Lucio's POV

The storm outside had eased into a gentle drizzle, the raindrops now a soft and steady rhythm against the windows. It was the kind of weather that could lull anyone into a false sense of calm, but inside me, a storm raged on. Kate's words from the night before still clung to me like smoke, suffocating and inescapable. "I want to be afraid too. I want my life to have meaning. Just hours ago, I was ready to let you end it."

Her voice had been steady when she said it, but her eyes betrayed her—haunted, defiant, and so full of pain it made my chest tighten. I wasn't sure what I had expected when I grabbed her wrist, but it wasn't for her to meet my rage head-on, to challenge me like she had nothing left to lose. Now, as I sat by her bedside, watching the rise and fall of her chest as she slept, the memory replayed itself in excruciating detail. I had gone too far. Again.

The room was dimly lit, the heavy curtains allowing only the faintest streaks of morning light to filter through. Her face, pale and framed by strands of dark hair, seemed impossibly peaceful compared to the chaos of the night before. Her wrist, still wrapped in fresh bandages from the doctor's visit, rested on the blanket. The sight of it made my stomach twist with something I wasn't used to feeling—guilt.

I leaned back in the chair, running a hand through my hair and sighing deeply. Was this who I had become? A man so consumed by control and anger that I couldn't see the harm I caused until it was too late? The question gnawed at me, but I didn't have an answer. I wasn't sure there was one.

Her breathing shifted, a soft murmur escaping her lips as she stirred. Instinctively, I leaned forward, my hand hovering just above hers. I hesitated, unsure if touching her would wake her or if I even had the right to. Instead, I settled for brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, my fingers barely grazing her skin.

"Let me hold you—this time, by my own free will," I whispered, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. She didn't stir, her body shifting closer to the warmth of the blanket, but I couldn't shake the weight of what I had just admitted. For once, I wanted to offer her something without anger, without control—just a moment of peace.

When I finally lay beside her, pulling her gently into my arms, she fit perfectly against me. Her warmth seeped into my chest, grounding me in a way that felt foreign and unsettling. For the first time in years, I slept without nightmares.

I woke to the faint sound of rain still tapping against the windows. The room was quieter now, the stillness broken only by the rhythmic hum of her breathing. Kate hadn't moved, her face still turned toward me as if seeking comfort in sleep. I slipped out of bed carefully, pulling on my jeans with quiet precision.

"I'll have someone bring you food," I whispered, though I doubted she could hear me. Before leaving, I adjusted the blanket over her, my hand lingering for a moment as I brushed my fingers against her cheek. Her skin was cool to the touch, and something about that small detail made my chest tighten again.

The hallway was dim, the air heavy with the remnants of the storm. I was halfway to my room when a sharp knock interrupted my thoughts. "Come in," I called, tugging a shirt over my head. The door creaked open to reveal Michen, his face drawn and his eyes shadowed with exhaustion.

"You didn't sleep, did you?" I asked, though it was more of an observation than a question. He looked like hell, and I wasn't exactly in a position to talk.

"Neither did you, from the looks of it," he shot back, his tone sharper than usual. He stepped inside, his gaze sweeping the room as though searching for answers. "Where did you sleep last night?"

I turned my back to him, busying myself with rummaging through a drawer. "At home," I said simply.

"But not in your room," he countered, his tone pointed.

"What do you want, Michen?" I asked, evading the question as I pulled out a fresh suit jacket and tossed it onto the bed. My frustration was mounting—not just at him, but at myself.

"You overslept," he said, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe. "That's not like you. And now you're worrying about food for Kate? What's going on with you?"

I stopped what I was doing and turned to face him. "She needs to eat," I said, my voice laced with irritation. "That's all."

"That's not all," he said, his eyes narrowing. "You care about her."

My jaw tightened. "Don't start this, Michen."

"You do," he pressed, stepping closer. "And it's scaring the hell out of you."

I brushed past him, grabbing my phone from the nightstand and heading toward the door. "Drop it," I snapped over my shoulder.

In the kitchen, Steven and Joseph were their usual selves. Steven was nursing a cup of coffee, his movements slow and deliberate, while Joseph scrolled through his phone, his expression bored.

"You look like shit," Steven remarked, glancing up as I entered. "Rough night?"

"Rough morning," I corrected, pouring myself a cup of coffee and downing it in one go. "I need food sent to Kate."

"Kate?" Joseph repeated, finally looking up from his phone. "Since when do you handle stuff like that?"

Steven smirked. "Since he grew a conscience, apparently."

I shot them both a glare. "Can you two handle it, or do I have to spell it out?"

"Relax," Steven said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "We'll take care of it. No need to get all worked up."

"Good," I muttered, setting the mug down with a sharp clink. "I'm heading out for a while. Make sure she's taken care of."

Joseph raised an eyebrow. "Where are you going?"

"To clear my head," I said shortly, not offering any more information than that.

