Revenge amnesia upgraded to his brother (Norah and Lucien) novel Chapter 193

Chapter 193

Lucien’s POV

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Finished

My phone vibrated against the glass coffee table. I stood by the floor–to–ceiling window, my third glass of whisky burning a path down my throat. The city lights below swam in a blur.

I stared at the screen for three full seconds. Alcohol had dulled my reflexes, but

reflexes, but my heart hammered against my ribs–a heavy, frantic drum.

I opened the email. The attachment.

The first page was stark: a marriage status report.

Investigation Result: No marriage registration records found for Norah Hawthorne and Mateo Vega. Any jurisdiction, worldwide.

Not married.

They were never married.

I slammed the glass down. The crystal base hit the marble with a sharp crack, spiderwebbing the surface.

The knot in my chest, tightening all night, loosened a fraction. One ragged breath.

Then, ice water. A deeper, more primal fear drenched me from head to toe.

If they weren’t married… then the child-

My hands shook as I opened the second file. Gynecological and obstetrical records. Dated three years ago. Washington.

I knew the clinic. The most exclusive private maternity center in the States. A six–month waiting list. How had she managed it? Alone, in a foreign country, carrying a―no. Not alone. Mateo. The name was a shard of glass in my mind.

I forced my eyes to focus. Appointment dates, tests… My gaze locked on a line highlighted in brutal red:

Estimated conception window: 1-2 months prior to subject’s departure from Paris.

Before she left.

Before she left me.

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The room tilted. I braced a hand against the cold window, my palm leaving a sweaty smear.

That night. The celebration banquet. Her pale face watching me carry Amélie out. Later, in my study, her soft voice asking me to be gentle. The wedding–her in a wheelchair, watching me place a ring on another woman’s finger. The stab wound in her hand. The manor gates–curled in Mateo’s arms as he took her

away…

Every ignored detail, every misunderstood moment, snapped into a single, cold, calculated timeline. A rope, tightening around my

I ripped at my collar, gasping.

neck.

She had been pregnant. With my child. And she left.

She lay on that table alone, signing those forms. With himstanding beside her.

“Fuck!”

I stormed out of the apartment. The elevator mirror showed a madman–bloodshot eyes, disheveled hair, shirt misbuttoned.

Hermadman. Driven insane by the secret she’d carried for three years.

The studio door was unlocked. I walked through the dark reception area straight toward the sliver of light under the lounge door.

She wasn’t asleep.

She sat on the sofa, a heavy fabric book in her lap. At the sound of my footsteps, she looked up. Her expression frosted over instantly.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice was ice.

I didn’t answer. I walked to her and dropped to my haunches, bringing us eye to eye. From here, I could see every subtle shift in expression: the exhaustion, the deep wariness.

My gaze dropped to her abdomen, flat now under a soft dress.

But I knew. Three years ago, my child had

child had grown there.

“Norah.” My voice was rough. “We need to talk.”

She looked away, clutching the book like a shield. “The deal is done. There’s nothing to talk about. It’s just business now. Remember?”

“To hell with business!” I lost control, grabbing her wrist.

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Chapter 193

She flinched, trying to pull back. “Let go!”

“The child,” I ground out, staring into her eyes.

Time froze.

:

Finished

The color drained from her face. Her lips parted. In her eyes, always so full of fight, I saw pure panic.

“What… child?” Her voice trembled.

“Ourchild,” I said, tightening my grip. “The one you were carrying three years ago. When you left.”

Her breath hitched.

Then she laughed–a cold, broken sound.

“You investigated me? Of course you did. Lucien Constantine, always digging, always suspecting. Convinced I’m hiding some dirty secret.”

“Answer me!” I roared, my sanity fraying. “Where is it? A boy? A girl? How old? What’s their name?!”

“None of your business.” She wrenched her hand back and stood, trying to push past me.

I blocked her path.

“None of my business?” I laughed, the sound hollow and bitter. “That was mychild! You carried my child, disappeared for three years, and now you tell me it’s none of my business?!”

“Then what?!” She lifted her chin, tears welling, shimmering under the light. “Tell you, so you can make another choice? Your fake wedding or my real child?”

“I never made that choice!” I shouted. “The wedding was a sham! I never intended to marry her! It was all-”

“-a plan! A scheme! All part of the great Lucien Constantine’s design!” she cut me off. Tears fell, but her voice was unnervingly clear. “I know! I found out later! But Lucien, the damage was done!”

She pointed a finger at her own chest. “Something in here… it died.”

Her

cycs held mine, filled with a bottomless despair and a hatred that stole my breath.

“The child… is gone. Because of your plans.”

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Her voice dropped to a whisper, each word a physical blow.

“When I was lying alone on that cold table, not knowing if I’d ever…”

She took a sharp breath, her gaze locking with mine, utterly desolate.

“Where were you, Lucien?”

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