Please Come Back, My Love novel Chapter 330

Please Come Back, My Love

Chapter 330

Sophia’s POV

The weekend stretched before me like a minefield I had to cross barefoot.

I sat on the edge of my bed Saturday morning, staring at the address Lucas’s driver had texted me.

A private estate two hours upstate–one of those sprawling properties hidden behind high walls and iron gates. The kind of place where screams wouldn’t carry and no one asked questions.

My parents had been there for fouryears. Prisoners in a gilded cage.

My phone buzzed. Lucas: [Driver’s downstairs. Don’t keep him waiting.]

Even his mercy came with a leash.

I grabbed my purse and headed down. The black sedan idled at the curb, engine purring like a predator at rest. The driver–some stone–faced guy in his

fifties–didn’t acknowledge me beyond a curt nod.

Two hours of highway. Two hours of rehearsing what I’d say, how I’d smile, how I’d lie.

The estate sat in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by dense forest that stretched to the horizon, Beautiful, in a desolate way–golden autumn leaves carpeting the ground, late afternoon sunlight filtering through the trees. It would’ye been peaceful if not for the twelve–foot walls and security cameras

mounted every twenty feet.

The gates swung open as we approached. The driver pulled up to a sprawling colonial–style mansion–white columns, perfectly manicured lawns, flower beds

bursting with late–season blooms.

A prison that looked like a country club.

Two guards in plain clothes stood by the front entrance. One of them opened my door.

“Miss Cruz.” His voice was professionally neutral. “They’re expecting you in the sunroom.”

I followed him inside, my heels clicking on marble floors. The interior was just as immaculate–crown molding, crystal chandeliers, artwork that probably cost more than my apartment. But the windows had bars disguised as decorative ironwork, and every door required a keycard to open.

Beautiful. Suffocating.

The guard led me through a hallway lined with family portraits–not my family, just generic stock photos meant to make this place look lived–in- stopped at a set of French doors.

“Thirty minutes,” he said flatly. “I’ll be right outside.”

He unlocked the doors and stepped aside.

and

12:14 pm PPPT.

Chapter 330

The pureem was flooded with golden light, floor–to–ceiling windows overlooking a garden that could’ve been ripped from a magazine spread. Wrought–iron furniture, putted orchids, a marble fountain in the corner.

And there, sitting at a small table set for tea, were my parents.

Mom stood first, her hands flying to her mouth. “Sophia.”

I barely recognized her.

She’d always been petite, but now she looked fragile–her collarbones jutting out, her wrists thin as bird bones. Her hair, once glossy brown, was streaked

with gray and pulled into a loose bun.

She wore a simple linen dress that hung off her frame.

But what stopped my breath was the way she moved–slowly, carefully, one hand pressed to her chest as she rose. I heard it immediately: the faint wheeze in her breathing, the shallow rise and fall of her shoulders.

Her asthma. It was worse.

Dad rose more slowly, gripping the edge of the table for support. He’d lost weight too–his face gaunt, his shoulders stooped. His eyes, though, were the same warm brown I remembered, now shadowed with exhaustion.

“Mija.” His voice cracked.

I crossed the room in three strides and threw my arms around both of them, careful not to squeeze Mom too tightly. I felt her chest hitch against mine, heard the labored quality of her breath up close.

She trembled against me, her fingers digging into my back like I might disappear. Dad pressed a kiss to the top of my head, and I felt him shudder.

“You’re here,” Mom whispered, her voice thin and reedy. “You’re really here.”

“I’m here.” I pulled back, blinking hard against the tears. My eyes immediately went to the small table beside her chair–an inhaler sat there, well–used, the plastic worn. “Mom, are you okay? Your breathing-

‘I’m fine, sweetheart.” She waved a hand dismissively, but I caught the way she had to pause mid–sentence to draw breath. “Just the change in seasons. You

know how it is.”

I didn’t believe her for a second,

We sat down, and I forced myself to really look at them.

Mom’s hands shook as she poured tea from a delicate porcelain pot. I watched her chest–each breath seemed to require effort, her shoulders rising too high, her exhales too short. The slight purplish tint to her lips made my stomach clench.

Dad’s knuckles were bruised, like he’d been gripping something too hard. They both had that hollow, haunted look–the kind that came from months of confinement, of not knowing when or if it would end.

“Mom.” I reached across the table, stilling her trembling hands. “When was the last time you saw a doctor? A real one?”

She glanced at Dad, then back at me. They have someone who comes by once a month. He’s very good.”

12:15 pm PPPT.

Chapter 330

“Once a month?” My voice rose despite myself “Mom, you need regular monitoring. Especially with your asthma. What if you have an attack? What if”

“Sophia.” Dad’s voice was gentle but firm. We’re managing.”

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