Chapter 883

Lucian Graves awoke to the sterile scent of antiseptic clinging to the air. His vision blurred as he took in the white ceiling above him, an IV line snaking into his arm.

He shifted weakly, his throat raw as he whispered, "Rosalind..."

Nathaniel hurried to his side, relief washing over his features. "Mr. Graves! You're finally awake—thank heavens. You collapsed in that storm. The doctor said your system was overwhelmed—rage, grief, and the cold all at once."

Lucian attempted to push himself up, but his limbs felt like lead. A wave of dizziness forced him back against the pillows.

Nathaniel pressed a hand to his shoulder. "Don't try to move. The doctor was clear—you need complete rest."

Lucian's gaze remained fixed on the ceiling. The memory of Rosalind walking away in the rain played on loop in his mind, each replay tightening the vise around his chest.

"I have to find her," he rasped, fingers twitching toward the IV line.

Nathaniel intercepted him. "Stop! You can't remove that. You're in no condition to go anywhere."

"Move," Lucian growled, his voice hoarse but edged with desperation. "I need to see Rosalind—"

His vision darkened abruptly. The last thing he heard was Nathaniel's frantic shout before unconsciousness swallowed him again.

"Mr. Graves!" Nathaniel lunged for the call button. "Doctor! We need help!"

The physician rushed in, checking Lucian's vitals before turning to Nathaniel with a grim expression. "His body is under extreme stress. Any further agitation could be dangerous. He must remain still."

Nathaniel nodded. "Understood. Thank you."

Once alone, he sank into the chair beside the bed, watching Lucian's restless form. "You're going to destroy yourself like this," he murmured.

Even unconscious, Lucian's lips moved, forming her name like a prayer. "Rosalind... We're not over... Rosalind..."

Nathaniel exhaled sharply and pulled out his phone. "I'm calling Ms. Fairchild."

—

Rosalind hadn't slept.

She'd spent the night tangled in sheets, staring at the ceiling until dawn bled through the curtains. When she finally looked outside, Lucian's car was gone.

He'd left.

She'd said unforgivable things—words designed to wound. Of course he wouldn't stay.

A hollow ache settled in her ribs. She curled into herself, silent tears soaking the pillow until morning light forced her to face the day.

A knock interrupted the silence.

"Still in bed?" Victoria's voice filtered through the door.

Rosalind cleared her throat. "I'm resting. I'll be up later."

"At least eat something first."

"Not hungry."

A pause. "Fine. I'll leave breakfast outside. Don't skip it."

"Okay."

Alone again, Rosalind pressed her palms to her swollen eyes. Lucian consumed her thoughts. Where was he now?

She grabbed her phone and dialed Harrison.

He answered on the first ring. "Rosalind?"

"Harrison, listen—Lucian found the Frostbloom. He'll contact you soon. When he does, please... help him."

She needed to hear it from Harrison directly. The uncertainty was suffocating.

Harrison chuckled. "Relax. I'll make sure he's fixed up good as new. Next time you see him, he'll be that heart-stopping pretty boy again."

Rosalind managed a smile, but the ache in her chest refused to fade.