Chapter 216

Jace's POV

It was just a surface wound. The cab driver had hit the brakes in time, resulting in only a minor impact. Though I'd scraped myself up pretty badly on pavement, no vital areas were affected. Still, the ER doctor recommended I stay overnight for observation, just to be safe.

After Dr. Patterson left, only Eleanor and I remained in the room. I watched as she organized all the hospital admission papers and medications on the standard-issue bedside table.

"Here's your paperwork - insurance forms, admissions documents, and your prescriptions. The nurse put your pain meds and antibiotic ointment in this drawer," she said with carefully maintained distance. Each professional, measured word reminded me of what we'd lost.

"Your iPhone got pretty banged up in the fall," she noted. "Want to use mine to call anyone at Harringtons?"

I just watched her silently. "I'm good," I declined with a slight shake of my head. She understood without explanation.

"Should I call the nurse's station about getting you an aide?" she offered.

"The injuries aren't bad enough for that," I replied, fighting to keep my voice steady.

"Alright then." She nodded. "If that's everything, I should head out. Traffic on the FDR is probably terrible by now."

As she turned to leave, I couldn't stop myself. "Eleanor."

She paused, looking back at me.

"Your hand - you should have someone look at that scrape," I said, noting the angry red mark. The sight of her injury twisted something inside me.

"I'll stop by urgent care," she replied just as her phone buzzed with what was clearly a text notification. I couldn't miss how her face softened as she glanced at screen - such a stark contrast to her professional mask with me. I looked away as she typed a quick response.

After she finished texting, she asked, "What were you saying?"

I hesitated a bit. "Nothing," I shook my head, then added when I saw her frown, "Just... be careful heading home. The streets are still slick from the rain."

"Drew's picking me up," she stated matter-of-factly. "We're meeting some friends at Le Jardin for dinner."

Even though I'd known about her relationship with Drew, hearing her say his name with such casual intimacy felt like a physical blow. The pain in my chest had nothing to do with my injuries.

"Good," I managed, forcing a smile.

"Does it make you happy?" she asked, studying my attempted smile. "That I'm finally off your case? No more complications for a director with a bright future?"

"I actually..." I started, but she cut me off.

"Don't worry about it. I'm doing great. Better than you probably think. Looking back now, all those years of..." She paused, her voice steady and clear, "They really weren't worth anything."

I could only listen in silence. Each word landed like a precise hit, targeting all the wounds I'd accumulated.

Then she left without looking back. As I watched her figure disappear down the fluorescent-lit hallway, my vision blurred - though whether from the pain meds kicking in or something deeper, I couldn't say...

Serena's POV

It's been exactly a month since I last saw Lucas Harrington. No calls, no messages-radio silence.

This past month has been a whirlwind. StarRiver Group's luxury retail division has been making headlines in Women's Wear Daily. Our sales metrics are breaking records daily, and our stock has been trending upward on the NYSE. In a remarkably short time, we've managed to compete with several established players. While we're not quite Estée Lauder or Ralph Lauren yet-those empires weren't built overnight-our growth trajectory has caught everyone's attention. CNBC keeps calling me "Wall Street's rising star," and Bloomberg's predicting I could be the next fashion industry mogul.

But I know better than to let the hype go to my head. Being the media's darling can be a double-edged sword.

My partnership with Atticus Thorne this month has been... interesting. Though he's mostly been in Portland, we've kept in constant contact through Zoom and email. I've made sure to keep him updated with our marketing analytics and quarterly projections, and we've developed a decent working relationship.

Just after sending him this week's sales forecast, my phone lights up with his call.

"How about a trip to Portland?" he asks, straight to the point.

"Excuse me?"

"My grandfather wants to meet you."

"Why?" I'm caught off guard.

"Let's just say you've made quite an impression," he says with casualness.

"Spencer, let's be clear-our partnership is strictly business, plus our mutual concern about Rachel. It doesn't need to extend beyond that." I keep my tone professional but firm.

"Come on, he's not going to bite. He just wants to talk business."

"I appreciate the offer, but I'll have to pass."

"The Thornes are hosting their annual charity gala next week. Rachel's probably already had her assistant send you an invitation."

"And I'm supposed to drop everything and fly across the country?"

"Word on the street is they're announcing Lucas and Rachel's engagement date."

My heart grew heavy. So that's why he disappeared for so long - he got engaged. It seems he's given up resisting, I couldn't help but smile bitterly. "If it's a done deal, maybe it's time to focus on what we do best-business. We might even give them a run for their money in the market."

"You've got a point. You're sharper than half the VCs in Silicon Valley. I believe we could build something huge. But hey, nothing's final until the rings are exchanged. I'm not throwing in the towel yet."

"Your call." I let it drop.

As I end the call, there's a knock at my corner office door. I haven't had a chance to digest the weight in my heart.

Vincent enters with careful efficiency. "Ms. Sinclair, this just arrived by courier-an invitation to the Thorne Foundation Annual Gala, next Saturday at Portland."

I examine the golden envelope, noting Clarence Thorne's signature. A personal invitation from one of the most powerful patriarchs-refusing would be social suicide in our circles. Atticus had played his hand perfectly.

My phone buzzes again. The name on the screen makes my heart skip. "Lucas Harrington."

The man who's been MIA for a month... Though that's not entirely accurate-he's been splashed across media and newspapers, always with Rachel Thorne on his arm at some LA hotspot or charity event, playing the perfect power couple.

I swipe to answer.

"Did you get the invitation?" he asks with a hint of anxiety.

"Yes," I keep my reply clipped.

"Don't come." Each word drops like a gavel in an empty courtroom.