Chapter 1
805words
Claire Wilson didn't rise immediately. She leaned back in her chair, fingertips pressed against her temples, massaging gently. Three consecutive hours of intense focus had left her nerves strung tight as violin strings. Outside the window, dusk crept over the city, casting a warm orange glow that softened the cold edges of her desk.
Just then, her phone lit up on the desk—no ringtone, just a specific vibration pattern. Brief and firm, just like its owner.
Lucas Reed.
She swiped open the screen. The message was concise to the point of being miserly: "The usual place, seven o'clock."
Not even a question mark. As if he was certain she would be free, that she would appear on time.
Claire Wilson stared at the text, the corner of her mouth involuntarily curving into a slight arc. She replied with equal brevity: "Okay!"
She set down her phone, pulled open a drawer and retrieved a small makeup mirror. The face reflected back was delicate, showing hints of post-work weariness, but her eyes remained bright.
She carefully touched up her lipstick to look more refreshed. Every time she met Lucas Reed, she unconsciously attended to these details—a silent ritual that had become instinct after three years.
The "usual place" was a rooftop restaurant in the city center—private atmosphere, expensive menu—fitting Lucas Reed's status and preferences.
When Claire arrived, he was already seated in his usual spot by the window, overlooking the brilliant cityscape. He studied his tablet, the screen's light illuminating his well-defined profile, his expression focused and characteristically cool.
Hearing footsteps, he looked up, his gaze lingering on her face for two seconds, brow furrowing almost imperceptibly. "Why so pale? Too many patients lately?"
His powers of observation were always keen, even when his thoughts seemed elsewhere. Claire sat across from him, setting her handbag aside, keeping her tone light. "I'm fine. Just finished with a long-term client—mentally draining."
A waiter approached silently. Lucas raised his hand in a subtle gesture, eyes returning to his tablet though his words were directed at her. "The usual, with her steak sauce on the side."
He remembered she didn't like sauce poured directly on her meat. Remembered all her little dietary preferences. These details were once evidence she'd used to convince herself he might genuinely care.
The food arrived quickly. During the meal, Claire carried most of the conversation, sharing interesting hospital incidents and embarrassing stories about colleagues.
Lucas occasionally responded with a "hmm," his gaze frequently drifting toward the darkness beyond the window, clearly distracted.
Claire had long grown accustomed to his silence and continued chatting, while internally gathering courage to share the earth-shattering news that had been lingering in her mind for days—she might be pregnant.
Dessert was cheesecake. Just as Claire took a spoonful into her mouth, a sudden, intense wave of nausea surged up her throat.
Her expression changed abruptly. She covered her mouth and nearly stumbled as she rushed toward the bathroom.
At the sink, she dry-heaved but nothing came out, discomfort bringing tears to her eyes. She splashed cold water on her face and stared at her pale reflection, heart pounding like a drum. Her period was already a week late, and these symptoms...
When she'd composed herself and walked out somewhat weakly, she found Lucas standing outside the door, his face showing a trace of irritation at being disturbed, but more so a scrutinizing look.
"Did you eat something bad?" he asked, his tone not particularly concerned—more like confirming a fact.
Claire shook her head, the suspicion in her heart growing clearer, almost ready to surface. She looked at him, words at the tip of her tongue, but they retreated before his distant expression. "Maybe I caught a little cold," she ultimately chose to lie. "Let's go back. I'm tired."
In the car, Lucas received a phone call. He glanced at the caller ID, his expression shifting subtly before he turned slightly away and lowered his voice. Claire couldn't make out the words, but she caught an unusual, almost gentle reassurance in his tone: "...Mm, don't overthink it, I know... I'll take care of things on that end, don't worry..."
After hanging up, he gazed out the window, his profile shrouded in a faint melancholy Claire couldn't quite understand.
"Who was that? Calling so late," Claire asked casually.
Lucas seemed to pause before turning back, his gaze somewhat evasive, avoiding her direct look. "An elder."
He paused, then added, "Nothing important."
Silence reclaimed the car. Claire watched the colorful lights blur past outside the window, the joy that had risen in her heart at the possibility of pregnancy now clouded by a faint shadow.
Who was this "elder" who could make his voice turn so gentle?
