Chapter 2190

Before anyone could respond, Nicholas planted both palms against the mattress and forced himself upright, sweat beading along his hairline.

“He’s right. I don’t need any of you.” His voice scraped like iron dragged across stone.

Elena rushed forward, hands outstretched to steady him.

Nicholas shook her off, impatience flashing sharp and sudden. “Don’t.”

Hurt flared in Elena’s eyes. “Nicholas, please—listen to me. Don’t be so stubborn. I’m begging you.”

Since his childhood, Nicholas’s fragile health had kept Elena in a constant state of vigilance. She had always seen him as gentle, compliant. Now, watching that gentleness harden into something fierce and dangerous, she wondered when her soft-spoken boy had vanished.

Nicholas drew a long, measured breath, as if trying to suck the stale air from the room. His shoulders lifted, then fell with a tightly restrained tremor. “Elena, if you really want me to be okay, stop assigning people to follow me.”

Wren staggered a step closer, nearly tripping over the bed frame in his haste. “All right—yes, of course. Anything. Just stop pushing yourself like this. Whatever you want, we’ll do it.”

Elena shot her husband a sharp look, a silent reprimand more cutting than words, but she said nothing.

Only then did the tension ease from Nicholas’s shoulders, the storm in his eyes settling into a fragile calm.

Seeing that he needed rest, Elena, Wren, and Nathaniel slipped out of the ward and into the dim corridor beyond, their footsteps muffled by polished linoleum.

Outside, Elena’s composure finally cracked. She turned on Nathaniel, her voice lowered to a strained whisper edged with frustration.

“Nathaniel, Nicholas is your brother. You need to soften the way you speak to him.”

Nathaniel sat down, elbows braced on his knees. “I entered this world only minutes before he did, but ever since, I’ve been expected to step aside for him—protect him—serve him. That isn’t fair.”

The resentment had lived in him for years; he had simply never voiced it until now.

Elena tried again, her tone gentler. “But you know how fragile Nicholas’s health has always been—”

“Mom, I don’t owe him anything.” Nathaniel’s words landed flat and final, leaving no room for argument.

Elena fell silent. The hallway hummed with distant machinery, filling the space his words left behind.

Taking in his parents’ drawn faces, Nathaniel softened his tone. “He’ll be fine. Don’t wear yourselves out over this. Ceci’s home alone, and I don’t want to leave her that way. I’m heading back.”

“Very well,” Wren said, and Elena managed a faint nod.

Long after Nathaniel’s footsteps faded, Elena remained, worrying her lip as she stared at Nicholas’s closed door. “What are we supposed to do now?”

Wren considered it, then spoke quietly. “Maybe Nathaniel’s right. We should give Nicholas his freedom and stop micromanaging his life.”

Elena hesitated, concern flickering across her face, but at last she nodded, exhaustion weighing her down.

Nicholas underwent one final round of treatment, and by sunrise the next morning, he was discharged from the hospital.

The observers Elena had once stationed around him quietly withdrew. For the first time in years, Nicholas could drive wherever he pleased.

He slid behind the wheel of his sedan, the engine purring like a caged animal. He had no destination—the city stretched before him, blank as an unmarked map.

Somehow, his wandering led him to the modest complex where Jocelyn had once rented a place.

He knew she now lived with Yannick, yet he still cut the engine, stepped out, and let the door click shut behind him.

Head lowered against the cool breeze, Nicholas walked toward the weather-stained building Jocelyn had once called home.

Voices drifted from farther down the lane, carried on the quiet of midmorning.

“Ma’am, thank you so much. I’ve been searching everywhere for this necklace. It’s the only keepsake my mother left me.” Jocelyn bowed deeply to a kindly middle-aged landlady, gratitude shining in her eyes.

The landlady beamed back at her. “Think nothing of it, dear. You rented from me—returning your things is the least I could do.”

Nicholas’s stride faltered. One foot hovered above the cracked pavement, suspended between impulse and restraint.

From across the narrow courtyard, Nicholas stood completely still, hollow eyes fixed on Jocelyn. A gust of wind tugged at his thin coat, but he seemed oblivious to the early winter chill. He stared as if the sight of her had pulled him out of time itself.

Jocelyn finished thanking the landlady, tucked the necklace securely against her collarbone, and turned to leave. The instant her gaze landed on the figure standing in the shadows, her pulse seemed to stutter.

“Mr. Nicholas…” Her voice crossed the space between them, soft as a prayer, yet trembling unmistakably.

Shock widened her dark eyes, bright enough to catch every shard of afternoon light.

Nicholas looked worse than when she had last seen him. His cheeks were sharply hollowed, his collarbones jutting beneath a threadbare sweater, as though there were nothing beneath his skin but a fragile lattice of bone.

Startled, he turned abruptly, intent on slipping away before recognition could fully settle.

“Mr. Nicholas, are you all right?” Jocelyn stepped forward without thinking, worry threading every word.

She had always known he was frail—but she had never imagined it was this bad.