Chapter 750

The hospital's interior was a masterpiece crafted by renowned international designers.

Every space was immaculate, expansive, and designed for ultimate comfort.

This wasn’t just a hospital—it resembled an exclusive retreat, with controlled access through a single entrance.

The serene ambiance, infused with modern aesthetics, had a calming effect on anyone who stepped inside.

Lucas Sterling moved through the halls, drawing stunned and admiring glances from the medical staff.

As he turned the corner at the end of the corridor, his gaze landed on a lone figure seated on a bamboo chair.

His eyes narrowed. Nathan Blackwood?

Lucas approached slowly. Nathan sat there, his posture radiating desolation.

The sight was jarring.

Nathan had always been the epitome of control, but now, he looked utterly defeated.

It wasn’t hard to guess why.

Evelyn Sinclair—once his wife—now had Preston Sinclair by her side.

And if William Sterling’s approval of Preston was any indication, their reunion seemed inevitable.

Nathan lifted his head, his bloodshot eyes meeting Lucas’s.

“What a coincidence, Mr. Blackwood,” Lucas said, though his smirk faltered slightly.

Nathan’s state was alarming.

Dark circles shadowed his eyes, his face gaunt, as if he hadn’t slept in days.

Lucas had never seen him like this.

The urge to mock him faded.

Nathan’s voice was rough when he finally spoke. “How is she?”

Of course. He was here for Evelyn.

Lucas exhaled and took a seat beside him.

“Better. She can’t walk yet, but everything else is manageable. Don’t worry too much.”

Nathan’s fingers twitched. He stared blankly ahead, silent.

Lucas arched a brow. “Aren’t you going in to see her?”

This hesitation was unlike Nathan.

Nathan stiffened.

Of course he wanted to see her. He’d rushed here the moment he could.

But when he reached her door, he froze.

An unfamiliar dread coiled in his chest.

Especially after learning Preston shared Evelyn’s blood type—something that twisted like a knife in his gut.

He couldn’t face her.

After a long pause, Nathan finally spoke, his voice hollow.

“Not today.”

He stood abruptly, ready to leave.

Lucas scoffed.

“You’re running away, aren’t you?” His tone sharpened. “For three years, you used my sister’s blood to save your mistress. Now, when Evelyn nearly bled to death, it was Preston who saved her—the man who’s always loved her.”

Nathan’s entire body went rigid.

His expression darkened, a storm brewing in his gaze as he turned back.

“Lucas—”

But Lucas wasn’t finished.

Every word was a blade.

“Do you know how precious her blood is? Do you know why every sharp edge in our home is padded? Why she’s never held a fruit knife in her life?”

His lips curled into a bitter smile.

“She risked everything for you. And all you did was take.”

Nathan’s jaw clenched.

“That’s not true.”

His voice was raw, like gravel scraping against stone.

But the weight of his guilt was suffocating.