing silence of the house. The sharp shatter of glass had left everyone frozen, the tension snapping when Steven shouted, "Shit! She's bleeding, Michen!"

Steven bolted toward Kate as she crouched on the floor, her trembling hands clutching at the glass shards. Blood dotted the floor in small, bright-red smears, trailing from a thin line down her finger. Her expression was vacant, her movements slow and mechanical, as though she didn't feel the pain.

"Don't worry," she murmured, her voice distant and monotone. "I'm fine." A weak, unconvincing smile flickered across her face. It didn't reach her eyes, which seemed locked somewhere far away.

"You're not fine," Steven said firmly, crouching beside her. He reached for her hand to inspect the cut, but she gently pulled away, shaking her head.

"I've got it," she said, rising unsteadily to her feet. Her body swayed slightly, the blood still dripping from her hand, and she turned toward the kitchen with deliberate but shaky steps. The room was silent except for the soft sound of her retreating footsteps.

"Kate, wait up!" Michen called after her, quickly standing and hurrying to block her path. He reached out to touch her shoulder, his expression a mix of worry and frustration. She stopped but didn't look at him, her face still blank.

Michen shook her gently, his voice softening. "What's going on with you? Talk to me."

She didn't respond. Her hand dangled limply at her side, blood pooling at her fingertips. Suddenly, she swayed dangerously, and the glass she was holding slipped from her other hand. It hit the floor and shattered with a sharp crack.

"Shit," Michen muttered, immediately dropping to his knees to help her pick up the shards. "Kate, come on, let us help you."

She knelt down, her hands trembling, and began gathering the broken pieces. A small hiss escaped her lips as one shard cut into her palm. A bead of blood welled up and joined the thin trail already tracing her fingers.

"You're bleeding!" Steven said as he and Joseph rushed to her side. "Stop—let me handle it."

Kate tilted her head slightly, offering Steven a faint smile. "I said I'm fine," she repeated, her voice cracking slightly. She stood up, swaying again, and took a step toward the kitchen. Her steps were uneven, her body struggling to keep upright.

She looked like she might pass out at any moment.

Lucio Intervenes

I saw it before it happened. Her body tilted forward, her knees buckling as gravity won out. Instinct kicked in before I could think; I was at her side in a flash, catching her before she hit the floor.

"Shit! Call the doctor right away, Michen!" My voice came out sharper than I intended, panic lacing my tone.

Kate stirred in my arms, her face pale and damp with a cold sweat. She blinked up at me, her gaze cloudy and distant. When her eyes focused, they hardened almost immediately. She shifted against me, trying to pull away.

"Don't touch me," she hissed, her voice low but filled with venom. She didn't look at me, her focus fixed somewhere over my shoulder, but her words were aimed squarely at me.

"Kate, just let me—"

"No, Michen!" I cut him off sharply as he tried to step forward. "Stay out of this." My grip on her tightened slightly as I looked down at her. "Are you telling me I can't touch what's mine?" I demanded, my voice rising.

Finally, she looked at me, her eyes flashing with a fury that caught me off guard. "You must be out of your fucking mind," she spat. "I'm yours? Is that what you're telling yourself? How pathetic."

Her words hit like a punch to the gut, but I didn't let it show. My hands shook slightly as I adjusted my hold on her. "You're so full of defiance," I said through gritted teeth, the words sharp and clipped. "You were so worthless that your own parents sold you. I gave you food, a roof over your head, and this is how you repay me? With disrespect?"

"Lucio, enough!" Jordan's voice rang out across the room, his usual calm replaced by a rare intensity. "Look at her! She's bleeding, for God's sake."

My eyes flicked down to her wrist, the bruising stark against her pale skin. Blood seeped from the cut on her hand, staining her shirt and my own hands. My grip slackened as a wave of realization washed over me.

Kate's laughter was soft but chilling, a hollow sound that sent a shiver down my spine. Tears shimmered in her eyes, but they didn't fall. "You're an arrogant, selfish man," she said, her voice steady despite her obvious pain. "No wonder you're alone. You keep hurting everyone around you."

My grip tightened reflexively, her words cutting deeper than I cared to admit. "Your life doesn't matter to you, does it?" I growled, the anger bubbling up again. "Maybe I should just—"

"Lucio!" Jordan interrupted, stepping forward with his hands raised. "Let her go! You're hurting her!"

The weight of their stares bore down on me, each gaze filled with something I couldn't quite name—disgust? Pity? Fear? I looked down at Kate, her face pale but defiant, her wrist swollen and bruised beneath my grip. My stomach churned.

"Fuck," I muttered, finally releasing her. She swayed on her feet, her body trembling from the effort of staying upright. Without thinking, I scooped her up and carried her toward the stairs, ignoring the protests from the others.

I placed her gently on the bed, my hands trembling as I stepped back. Her breathing was shallow, her body unnervingly still. The doctor arrived moments later, ushering me out of the room with a stern look.

As I waited in the hallway, Steven approached, his expression hard. "You've gone too far this time," he said, his voice low. "She didn't deserve this."

"I know," I said quietly, my hands clenched into fists at my sides.

"Then fix it," Steven snapped before turning on his heel and walking away.

The doctor emerged shortly after, his expression grave. "She'll be fine," he said, though his tone was clipped. "But her wrist is badly bruised, and she's lost a lot of blood. Be more careful next time, Mr. King."

I returned to her room after the doctor left. She was still unconscious, her wrist now wrapped in clean bandages. I sat on the edge of the bed, my gaze fixed on her pale face.

