Lucien stopped sleeping after the kidnapping.

At first, nobody noticed.

The mansion already operated strangely around him. Long hours. Midnight meetings. Bloody suits arriving at dawn. Entire nights spent inside his office with whiskey and silence.

Normal.

But this became different by the third day.

Marta noticed first.

Then Matteo.

Then Ivy.

Because every single time she opened her eyes—

Lucien was there.

Sometimes sitting beside the bed reading reports he never turned pages on.

Sometimes standing near the windows watching rain slide down the glass like his body forgot how resting worked.

Sometimes simply sitting in silence with one hand wrapped tightly around hers as though unconsciousness itself might steal her away again.

It should’ve frightened her.

Instead—

it broke her heart slowly.

The doctor ordered rest after the bridge incident.

Mild concussion.

Bruised ribs.

Shock.

Lucien looked one sentence away from threatening the entire medical profession when the doctor suggested hospitalization.

“She stays here.”

The doctor wisely stopped arguing.

Interesting survival instinct.

Very interesting.

Now rain whispered softly outside the mansion windows while late afternoon light stretched pale gold across Ivy’s bedroom.

Ivy slept beneath thick blankets curled partly on her side while pain medication dragged her slowly through heavy dreams.

Somewhere nearby—

pages turned quietly.

Not really.

Just the sound Lucien made pretending to read.

Ivy blinked awake slowly.

The room stayed dim.

Warm.

Silent.

And there he was.

Lucien sat beside the bed in a dark sweater with rolled sleeves and exhaustion carved brutally beneath his eyes. A file rested open in his lap untouched while one hand remained wrapped carefully around Ivy’s fingers atop the blankets.

Still holding her.

Even asleep.

Interesting.

Very heartbreaking.

Ivy stared at him quietly for several seconds before speaking.

“You look terrible.”

Lucien looked up instantly.

Too instantly.

Like her voice physically jolted him back into his body.

His grip tightened immediately around her hand.

Tiny movement.

Still there.

“How’s your head.”

“That was not an answer.”

“You need water.”

“Lucien.”

He finally looked directly at her.

And Ivy’s chest tightened painfully.

Dark circles beneath his eyes.

Jaw rough with exhaustion.

Healing cuts across his cheek and brow.

The shoulder wound hidden beneath the sweater still pulled slightly every time he moved.

He looked wrecked.

Not physically.

Emotionally.

“You haven’t slept,” she whispered.

Lucien reached automatically for the glass of water beside the bed.

Deflection.

Coward.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

“I sleep.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Ivy—”

“You’re shaking.”

The sentence landed quietly.

Lucien froze for half a second before continuing to hand her the water glass anyway.

Too late.

She already noticed.

His fingers trembled slightly around the glass.

Not fear anymore.

Aftershock.

Like his nervous system never fully came back from hearing her scream.

Ivy pushed herself carefully upright against the pillows with a small wince.

Lucien moved immediately.

One hand at her back.

The other steadying the blanket around her shoulders.

Gentle.

Automatic.

The intimacy of it hurt somehow.

“You hover now,” Ivy murmured softly.

Lucien ignored that completely.

“Drink.”

“I feel emotionally bossed around.”

“Drink the water.”

Ivy took the glass mostly to stop him staring at her like breathing wrong might kill her.

Lucien watched until she swallowed twice.

Only then did his shoulders loosen slightly.

Tiny movement.

Still there.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Rain tapped steadily against the windows while the grandfather clock downstairs echoed faintly through the mansion halls.

Lucien sat back down slowly once she finished drinking.

Still close enough that his knee touched the edge of the mattress.

Still holding her hand.

Always holding her hand now.

Ivy looked down at their fingers quietly intertwined atop the blanket.

“You know,” she said softly, “this is becoming psychologically intense.”

Lucien’s thumb brushed unconsciously across her knuckles.

“I nearly lost you.”

The words came low.

Simple.

No drama.

Somehow worse.

Ivy looked back up slowly.

Lucien stared toward the rain-dark windows now instead of her.

Avoiding eye contact.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

“How long have you been sitting here.”

Silence.

Then:

“You slept most of the day.”

“That wasn’t an answer.”

Lucien’s jaw tightened slightly.

“I had work.”

“Lucien.”

His eyes closed briefly.

“…Thirty hours.”

Ivy nearly dropped the water glass.

“What.”

