Chapter 7

• Lucas’s POV
• “Sorry, the number you dialed is temporarily unavailable.”
• The robotic voice repeated itself, mocking me.
• I pulled the phone away from my ear, staring at the screen. Blocked?
• My fingers tightened around the device, the veins on my hand bulging. Three days. It had only been three days since the divorce, and Serena had already shut me out completely.
• She wasn’t answering my calls.
• She wasn’t coming back.
• Fine.
• Great.
• If she had the guts to walk away, she’d better not think about returning.
• A wailing sob yanked me out of my thoughts.
• Caleb.
• He sat on the floor, his small body trembling, tears streaking down his flushed cheeks. His arm, still sore from the fall, was clutched to his chest as he cried louder, demanding attention.
• The noise grated on my nerves.
• Annoyed, I punched in the number for the family doctor. When he arrived, he did a quick examination and sighed in relief.
• “Just some superficial bruises,” he said, handing over a prescription. “Apply this ointment, let him rest for a day or two, and he’ll be fine.”
• The weight pressing on my chest loosened—slightly.
• Then, the doctor hesitated. “Mr. Vaughn… are you feeling alright?”
• I exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over my face.
• “I’m fine.”
• “Caleb can still attend school, but he should avoid strenuous activities.”
• “Good,” I said immediately. “After you leave, take him to kindergarten.”
• Caleb’s sobs quieted. He blinked up at me in disbelief, as if I’d just told him Santa Claus wasn’t real.
• Then realization dawned.
• “No!” He thrashed, kicking his legs. “I don’t wanna go! I wanna stay home and play!”
• His cries pierced through the pounding in my skull. My patience was already razor-thin.
• I shot the doctor a look. “Handle it.”
• The doctor paled. He hesitated for only a second before scooping Caleb up and carrying him toward the door.
• The child screamed, kicking wildly. But no one defied me.
• Not even my own son.
• And then, silence.
• I sank onto the couch, pressing my fingers against my temple. The hangover was still gnawing at the edges of my sanity.
• Then—
• A knock.
• I glanced at the time. Ten a.m.
• Serena was late.
• I smirked, letting her knock a little longer. Let her wait.
• She had walked out, thinking I’d let it slide? No. If she wanted back in, she needed to apologize. She needed to admit she made a mistake.
• The knocking grew more frantic.
• Impatient.
• Good.
• Let her need me. Let her feel the weight of what she’d done.
• Then my phone buzzed.
• I glanced down.
• An unknown number. Local area code.
• Serena.
• So, she hadn’t blocked me—just changed her number.
• I let the call ring.
• Then another. And another.
• I smirked, rejecting them all.
• The knocking stopped.
• My satisfaction was short-lived.
• A message popped up on my screen.
• Cleaning Service: Apologies for the inconvenience. No one answered the door, so we are unable to complete our scheduled service. Please reschedule at your convenience.
• The smirk faded.
• I sat up.
• The knocking wasn’t Serena.
• The calls weren’t her, either.
• A sharp heat crawled up my neck. I clenched my jaw so tightly it ached.
• Damn it.
• I grabbed my phone and called the old mansion. Within an hour
• ..
• The hot sauce burned on my tongue, but it wasn’t the heat that unsettled me. It was the taste—familiar, unmistakable. A mix of spice and herbs, balanced perfectly. Serena’s recipe.
• She’d always made sure my meals were tailored to my health, blending traditional medicine into every dish without compromising flavor. It was something no store-bought sauce could replicate.
• And yet, here I was, eating without her.
• The food in front of me suddenly felt bland, tasteless.
• Annoyed, I tossed the fork onto the plate with a sharp clatter.
• Kaylee, the housekeeper, turned to me in concern. “Mr. Vaughn, is something wrong?”
• I didn’t answer.
• Instead, I pushed the plate away and leaned back in my chair, the weight in my chest heavier than I cared to acknowledge.
• She had left.
• And she wasn’t coming back.
• …
• Serena’s pov
• The hospital hall buzzed with urgency, but I barely noticed. My focus was split between my work and the small shadow trailing behind me.
• Ethan kept close, his small hands clutching a clipboard that was too big for him, but he refused to let it go. He followed me everywhere, his steps quick and determined.
• I should have told him to stay put, but how could I?
• He had seen too much. Lived through too much.
• And despite his young age, he never hesitated to help me, whether it was holding a medical kit or fetching supplies.
• “Dr. Woods!” A nurse’s voice cut through the chaos. “We need you