Lucio's POV:

The house was eerily quiet when I stepped inside. I noticed the stillness immediately—the kind of silence that creeps in when something's wrong. It was too quiet. Usually, Kate would be in the kitchen, her soft humming barely audible as she moved around, or I'd catch a glimpse of her curled up with a book. Tonight, though, there was nothing.

I shrugged off my jacket and handed it to Kay, my most trusted maid. She looked hesitant, glancing at me with an expression I couldn't quite place.

"Kay," I called, stopping her in her tracks. "Have you seen Kate? Did she eat dinner?"

Her face paled slightly, and that was all I needed to confirm my suspicions. She hesitated, clearly debating how much she should say.

"Well, sir," she started nervously, "we've left food for her, but... she hasn't eaten anything. She hasn't come out of her room all day."

Anger flared in my chest, but I kept my expression neutral. "And why didn't you tell me?"

"She... she made us promise not to, sir," Kay admitted, lowering her gaze.

"Dismissed," I barked. She scurried off, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Kate.

She was stubborn, infuriatingly so, but she wasn't reckless. The fact that she hadn't eaten in days was a glaring red flag I couldn't ignore. I headed upstairs, my footsteps echoing down the hallway as I approached her room. The door was closed, and I could feel the weight of her presence behind it.

I knocked sharply. No response.

"Kate," I called, my voice firm but not unkind. "Open the door."

"Go away," came her muffled response.

I clenched my jaw. Of course, she'd make this difficult.

I knocked again, louder this time. "Kate, open the door. Now."

When the door finally creaked open, I was greeted by her pale face, her eyes rimmed with dark circles. She looked like a ghost of herself—fragile and hollow. My frustration bubbled over.

"Why haven't you eaten?" I demanded, stepping into the room. She turned away from me, shuffling back toward the bed like I wasn't even there.

"I've eaten," she said, her voice weak. She coughed, a sound that cut through me more than it should have. It was a lie, of course. Her frail state gave her away.

"Don't lie to me, Kate," I growled, my patience wearing thin. "You haven't touched a damn thing, have you?"

"I'm fine," she muttered, pulling the blanket over her lap as she sat on the bed. She wouldn't meet my eyes.

"Fine?" I repeated, my tone dripping with disbelief. "You look like you're about to collapse, and you think that's fine?"

She rolled her eyes, clearly trying to push me away. "Why do you even care, Lucio? Just leave me alone."

There it was—the wall she always put up when things got too real. I wasn't going to let her shut me out this time.

"I care because you're in my house," I snapped. "And I'm not about to have you waste away under my roof."

Her head snapped up, and she glared at me with a mix of anger and pain. "Why does it matter to you? You've said it yourself—you'd be happy if I were gone."

The words stung more than I expected. I clenched my fists, willing myself to stay calm. "I didn't mean it like that," I said quietly, though the guilt weighed heavily in my chest.

She let out a bitter laugh, her voice trembling. "Then how did you mean it? Because it sure sounded like you want me dead."

I opened my mouth to respond, but the words caught in my throat. She wasn't wrong—I had said something cruel in a moment of anger, but I hadn't meant it. Not really.

"Kate," I said, stepping closer. She flinched, and it cut me deeper than any bullet ever had. "You're frustrating as hell, but I don't want you dead."

"Could've fooled me," she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks. She wiped them away quickly, but I'd already seen them.

I hesitated before sitting on the edge of the bed, my hands resting on my knees. "You're not eating, you're shutting yourself away—what's going on with you?" I asked, my voice softer now.

"It's nothing," she said, her voice barely audible. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine, Kate," I pressed. "Talk to me."

Her silence was deafening. I could see the conflict in her eyes, the way she wanted to open up but couldn't bring herself to do it.

I sighed, standing up. "Fine. If you won't talk, at least eat." I left the room briefly and returned with a tray of food. I set it on the bedside table and crossed my arms, staring her down.

She glanced at the tray but didn't move. "I'm not hungry," she mumbled.

"Eat," I said firmly. "Now."

She shook her head, and my frustration boiled over. Without thinking, I grabbed the tray and set it on her lap. "You're going to eat, even if I have to sit here and force every bite down your throat."

Her wide eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, I thought she'd argue. But then, with a shaky hand, she picked up the spoon and took a small bite. Relief washed over me, though I kept my expression neutral.

I sat back down, watching her eat in silence. She avoided my gaze, focusing on the food as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked suddenly, her voice breaking the stillness. "Why do you care?"

I didn't have an answer. Or rather, I had one, but I wasn't ready to admit it—not to her, not to myself. Instead, I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees.

"Because I do," I said simply.

She didn't press the issue, and I didn't offer more. We sat there in silence, the sound of her spoon clinking against the bowl the only thing filling the room. And for the first time in days, I felt like maybe—just maybe—she wouldn't slip through my fingers.

Kate's POV:

The moment Lucio closed the door behind him, I sat frozen in bed, staring at the bowl he had set aside. The warmth of his presence still lingered in the air, his words about caring for me replaying in my head like a broken record. I wanted to believe him; I really did. But the truth? I didn't feel worthy of anyone's care.

My stomach churned, the small amount of food I'd managed to eat sitting heavy, like a lead weight dragging me down. I felt nauseous—not just physically, but emotionally. His care, his concern—it all felt suffocating, like a kindness I hadn't earned. And it scared me.

I couldn't keep it down. I wouldn't.

Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. The room tilted slightly as I stood, my head pounding from the effort of moving too quickly. I ignored it, pushing the discomfort aside as I padded silently to the bathroom.

Closing the door softly behind me, I leaned over the sink, gripping the cool porcelain as my breath came in shallow gasps. My reflection in the mirror caught my eye—pale skin, hollow cheeks, dark circles under my eyes. I looked like a ghost of the person I used to be. The sight of myself was almost enough to make me turn away, but I couldn't.

"I don't deserve this," I whispered, the words trembling on my lips.

Before I could second-guess myself, I turned on the faucet, letting the water run to mask the sound. I dropped to my knees, clutching the edge of the toilet as my stomach heaved, forcing up the meal Lucio had made me eat. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes as the bile burned my throat, my body rejecting not just the food, but the idea of nurturing itself.

When it was over, I slumped back against the wall, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath. The silence of the room felt deafening, the only sound the steady drip of the faucet. I should've turned it off, but I didn't have the energy. All I could do was sit there, knees drawn to my chest, and hope that no one would come looking for me.

Guilt gnawed at me, a sharp and relentless ache in my chest. Lucio had tried—really tried—to help me. He had shown me a side of himself I hadn't expected, a softness that was almost as terrifying as his usual anger. But it didn't matter. None of it mattered because I couldn't accept it. I didn't know how.

I dragged myself to the sink, rinsing my mouth and splashing cold water on my face. My reflection stared back at me, accusing and filled with shame. I turned away, unable to meet my own eyes.

By the time I stepped back into my room, my legs felt like lead. I crawled under the covers, pulling them up to my chin as I curled into myself. My body was trembling, whether from the cold or the rawness of my emotions, I didn't know.

The bed felt too big, too empty without anyone there, but the idea of calling someone—anyone—felt impossible. I didn't want to explain myself; I didn't want to admit what I'd done. Not that they'd understand. They'd just tell me to try harder, to eat more, to get better.

But they didn't know what it was like to carry this weight inside, the kind that made food feel like poison and kindness feel like a trap.

As I lay there, staring at the ceiling, the exhaustion began to pull me under. My last thought before sleep claimed me was of Lucio's face when he told me he cared. I wanted to believe him. I really did. But I didn't know how to let myself.