The gala in Singapore had been a blur of flashing lights and whispered negotiations. Per Lucas’s strict orders, Riven had kept Elara in the shadows, ensuring no media cameras captured her face. Lucas couldn't bear to leave her locked in the suite alone, so he had given her a task—organizing the digital files for the evening’s presentation. Elara had appreciated it deeply; it made her feel like more than just a "responsibility." It made her feel like a partner.
But the grace she felt at the event vanished the moment they returned to the suite.
Exhausted and excited to use the massive marble bathtub—a luxury her decent but modest apartment in Manila never provided—Elara prepared for a long soak. She was already wrapped in a plush white hotel robe, the silk ribbons tied in a loose bow at her waist.
Clatter! Splash!
In her excitement, her hands turned clumsy. A glass bottle of luxury bath oil slipped from her fingers, shattering and spilling its slick contents across the tile.
"Oh no—"
She stepped forward to grab a towel, but her foot hit the oil. With a sharp gasp, she felt gravity betray her. She hit the floor hard, her scream of pain echoing against the tiles.
She was a mess. The fall had jerked the ribbon of her robe loose, the fabric slithering down to expose her legs and shoulders. Her upper chest was partially bared—enough to reveal the glowing mark of the seal—as she used both arms to prop herself up, trembling. Her hip and arm throbbed with a searing heat.
Suddenly, the bathroom door burst open. Lucas, who had been in the study and heard her cry out, didn't hesitate. He hadn't even stopped to knock.
"Elara! What happened?"
He froze. The silence that followed was deafening. Elara watched as Lucas’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he violently snapped his head to the side, staring at the wall to give her privacy. Her face flushed a deep, burning crimson. She tried to pull the robe over her exposed legs, but a sharp "Ouch!" escaped her lips as her right arm buckled.
"I'm coming in," Lucas said, his voice strained but commanding.
He grabbed a fresh towel from the rack without looking at her, then stepped into the slick mess. He draped the towel over her shoulders, effectively cocooning her, before sliding one arm under her back and the other beneath her knees. He lifted her as if she weighed nothing.
He carried her out of the bathroom and placed her with extreme care on the edge of her bed. When she finally dared to look up, she saw a man whose face was etched with pure, raw worry. Despite the pain in her hip, Elara found herself smiling.
"Why are you smiling?" Lucas asked, his voice breathless. "Did you hit your head, too?"
Before she could answer, he leaned in close—so close she could smell the crisp, clean scent of his after-bath shampoo. He reached out, his fingers gently probing her hairline to check for injuries. Her heart leaped. The proximity was overwhelming. She let out a small, fake cough to clear the "blockage" in her throat and gently pushed his chest.
"I'm okay... you're overacting."
Lucas let out a sudden, boisterous laugh—the most beautiful, genuine sound she had ever heard from him. "Overacting? Elara, I dropped the glass I was drinking from because I thought someone had broken in to hurt you."
He laughed wholeheartedly, and for a moment, the "Responsibility" wall crumbled. Elara laughed with him, the shared joy filling the room. After a few minutes, the laughter subsided. He cleared his throat, his gaze dropping toward her hip before quickly darting away.
"Is there anything that hurts the most... besides your..."
He couldn't finish the sentence, the topic of her bruised backside being far too personal.
"Aside from that," she blushed, pointing to her right side, "my arm really hurts."
Lucas took her hand, his fingers examining her arm with clinical focus, while his other hand softly massaged her reddened palm.
Lucas looked down at her hand, his thumb tracing the reddened skin of her palm. He suddenly went quiet, a memory flickering in his eyes—the night the fever had nearly consumed him, and the accidental contact of their lips that had sent a cooling wave through his veins.
He looked down at the sealed mark on her chest. "Elara," he began, his voice dropping to a low, hesitant murmur. "That night... when I had the fever. The pain subsided almost instantly when we... when we touched."
Elara’s breath hitched. She managed a small nod.
"Maybe the seal can help you now," Lucas suggested. "Let me try."
Elara gave a small, shaky "okay."
Lucas closed his eyes, concentrating as he gently massaged her arm and palm. They waited in a thick, expectant silence. But the sharp, throbbing ache remained unchanged. Lucas’s brow furrowed.
"Why isn't it working? When I was sick, I could feel it through the seal. The moment our li—"
He cut himself off abruptly. The memory of that accidental kiss was suddenly alive in the room. Elara felt her entire body flush. Lucas let out a long breath and slowly lowered her arm. He offered her a smile, but it was forced and awkward.
"I guess... it doesn't work like that," he said softly.
"Yes," Elara squeaked. "I guess it’s not. Let's... let’s not try that. Hehehe."
Trying to shake off the awkwardness, she instinctively reached up to scratch the back of her head, but used her injured arm. The movement sent a jolt of pain through her shoulder.
"Ouch!"
"Don't move!" Lucas commanded, his worry instantly returning.
"I'm calling Riven. We need a hotel doctor, and we need one now."
He headed out of the room, leaving Elara alone with the realization that while the seal was a mystery, her feelings for him were becoming dangerously clear.