Please Come Back, My Love novel Chapter 380

Please Come Back, My Love

Chapter 380

Claire’s POV

I stepped forward, tugging gently at his sleeve, letting my voice go soft and pleading. “You’ll protect me, won’t you?”

Lucas’s jaw tightened. His eyes were cold, distant–the way they always were when he looked at me now. But his voice, when it came, was steady. Firm.

“I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Relief flooded through me, warm and validating. I pressed closer, letting my fingers curl around his arm. “Then our wedding can still happen as planned?”

He looked down at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then his gaze dropped, and I watched him retreat into whatever calculation was running through his mind.

“Everything proceeds as scheduled.”

Perfect.

I let my lips curve into a small, grateful smile as he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the hallway. I stood there, watching until he

disappeared around the corner, until I was alone with the silence and the satisfaction blooming in my chest.

He still cares.

He wouldn’t let me suffer.

Yes, he knew about the fabricated video. Knew I’d orchestrated the whole thing that sent Sophia’s parents to the hospital. And yes, he’d confined me here-

but that was protection, not punishment.

If he’d truly wanted to destroy me, he could have. One call to the authorities, one piece of evidence handed over, and I’d be facing criminal charges. Prison

time.

Instead, he’d hidden me away in this beautiful cage.

That meant something.

It meant he still valued what we had. Still saw a future where I could be useful to him.

r

After all, what man in his position would choose a hysterical ex–fiancée over a woman who understood the game? Who could bring him real value?

Sophia might have his attention now, but attention wasn’t loyalty. It wasn’t commitment.

And Lucas Reynolds understood commitinent.

I exhaled slowly, letting the tension drain from my shoulders. I was safe. He’d made sure of that. And now, all I had to do was wait–and plan.

A week passed in the Westchester estate like a prison sentence dressed in silk and marble.

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11:05 am

Chapter 380

The mums were beautiful–high ceilings, arched windows overlooking manicured lawns, furniture that whispered old money.

But I knew there were rows of security guards stationed outside this villa to monitor me.

I was a captive.

Still, I kept my head high. I ate the meals they brought me, wore the clothes that had been packed for me, and played the role of the grateful fiancée who understood that this was all for her protection.

And i watched. I listened. I learned the guards shift patterns, the housekeeper’s sympathies, the gardener’s indifference.

Information was currency. And I was collecting.

Every evening, I sat by the window with a Book I wasn’t reading, my mind working through scenarios. Lucas had isolated me to protect his precious Sophia, but isolation worked both ways. While I was here, she had his full attention. His resources. His guilt.

I needed to shift that balance.

So I began my campaign carefully. A tearful call to my mother, loud enough for the housekeeper to overhear. Mentions of how frightened I was, how I just

wanted to make amends.

2

I watched the woman’s expression soften, saw the moment she decided I was a victim too.

Three days later, I had her email address.

I didn’t contact Sophia directly–that would be too obvious, too easy to trace back to me. Instead, I crafted messages that would eat at her slowly. Doubts. Reminders. Little poisoned seeds.”

He still keeps my photo in his office drawer.

Ask him about the night before your accident. Ask him where he really was.

You think you know him, but you only know the version he shows you.

I sent them through burner accounts, untraceable, and waited.

At first, there was nothing. Then, angry responses started filtering back through my carefully constructed network. Good. She was rattled.

But after a few days, silence.

1 stared at my phone, my jaw tightening slightly before I forced myself to relax.

So she’d blocked the accounts. Predictable.

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