Lucien finally looked at her again.

No shame.

Only truth.

“I left twice.”

The room went silent.

Ivy stared at him in disbelief.

“You haven’t slept in thirty hours?”

“You were unconscious.”

The answer came immediate.

Like that explained everything.

Maybe to him, it did.

Ivy set the water glass carefully onto the bedside table before it shattered from emotional stress alone.

“Lucien, that is deeply unhealthy.”

His gaze dropped toward the bruises fading along her wrist from the kidnapping.

The marks darkened visibly against pale skin.

Lucien stopped breathing normally for one sharp second.

Then quietly:

“So was seeing you dragged into a car.”

The room tightened instantly afterward.

Neither spoke.

Rain softened outside.

Ivy watched him carefully now.

The exhaustion.

The hypervigilance.

The way his eyes kept flicking toward the bedroom door every few seconds without realizing it.

He still expected danger.

Still waiting for someone to take her again.

The realization cracked something open painfully inside her chest.

“You’re scared,” she whispered.

Lucien looked genuinely surprised by the sentence.

Then almost annoyed by it.

“No.”

“You haven’t slept in thirty hours.”

Silence.

Lucien looked away again.

Coward.

Interesting pattern.

Ivy squeezed his hand gently.

Lucien’s entire body stilled instantly at the contact.

“You don’t have to keep watching the door,” she said softly. “I’m still here.”

The sentence nearly destroyed him.

She saw it happen in real time.

Lucien lowered his head slightly while one rough breath escaped him unevenly.

Not dramatic.

Worse.

Honest.

“I heard you scream,” he murmured quietly.

There it was again.

The bridge.

The sound still haunting him.

“I know.”

“I keep hearing it.”

Ivy’s throat tightened painfully.

Lucien rubbed slowly at his face with one hand.

Exhausted movement.

Human movement.

“I close my eyes and see you disappearing.”

The confession landed heavy between them.

No mafia king now.

Only a terrified man sitting beside her bed running entirely on adrenaline and fear.

Ivy reached toward his face carefully.

Lucien froze instantly.

Then leaned unconsciously into her touch before realizing what he’d done.

Again.

Always again lately.

“You saved me,” she whispered.

Lucien laughed weakly under his breath.

“That’s not helping.”

“What.”

“You saying things like that.”

His voice roughened slightly.

“I can’t survive hearing you scream like that again.”

The honesty in the sentence stunned her silent.

Lucien looked exhausted suddenly.

More exhausted than she’d ever seen him.

“I thought I knew fear before,” he said quietly. “I was wrong.”

Ivy’s eyes burned immediately.

God.

This man loved like disaster.

She brushed her thumb lightly beneath the healing cut near his cheekbone.

Lucien’s eyes closed briefly.

Tiny reaction.

Still there.

“You need sleep,” she whispered softly.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Ivy—”

“That wasn’t a suggestion.”

A faint breath escaped him unexpectedly.

Almost amusement.

Tiny.

Still real.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Lucien opened his eyes again slowly.

“You’re giving orders now?”

“You created this problem emotionally.”

“I rescued you.”

“You also haven’t blinked properly since.”

That almost pulled another tiny smile from him.

Almost.

Gone quickly.

Still there.

The room softened quietly around them afterward.

Rain.

Warm blankets.

Lucien sitting close enough that Ivy could feel heat through the mattress.

And slowly—

carefully—

something inside the tension between them began healing.

Not fully.

Not cleanly.

But enough.

Ivy shifted slightly against the pillows and tugged gently on his hand.

“Come here.”

Lucien frowned faintly.

“I’m already here.”

“Closer, genius.”

Interesting choice of words.

Very dangerous choice of words.

Lucien hesitated for one brief second before carefully sitting on the edge of the bed beside her.

The mattress dipped beneath his weight immediately.

Closer now.

Close enough that Ivy could see exhaustion hidden deep beneath gray eyes.

“You’re impossible,” he murmured softly.

“You’re sleep deprived.”

“Probably.”

“Definitely.”

Silence settled warm between them afterward.

Then Ivy leaned carefully against his shoulder.

Lucien froze instantly.

Not pulling away.

Never pulling away anymore.

Only stunned by softness every single time.

Interesting.

Heartbreaking.

After a long moment—

his head tilted lightly against hers.

And for the first time since the bridge—

Lucien Moretti finally closed his eyes.