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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

It didn’t matter. The seeds were planted. Doubt didn’t need constant watering–it grew on its own in the dark.

On the eighth day, Lucas finally let me leave.

He didn’t say much when he arrived to collect me–just gestured toward the car and told me we were going back to the city. I climbed in without a word,

Smoothing my skirt, keeping my expression neutral.

But inside, I was already recalculating.

Freedom meant access. Access meant opportunity.

The moment we pulled up to my apartment, Lucas walked me to the door, his hand on the small of my back, his touch as impersonal as ever.