Chapter 42

Serena's POV

"Don't believe her empty promises!" The female worker representative's voice cut through the uneasy silence. Her face was flushed with anger as she stood up again. "This is just a delaying tactic. We demand proper compensation and benefits!"

Looking at the crowd of agitated workers, I knew with crushing certainty that further explanation would be pointless. Their minds were already made up, carefully manipulated by forces working in the shadows. Lawrence's influence was clear in how perfectly orchestrated this protest appeared.

Vincent stood slightly behind me, his presence reassuring despite the volatile situation. I turned slightly, keeping my voice low. "Find a way to slip out and call the police."

"Ms. Sinclair, I can't leave you alone-" His concerned whisper was cut short by my firm response.

"I'll be fine. We need backup before this escalates further." I maintained steady eye contact until I saw understanding flash across his face. Vincent gave an almost imperceptible nod and began to carefully edge.

Half hours later, the piercing wail of police sirens shattered what remained of the fragile order. Their faces contorting with panic and renewed anger. The situation was spiraling out of control faster than I'd anticipated.

I took advantage of the chaos to move toward the exit, keeping my movements deliberate and calm despite my racing heart.

"Ms. Sinclair, look out!" Vincent's terrified shout made me whirl around. Time seemed to slow as I caught sight of the steel pipe arcing toward my head. My body froze, mind blank except for the absurd thought that at least I'd worn my favorite suit to what might be my last day.

The impact I braced for never came. Instead, I felt myself being yanked sideways and enveloped in a protective embrace. A sickening thud followed, accompanied by a grunt of pain from my rescuer. I knew that voice.

Looking up, I found myself staring into Lucas's face, his features tight with barely concealed pain. "Are you hurt?" he managed through gritted teeth.

Before I could respond, he broke into a harsh coughing fit that he tried to suppress. My stomach dropped when I noticed the growing dark stain on the back of his pristine suit jacket. The steel pipe had caught him squarely across the shoulders.

"Get Mr. Harrington to the hospital immediately!" I ordered Miles, my voice sharp with urgency. When a police officer approached about taking statements, I cut him off with a quick gesture. "Vincent will handle the initial report. This man needs medical attention now."

Lucas tried to protest, but another cough silenced him. I could feel him trembling slightly from the effort of staying upright. "Don't talk," I commanded, surprising myself with how steady my voice remained despite the terror coursing through me. "We're going to the hospital. Now."

As Miles helped Lucas toward the exit, my mind raced with questions. How had Lucas known to be here? Why had he been watching me? But those questions could wait. Right now, the only thing that mattered was getting him proper medical care.

Lucas's gentle hum a stark contrast to the tension inside. I kept turning back to check on him, my heart clenching at his increasingly pallid complexion. Under the dim interior lights, beads of sweat glistened on his forehead, and though he tried to mask it, each bump in the road drew a subtle wince.

"Dr. Thompson is waiting at the hospital," Miles said from the passenger seat, his usually carefree tone now clipped with urgency. His fingers drummed against his phone, probably messaging various contacts.

I nodded mutely, unable to tear my eyes from Lucas. The scene kept replaying in my mind - the heavy wooden stick swinging towards me, and Lucas's sudden movement to shield me. The sickening thud as it connected with his back. The way he'd maintained his protective stance despite the impact, making sure I wasn't touched.

"I'm fine," Lucas murmured, catching my worried glance. Even now, in obvious pain, he was trying to reassure me. The irony wasn't lost on me - after a month of deliberately maintaining my distance, here I was, closer than ever, watching him suffer because of me.

The past month flickered through my thoughts. All those dinner gatherings with Milo and Stella where I'd carefully avoided his gaze, speaking only when necessary. How I'd time my exits perfectly to avoid any chance of being alone with him. Lucas had gone from attempting conversation to accepting my coldness with quiet dignity, though he never stopped bringing the children to see me.

I'd told myself he was only doing it for Milo and Stella's sake. That their attachment to me was the sole reason he maintained any contact. But now, watching him fighting waves of pain because he'd protected me without hesitation, I wasn't so sure anymore.

Two hours felt like an eternity before we finally pulled up to the private entrance of New York-Presbyterian. The medical team was already waiting with a gurney. As they helped Lucas out of the car, a muffled groan escaped him despite his obvious attempt to suppress it. My fingers curled into tight fists, nails digging into my palms.

"Miss," one of the nurses approached me with forms, but Miles smoothly intercepted.

"I'll handle the paperwork," he said, giving me a meaningful look. "Go with him."

I followed the medical team down corridors, the lights harsh after the darkness of the car. Just before they wheeled him into surgery, Lucas caught my wrist with surprising strength.

"Serena," he said softly, his grey eyes finding mine. "Don't be afraid."

The doors swung shut behind him, leaving me standing there, my wrist still tingling from his touch. It was so typically Lucas - worried about me even when he was the one heading into surgery.

The next three hours were a blur of pacing and fragmented memories. Miles handled calls and arrangements while I sat in the waiting area, my mind toggling between present anxiety and past moments. All those times over the last month when I'd caught Lucas watching me with an unreadable expression. The way he'd step back whenever I created distance, respecting my boundaries while somehow maintaining a protective presence.

When Dr. Thompson finally emerged, his expression was reassuring despite the gravity of his words. "Mr. Harrington has sustained severe back trauma, muscle damage, and a minor fracture to his right ribs. There's also some kidney contusion, but thankfully no major organ damage. He'll need two to four weeks of bed rest for proper recovery."

Relief flooded through me, followed quickly by guilt. All this because he'd protected me, even after I'd spent weeks pushing him away.

In the private room, Lucas lay still, eyes closed against the pain. The steady beep of monitors provided a rhythm to the night city lights twinkling beyond the window. Miles consulted with the medical team about post-operative care while I stood by the bed, unconsciously straightening the edges of his blanket.