"What have I done?" I whispered, my voice barely audible. My hand brushed against hers, the bandages rough against my fingertips. "Why didn't you just listen to me?"

Her clothes were stained with blood, the sight making my stomach turn. I stood abruptly, pacing the room as guilt clawed at my chest. Could I even take care of her? Was I capable of being the person she needed?

I wasn't sure I wanted to know the answer.

The air was thick with tension as I sat on the edge of her bed, the soft rise and fall of her chest the only indication she was still alive. The doctor's words replayed in my head, sharp and accusing. "Her wrist is badly bruised, and she's lost a lot of blood. Be more careful next time, Mr. King."

Careful.

The word echoed in my mind, mocking me. How could someone like me—someone so consumed by anger and chaos—ever be careful? My fingers brushed against her bandaged wrist. The sight of her pale skin, marred by the marks of my own doing, twisted something deep inside me.

"What have I done?" I muttered, my voice hoarse. My hand trembled as I reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. Her skin was cool to the touch, a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from her cheeks when she was awake and defiant.

I stood abruptly, the sudden motion making the wooden floor creak beneath me. I couldn't stay in the room any longer, not with the overwhelming guilt pressing down on my chest. Her bloodstained clothes made my stomach churn. Could I really take care of her? Was I even capable of something so... delicate?

I left the room in search of something clean for her to wear. My first stop was her closet, only to find it pitifully empty. "Those idiots should've bought her clothes by now," I muttered under my breath, slamming the closet door shut. Frustration simmered beneath the surface, threatening to boil over.

I headed downstairs, the hallways eerily silent. The usual chatter and noise that filled the house had been replaced by a heavy, uncomfortable quiet. Everyone was avoiding me. Not that I blamed them.

I entered my own room, rummaging through my drawers. "Why is everything so damn big?" I growled, holding up a plain black t-shirt. It would drown her small frame, but it was all I had. I sighed, running a hand through my hair before heading back to her room.

"Did you kill her?" Michen's voice stopped me in my tracks as I walked past the sitting room. He was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, his expression a mixture of anger and disappointment.

"Why the hell would I kill her?" I snapped, glaring at him.

Before he could respond, Steven appeared behind him, followed closely by Joseph and Jordan. The twins exchanged glances, clearly uneasy, while Steven's jaw was tight with barely concealed anger.

"What's up?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady despite the tension building in the room.

Steven stepped forward, his hands clenched into fists. "I know you're the boss, and whatever you say goes. But this time, you crossed a line, Lucio."

My grip on the t-shirt tightened as he continued. "If you had put any more pressure on her wrist, she might've lost full function. Do you even realize how fragile she is? The doctor said it was close to severe damage."

Michen's eyes widened, his usual composure slipping. "You must be kidding me," he said, his voice a mix of disbelief and anger. "You don't realize how close you came to seriously hurting her."

"She asked me to kill her," I said, my voice flat. "So maybe I should've held on tighter."

Steven's face turned red with anger. "Do you even hear yourself right now? She doesn't deserve to be part of this life, Lucio. You're putting her in danger just by keeping her here."

"It's the truth, King," Jordan added, his tone calm but firm. "She doesn't belong here. Let her go before you do something you can't take back."

I stared at them, my chest tightening. The logical part of me knew they were right, but the thought of letting her go felt impossible. "Are you scared, Lucio?" Michen asked suddenly, stepping closer. "Are you scared she'll remind you of Carlene? That's why you're clinging to her, isn't it?"

Carlene. The name hit me like a freight train. My fists clenched at my sides as I turned to face him fully. "How is she related to anything that's going on here?" I growled, my voice low and dangerous.

Michen didn't back down. "She's everything to do with it. Don't tell me you've forgotten how much of a wreck you were after Carlene. You're scared Kate will make you feel something again."

The air in the room grew heavy, the silence broken only by the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. I grabbed Michen's shirt in one swift motion, pulling him close. "Don't push your luck," I hissed, my anger barely restrained.

Steven and Joseph stepped between us, forcing us apart. "Enough," Steven said sharply. "This isn't solving anything."

One by one, they left, their expressions a mix of disappointment and frustration. Only Joseph lingered, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Lucio," he said quietly, "I think you can change. But keeping her here isn't the way."

I didn't respond as he walked away, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I returned to her room, the t-shirt still clutched in my hand. She was stirring slightly, her eyelids fluttering as if she was on the verge of waking. I sat on the edge of the bed, the weight of everything pressing down on me.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, though I doubted she could hear me. My hand brushed against her bandaged wrist, the memory of her wincing in pain flashing through my mind. "I don't deserve your forgiveness."

I moved to undress her bloodstained clothes, trying to keep my hands steady. Her body was so small, so fragile. As I slipped the oversized t-shirt over her head, I couldn't help but notice the faint scars scattered across her skin. My jaw tightened. What had she been through before coming here?

I left her room to make soup, the act giving me something to focus on. When I returned, the room was dark, the only light coming from the soft glow of the bedside lamp. She was awake, her eyes dull but focused.

"I made you something," I said, setting the tray on the nightstand.

She looked at me warily, her voice hoarse when she finally spoke. "Why?"

"Because you need to eat," I said simply, sitting down beside her.

She hesitated before taking a small sip of the soup. The silence stretched between us, heavy but not uncomfortable. For the first time, I felt a flicker of hope—a fragile, dangerous thing.