By the time I returned, the house was quieter than usual. The storm had passed, leaving behind a muted gray sky and the faint scent of rain lingering in the air. I made my way to Kate's room, a tray of food balanced in one hand.

The rain outside was relentless, a steady downpour that hammered against the windows and echoed in the quiet room. I stood in the doorway, watching her from the shadows. Kate was sitting on the edge of the bed, her bandaged wrist resting in her lap, her posture stiff. She didn't look at me when I stepped inside.

"I brought you food," I said, setting the tray on the nightstand.

"Why?" she asked, her voice flat. Her eyes were fixed on the rain outside.

"Because you need to eat," I replied simply, though my tone betrayed my frustration. This wasn't how I wanted this to go.

She finally looked at me, her gaze piercing. "Why do you care? You didn't seem to care when you nearly broke my wrist."

I tensed, the weight of her accusation hitting me harder than I expected. "That was an accident," I said defensively, though the words felt hollow even to me.

"An accident?" she repeated, her voice rising. "You were drunk, and I was begging you to kill me. Do you even remember that?"

I flinched at her words, my hands curling into fists at my sides. "I remember enough," I muttered, though the memory was hazy—a blur of anger, desperation, and the sound of her voice cracking under the weight of her own pain.

"Then you remember how pathetic I must've sounded," she said bitterly, standing abruptly. She winced as the sudden movement pulled at her wrist, but she didn't sit back down. "Begging for you to end it. And instead, you hurt me."

My jaw clenched as I took a step closer to her. "You don't understand," I said, my voice low and dangerous. "You were provoking me, pushing me to the edge. You think I wanted to hurt you? Do you think I'm proud of that?"

Her eyes flashed with fury. "Don't you dare turn this on me," she snapped. "I was at my lowest, and you—" Her voice broke, and she looked away, her shoulders trembling. "You made it worse."

The guilt that had been gnawing at me since that night threatened to consume me, but I shoved it down, replacing it with anger. "You think it's easy for me?" I demanded, my voice rising. "You think I don't hate myself for what happened? I'm trying, Kate. But you don't make it easy."

She let out a hollow laugh, shaking her head. "You're trying? Trying to what? To be a better person? To fix this?" She gestured to her wrist, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You don't even know how to apologize, Lucio."

My patience snapped. "I don't owe you an apology!" I shouted, the words spilling out before I could stop them. "You're alive, aren't you? That's more than some people get."

Her eyes widened, her expression a mix of shock and fury. "You're unbelievable," she hissed, stepping closer until she was right in front of me. "You think keeping me alive is some kind of gift? Like I should be grateful for the scraps of humanity you throw my way?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but she didn't give me the chance.

"I begged you," she said, her voice breaking again. "I begged you to end it, and instead, you treated me like I was nothing. Like I didn't matter. Do you have any idea how that feels?"

Her words cut deeper than I wanted to admit, but instead of addressing her pain, I lashed out. "Don't talk to me like that," I growled, my voice dangerously low. "You don't get to judge me, Kate. You don't know what I've been through."

She laughed again, a sharp, bitter sound that made my chest tighten. "Oh, poor Lucio," she mocked. "Always the victim, never the villain. What a tragic life you must have, sitting on your throne of lies and broken promises."

The anger bubbling inside me reached a boiling point. Without thinking, I grabbed the nearest object—a glass vase from the nightstand—and hurled it against the wall. The sound of it shattering filled the room, a violent punctuation to my frustration.

Kate didn't flinch. Instead, she stared at me with a mixture of disbelief and defiance. "You're pathetic," she said, her voice steady despite the chaos around us. "Breaking things doesn't make you strong, Lucio. It just proves how weak you really are."

I took a step closer, towering over her. "Watch your mouth," I warned, my tone a dangerous growl. "You don't want to push me."

She didn't back down. Instead, she grabbed another vase from the dresser and hurled it across the room, narrowly missing my face. The sound of it shattering against the wall echoed in the tense silence that followed.

"Get out," she said, her voice trembling with fury. "I don't want to see you."

My fists clenched at my sides as I fought the urge to retaliate. "You don't get to tell me what to do," I said through gritted teeth. "This is my house, and you—"

"Get out!" she screamed, cutting me off. "Leave, Lucio! I can't stand to look at you!"

Her words hit like a physical blow, and for a moment, I couldn't move. The defiance in her eyes, the raw emotion in her voice—it was too much. Without another word, I turned on my heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind me.

The sound of the rain greeted me as I stepped into the hallway, the cool air a stark contrast to the heat of the argument. My hands were still shaking, my chest heaving as I tried to calm myself. I didn't know where to go, but I knew I couldn't stay.

Kate's voice echoed in my mind, each word a dagger to my already bleeding conscience. Get out. Maybe she was right. Maybe I didn't deserve to be here. Maybe I didn't deserve her.