Lucas stood up from the table, the conversation still buzzing around him. "We're going to head out," he said to the group, his voice casual. He said quick goodbyes for both of them. His attention was already fixed on Lina, who was still seated, looking pale and trying to muster the energy to stand.
He offered his hand. She took it, her grip weak. As he helped her up, his eyes, caught the small but distinct shadow on the back of her emerald silk dress. A dark, red bloom against the green. Shit.
He didn't hesitate. In the same motion of helping her rise, he smoothly shrugged out of his tailored blazer. Before she could even fully straighten or take a single step into the room's light, his arm went around her waist. He wrapped the jacket around her hips and knotted the sleeves in a quick, secure knot at her front.
She froze. Completely. She didn't have to ask what happened. She knew. A hot wave of gut-wrenching humiliation locked her in place. She couldn't even turn her head to look at him. She just stared straight ahead, face burning, wishing the floor would swallow her whole.
The table, however, was now fully tuned in. The jacket-tying was a spectacle that cut through the dinner chatter. A few knowing glances were exchanged. Bella's eyes went wide. Then, because Bella was Bella, she didn't gasp or point—she pulled out her phone and snapped a picture. Derek smirked and did the same under the table. Lucas Miller, doing something painfully earnest for Lina Johnson. Of course they were gonna take a photo.
But it was Lucy Chen who went professional. Lucy had always been the class internet. Some things never change. While everyone else was chuckling or whispering, Lucy had her phone up, recording a smooth video as Lucas guided a stiff, mortified Lina out of the lounge. By the time the door swung shut, Lucy's thumbs were already flying over her screen.
Her Instagram post went up less than a minute later. The caption read: The chairman of @FlickerFilmsProduction just performed a literal knight-in-shining-Armani move for an employee of @AurumScents. Forget perfume, is someone brewing a love formula? She tagged a few gossip pages for good measure. The comments started piling up almost immediately.
In the car, the silence was thick. Lina was locked in a battle with a fresh, vicious cramp that made her want to fold in half. The humiliation was momentarily sidelined by a more immediate, physical agony. It twisted deep, a cruel, grinding fist in her lower belly. She let out a sharp, involuntary gasp and doubled over.
Lucas glanced over. "You okay?"
She shook her head, breath hitching. The pain was a dizzying spike, twisting her stomach with immediate, violent nausea.
He reacted instantly. One hand leaving the wheel to hit a button, and her window slid down silently. The burst of cold air was too little, too late. Lina turned from him, retching violently as the night rushed in. He kept his eyes on the road, giving her the privacy to ride out the wave.
Lucas reached into the backseat, grabbed an unopened bottle of water, and handed it to her. She took it with trembling hands, sipping slowly. But the pain didn't let up. It settled into a brutal, grinding rhythm, and after a minute, silent tears started streaking down her face. She cried quietly, from pure, frustrating agony. She hated this. She hated her body for betraying her, hated that he was seeing it, hated everything.
"Lina," Lucas said, glancing over. "I'm taking you to the hospital."
"No," she sobbed, shaking her head. "No, please. It's just cramps, It's just... it's really bad cramps. I just need to lie down." She was crying in earnest now, all pride gone.
He was silent for a long minute, the only sound the purr of the engine and her ragged breathing. Her tears were a physical ache in his heart. He had loved this girl for years, and watching her crumble now filled him with a furious, helpless rage. He hated that he couldn't do anything, all he could do was sit here and watch it fall. "Okay," he said finally, the word heavy with reluctance.
Instead, he pulled into the brightly lit parking lot of a 24-hour mega-market. "Stay here," he ordered, his tone brooking no argument. "I'll be right back."
She watched him, bewildered, as he strode across the asphalt, his tailored silhouette looking absurdly out of place under the stark lights. He was gone for less than ten minutes. When he returned, he carried a plastic bag.
