Please Come Back, My Love novel Chapter 356

Chapter 356

Lucas’s POV

I returned to the bedroom and scooped Sophia up from the blood–soaked sheets, her body limp and trembling in my arms. She didn’t fight me this time–just hung there, silent, her face buried against my chest.

The blanket I’d wrapped around her was already soaked through, the dark stain spreading across the white fabric. I could feel the warmth of her blood seeping through my shirt, sticky and wrong.

Fuck. Fuck.

Claire was still in the hallway when I stepped out, her arms crossed, her expression cold and calculating.

“What did you do to her?” she asked, her voice sharp.

“Get out of my way, Claire.”

“I asked you a question-”

“And I don’t have time for your bullshit.” I took a step forward, and she must have seen something in my face that made her think twice, because she finally stepped aside.

I brushed past her without another word.

The ambulance was already waiting outside, lights flashing, back doors open. The paramedics rushed forward the second they saw us.

“Qu’est–ce qui s’est passé?” one of them asked–a woman with short dark hair. What happened?

“Elle saigne,” I said, my French rough but functional. “From–from her vagina. I don’t know why.”

They took her from me and laid her on the stretcher. I watched, helpless, as they checked her vitals, their movements quick and efficient.

“Le pouls est faible,” the dark–haired paramedic said. “Tension artérielle basse. Il faut partir.” Pulse is weak. Blood pressure’s low. We need to move.

‘I’m coming with her,” I said in English, already climbing into the back of the ambulance.

The ride through the Paris streets was a blur of beeping monitors and urgent voices speaking rapid French. I sat beside Sophia, holding her hand, watching the paramedics work.

She looked so small. So fragile.

“Is she going to be okay?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

The dark–haired paramedic glanced at me, her expression carefully neutral. “On fait tout notre possible, monsieur.” We’re doing everything we can, sir.

That wasn’t an answer. That was a fucking cop–out.

She wasn’t a virgin.

And she’d told me to stop.

Fuck. What the hell is wrong with me?

“Monsieur, vous devez attendre ici.” Sir, you need to wait here.

“Monsieur.” Her voice was firm. “Les médecins doivent l’examiner.” The doctors need to examine her.

So I stepped back and watched them disappear through the doors.

The waiting room was sterile and cold. I sank into a plastic chair, my head in my hands.

She wasn’t bleeding because of a hymen. She’s not a virgin. So why-

The thought circled in my head, over and over.

An hour crawled by. Then another. I paced the length of the waiting room, my hands shaking, my mind racing with worst–case scenarios.

Finally, a doctor appeared. She was middle–aged, her scrubs pristine, her face professional but tired.

“Monsieur Reynolds?”

I shot to my feet. “Is she okay?”

She gestured for me to follow her to a quieter corner.

“Mademoiselle Cruz est stable,” she said, switching to accented English. “But there are some things you need to know.”