In the days after the arrival of the Vermeer, a quiet heaviness settled over the penthouse, a stillness that was neither relief nor peace but the kind of exhausted surrender that comes after carrying too much for too long.
Charlotte seemed smaller, gentler, fragile in a way that made Lucas ache to protect her.
She spent hours in her studio, seated before The Concert, not painting or sketching, simply staring at it, as if it held the answers she had stopped believing she could find anywhere else.
She spoke little, but when she did, her voice carried the weight of months she had tried to hide, admitting she felt like a burden, that every day was effort she could barely summon, that she worried her presence alone drained those around her.
She confessed to him that she wanted to stop pretending, that she wanted to rest, to be allowed to breathe, to exist without expectation or judgment.
Lucas sat with her, not speaking, learning to share silence without needing it to be filled.
He told her she was not a burden, that being with her was not a duty but a choice he would make every day, yet he could see in her eyes that the doubt did not leave entirely.
The tension in her shoulders, the trembling in her hands, the quiet sighs she let slip even when she thought he was not watching but still everything told him she had carried more than she should have.
During this time, the Nakatomi deal finally closed. After more than a year of negotiations, his legal team confirmed the contracts were ready.
Lucas took the call while Charlotte rested in the armchair, her book open but forgotten in her lap.
The news, monumental to anyone else, landed softly and hollowly for him. Nothing mattered as much as the woman in the room, the one he had promised he would make time for.
He did not walk away from his company, but he reshaped it. He delegated authority he had clung to for years, promoted managers he trusted, hired aggressively to fill gaps he no longer needed to occupy, and cleared his schedule with ruthless precision.
Meetings disappeared from his calendar, late nights ended, and work became something he controlled rather than something that controlled him.
Operations continued, profits remained steady, but he had finally carved out the hours, the moments, that could belong entirely to Charlotte.
One of his final acts in that time was the creation of a charitable foundation in her name, supporting the arts and mental health, quiet and intentional, not for recognition but as a way to honor the weight she had carried, the pain she had borne silently, and the person she had always been beneath the exhaustion.
When all was ready, a fragile sense of hope bloomed within him.
That evening, he arrived home early.
Charlotte was awake, her eyes clear, a faint smile tugging at her lips, but even in it, he could see the shadow of weariness. He took her hands and told her he had cleared his schedule, no calls, no meetings, no interruptions, that he was entirely present, ready to leave whenever she felt able.
She asked quietly if he was sure, and he nodded, his voice low but steady.
He handed her a small velvet box and inside were two airline tickets for a quiet island.
No plans, no expectations beyond being together. She smiled, real and unguarded, and it struck him how fragile that smile was, how much strength it must have taken to give it at all.
Lucas spent the next hours packing and preparing, careful with every detail, his mind alive with small, tender images: her laughter carrying across a quiet beach, her hands brushing his as they walked along the sand, mornings without alarms, evenings with nothing to do but sit together.
He smiled once or twice despite himself, imagining the weight lifting from her shoulders, imagining her finally at ease, and he felt hope bloom, fragile and trembling, the kind that could vanish in an instant.
He left briefly to finalize some details, but even while he was gone, he pictured her sitting in the armchair, shoulders softened, chest lighter, imagining her finally unburdened, and he told himself to be careful not to hope too much, though the hope would not be denied.
When he returned, the apartment was quiet, too quiet and ge felt it deep inside, something wrong .
At first, he thought she had gone to sleep so, he called her name softly, then again, until the silence pressed against him. He get up the stairs and walked to her room, she wasn't in but the bathroom door caught his attention as it was the only bright room .
He opened it, and the sight tore the air from his lungs.
Charlotte lay in the tub, water darkened, her eyes closed, her face calm in a way that made him freeze. She looked rested. She looked like she had finally let go. And that peace was unbearable.
Lucas fell to his knees, trembling, whispering her name over and over " baby Charlotte, wake up please, Chatlotte".
He could not reach her, could not touch her, and yet he wanted to hold her forever. He called for help, voice shaking, tears streaming, a mixture of guilt, disbelief, and unbearable sorrow.
The paramedics arrived quickly, moving with professional efficiency, and secured her on the stretcher.
Lucas followed in the ambulance, gripping her hand as though letting go would erase her completely.
The sirens screamed outside, but inside, all he felt was emptiness, a void pressing into every part of him.
He whispered her name, over and over, telling her he was sorry, that he loved her, that he would never forget her, that he would carry her with him always.
The tears flowed freely, hot and sharp, a quiet but relentless heartbreak, as if his body was trying to hold onto what his heart could not accept.
At the hospital, after the final procedures where done she was announced dead. Lucas slide from the wall and sat down at the ground with messy clothes that doesn't make him familiar anymore, she was able to change him but left before she saw them.
Soon, her parents arrived but their grief was sharp, but it was coated with insults be her mother said Charlotte had always been weak, incapable of handling life or her father that came annoyed as if they wasted his time coming as the dead person inside isnot his daughter.
They spoke as if she were a problem that had finally resolved itself and lucas got fed up with them but stil said nothing.
He could not.
He followed the staff silently, gripping the stretcher, holding onto her hand, hearing their words but feeling them slide off him like dust, all that mattered was that she was gone and nothing could undo it.
The funeral was small and private. The sky was gray and low, the wind stirring faintly through the trees. Lucas stood by her grave, letting the soft rain touch his face. He did not cry loudly. He let a quiet, shattering cry escape. He regret he was late but still no regret can change anything.
He whispered her name repeatedly, thanked her for every smile, every touch, every small moment, for being who she was, for letting him love her.
Later, at her grave, he knelt and saw the small frame resting on the headstone: their honeymoon photo, the first time they had taken a photo together.
Charlotte was hugging him, laughing freely, her warmth and joy frozen in that moment, while he looked at the camera, cold and serious, stiff in contrast to her lightness.
He traced the frame with fingers that shook slightly, letting tears fall silently, and whispered that he loved her, that he was grateful, and that he would never forget her.
He stayed there long after everyone had left, the wind rustling through the cemetery, holding onto that one memory while the world felt impossibly empty around him.
Eventually, he rose, his legs stiff, his body moving on instinct more than will. He walked back to his car in silence, each step heavier than the last, his hands gripping the steering wheel as if it could anchor him somehow.
He did not know where he was going. The city stretched out before him, lights blurring into meaningless streaks, the engine a low, constant roar beneath him.
Every street, every familiar sign, reminded him that she was gone, and nothing he could do would bring her back.
The grief pressed against him, cold and unrelenting, spreading through his chest and limbs. Every plan, every hope, every choice he had made to reclaim moments with her now felt like a cruel joke.
He understood finally that nothing could undo the fact that she had left him, that she had given herself the rest she needed, the peace she could not find in life.
As the road curved ahead, he did not slow down.
He did not resist.
Part of him, broken and hollow, wanted the pain to end, wanted to surrender entirely to the emptiness, and for a moment, that surrender felt like the only way to hold onto her memory.
The car accelerated, the city lights spinning past in frantic, meaningless streaks, and then the curve came too fast.
He did not turn the wheel. The world erupted around him in a loud sound of screeching tires, shattering glass, and twisting metal.
Then darkness swallowed everything.
And in that darkness, a voice more like a whisper and called him.
Nice to meet you Lucas i am system 08 and i will be helping You in Your mission " Saving the Villainess"