He got in, the car filling with the scent of cool night air and him. Without a word, he pulled items out, placing them on the console between them: a box of maximum-strength ibuprofen, a heating pad that you could plug into the car's USB port, a bag of ginger chews, a bottle of peppermint oil, a family-sized bar of dark chocolate, and a thermos he must have bought inside—he opened it, and the smell of fresh, lemon-infused ginger tea filled the space.
Lina stared, her tears momentarily stunned into submission. "What… is all this?"
It was so ludicrously, excessively thoughtful that a fresh sob escaped her, but this one was different. She took the pills, sipped the scalding, sweet tea, and clutched the heating pad to her abdomen as it began to warm. He drove on, the city lights blurring past the window. The combination of the tea, the heat, and the sheer emotional exhaustion pulled her under. She fell into a deep, drugged sleep before they even left the downtown core.
She didn't stir when the car stopped. She didn't feel him carefully extricate the heating pad from her grip. She was only dimly aware of the world tilting, of being lifted, cradled against a solid chest that smelled of clean cotton and that faint, expensive scent from his car. Lucas carried her, moving with a careful, deliberate grace, as if she were made of blown glass.
He made it up the first staircase in his penthouse before Mrs. Dorcas, his butler—a woman of formidable efficiency and impeccable silver bun—emerged from the corner, her expression as unflappable as ever, though her eyes widened at the sight of her employer carrying a sleeping woman.
"Sir."
"Mrs. Dorcas. Hot water bottle. The strongest cramp tea we have. Now, please." His voice was quiet but absolute.
"At once, sir." She vanished without another word.
Lucas continued his journey to the master suite. He should have taken her to a guest room, but the thought of her waking up alone in a strange, cold bed stopped him. His own room was warm, familiar, and he could keep an eye on her. He laid her down on the charcoal grey duvet with infinite care, but the movement, the shift from the security of his arms to the soft mattress, was enough. Her eyelids fluttered, a sliver of pained awareness breaking through. A low, helpless cry escaped her as she instinctively curled around herself, clutching her stomach, her eyes never fully opening as she sank back into the throbbing dark.
"Hurts," she whimpered, the word stripped bare and childlike. "It really fucking hurts."
Just then, Mrs. Dorcas re-entered, a steaming mug in one hand and a old-fashioned stone hot water bottle in a knitted cover in the other. She stared at the scene, in front of her, the stunning young woman crying on Mr. Miller's immaculate bed, this was new. Really new.
"Let me, sir," she said, her voice gentle.
Lucas took the mug, sat on the edge of the bed, and fed it to Lina who was half awake
When the mug was empty, he handed it back to Mrs. Dorcas. "Please help her," he said, his gaze lingering on Lina's tear-streaked face. "Anything she needs." Then, with a final, unreadable look, he left, closing the door softly behind him.
Mrs. Dorcas set to work. It was, technically, far beneath her pay grade. She supervised a small army of maids for such tasks. But this… this was unprecedented. In the four years Mr. Miller had owned this penthouse, not a single romantic partner had crossed its threshold. She was sure. The maids didn't count. But this girl, this crying, pain-racked girl was the first.
So, the butler personally fetched a soft cotton t-shirt and sweatpants from the guest suite. She helped Lina out of the ruined dress, her movements efficient but not unkind. She untied the savior jacket, folding it away. She helped her into the clean clothes, tucked the hot water bottle against her abdomen, and smoothed the duvet over her.
Only then, wrapped in softness and warmth, the brutal edge of the pain finally blunted by tea and medicine and sheer exhaustion, did Lina's breathing even out. The frown lines on her forehead eased. She sank into the profound, heavy sleep of the utterly spent.
Mrs. Dorcas stood for a moment, watching. Then, with a slight, almost maternal shake of her head, she turned off the main light, leaving only a sliver of moonlight from the window, and left her boss's mysterious, suffering guest to finally find some peace. Downstairs, she would prepare a pot of coffee. She had a feeling Mr. Miller would not be sleeping for some time.