He Wanted Me Back, but I Belonged to Someone Else

Lucas came storming back into the room, jaw locked tight, eyes burning like he’d set fire to the world if it meant getting to me. He seized my wrist with a grip that almost hurt.

“We’re leaving,” he barked.

“Lucas—” his father’s voice thundered across the hall. “You walk out that door, and that’s it. No inheritance. No calls. No name. You’re finished with this family!”

For a moment, Lucas paused at the threshold. Then, without a word, he turned, grabbed the cheap little cake from the table, and hurled it to the ground.

“Then I’ll cut myself off!” he shot back, voice rough.

Outside, the streets were silent, snow crunching beneath our boots like broken glass. The subway had stopped hours ago, and the taxis were nowhere to be found. We walked side by side across the overpass toward a run-down hotel, the city wind clawing at us, as if it wanted to pull us apart.

Around us, windows glowed with the warm light of other people’s homes—tiny suns in the cold. None of them were mine.

I kept my eyes on the icy pavement and whispered, “Let’s end this, Lucas.”

He said nothing.

“Lucas, I’m serious—”

Before I could finish, he unzipped his coat and wrapped it around both of us, holding me so tightly it felt like he was anchoring me in place. His breath was hot against my ear as he murmured, fierce and low,

“Valentina Smith, I swear on everything I am—I’ll give you a home. Even if it costs me everything.”

All I could manage was a hollow smile.

When I returned to our apartment later, he was sprawled on the couch, already asleep, soft snores blending with the muted hum of the TV. The blue glow from the screen painted his face in calm, and for a moment, I almost forgot. I tucked a blanket over him, careful not to wake him. He looked so at peace.

Too peaceful for a man who had shattered me hours ago.

His phone buzzed on the coffee table. Two unread messages lit up the screen—both from Anabella.

“She made sure I got home safe, don’t worry Mr. Corsini! ”

“Goodnight, see you tomorrow! ”

My hands trembled. I told myself not to look further. That I was imagining things. But curiosity was stronger than sense.

I opened their chat.

“You left a bruise on my thigh. Still sore.”

“You liked it.”

“Of course I did. I was dripping before you even touched me.”

Then came the photo. Blurry, low lighting—but unmistakable. Her, on his desk, hair a mess, bra half off. The edge of his nameplate visible in the corner. Our office. The one we’d built from nothing.

My ears filled with static.

“Remember how I moaned when you said my name?”

“Like a song,” he’d replied.

Another message followed, dated the same day I’d been curled up in bed, sweating through a fever.

“She’s asleep. Told her not to come in.”

“Good. I want you to take your time with me tonight, Lucas.”

My vision blurred. Tears fell before I even realized I was crying—landing on the screen, smudging her face, his words.

I tried to breathe, but every inhale felt like swallowing stones. I looked at him, lying there on the couch—mouth slightly open, oblivious, peaceful. I wanted to say his name. To shout. To ask why.

But the words refused to leave my throat.

So I stood up quietly, moving like a ghost through our own home. I went to the study, opened the drawer, and pulled out the pregnancy test and the crumpled medical report—the diagnosis circled in red. My future, reduced to ink and plastic. I shoved them under the ledger, hiding them away. I couldn’t bear to see them. Not tonight. Maybe never again.

Behind me, Lucas shifted in his sleep, mumbling something I couldn’t make out. I turned to look at him one last time, my heart cracking like glass beneath a heel. And in that moment, I understood—

The man I once knew was gone.

And I would never be the same woman again.

---

By morning, around seven, I heard him stirring.

Lucas came into the room rubbing his temples, looking like the hangover itself had taken human form. He was dressed sharply—gray slacks, blue dress shirt rolled to his elbows, tattoos creeping down his arms.

That face… even after all of it, he still looked devastatingly handsome.

When his eyes met mine—red and swollen from crying—he slowed his pace, his expression softening.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly.

I shook my head. “Nothing. Just thinking of taking a break from work.”

“You don’t need to push yourself, Sav. I got us covered.”

He reached out to ruffle my hair—something he used to do when life was simpler.

I stepped back before his hand touched me. His arm hung awkwardly midair before falling to his side.

“You sure you’re okay?” he tried again.

I didn’t reply. The truth was, I hadn’t been okay for a long time.

---

Back in college, I’d worked night shifts at a 24-hour diner, serving drunks and creeps who paid in crumpled bills. Every cent went to rent and food.

When Lucas turned his back on his father’s fortune and left the Corsini empire, we had nothing. Just each other—and a shoebox apartment above a laundromat where cockroaches roamed freely, and the stove worked only when it wanted to.

He had a dream, and I made it mine.

I’d wake at five, catch the first train, juggle classes and work, then drag myself home after midnight. I kept us alive while he built connections—handling cash drops, doing quiet favors for dangerous men, taking meetings in basements where handshakes meant blood.

And now, after all that struggle, we were finally wealthy. But I was bone-deep tired. The kind of exhaustion no amount of sleep could touch.

I didn’t even realize I was crying until Lucas’s thumb brushed my cheek.

“Hey,” he murmured. “What’s wrong, baby? Why are you crying?”

I shook my head. My voice came out rough. “I don’t know. I’m just… tired, Lucas. Tired of running. Tired of pretending it’s all okay.”

He pulled me close, arms wrapping around me like he could protect me from the truth. For a heartbeat, it felt like the world had rewound—back to when it was just us against everything.

“Lucas…” I whispered against his chest. “Stay with me today. Please.”