"Master Lukas!" Thomas stepped forward, his eyes filled with immediate concern. "Your sensory attack—shall I fetch your neural suppressants?"
"No," Lukas growled through gritted teeth, squeezing his eyes shut until the pulsing white light behind his eyelids faded into a dull, throb. "I can put up with it."
He forced his hand down, taking a slow, ragged breath. It was painful, agonizingly loud inside his own head, but his blood was still boiling far too hot to care about a headache.
He stood by the edge of the bed, his golden eyes fixed on Blair’s motionless, fragile face. Her breathing was dangerously shallow, a faint, rattling wheeze echoing softly in her chest with every faint intake of air.
Lukas crossed his arms, his fox tail lashing behind him in bitter, confused irritation.
I don’t care about a lowly human like this, he told himself fiercely, trying to rationalize the wild, protective impulse that had made him jump across the parlor in lightning speed. She’s weak, she’s clumsy, and she’s useless... Except for her cooking.
Yet, as he looked at her bruised cheek and shredded palm, his fangs bared in a silent, lethal snarl.
She was his wife. Bound to him and his brothers on paper, bearing the Deruno name in the eyes of the world. And as a husband, protecting his wife wasn’t a matter of affection—it was a matter of pride and duty.
He could never stand back and watch arrogant, entitled pests barge into his home to humiliate, bleed, and look down on the woman who carried his name.
Lukas looked over at the doorway, tapping his smartwatch interface with a flick of his finger. An holographic screen materialized in the air before him, displaying dual outgoing video feeds for his brothers.
Even with their demanding schedules, both Philippe and Sebastian answered instantly.
"We have a problem," Lukas said, his voice flat and hard. "You two need to come back to the estate immediately."
On his screen, Sebastian’s brow twitched. He looked ready to offer a polished excuse about a scheduled board meeting, but taking in Lukas’s blood-soaked shirt and the tension in his eyes, he swallowed his words.
"I will be there shortly," Sebastian murmured smoothly.
"I’m already on my way," Philippe added before the holographic call cut out.
A few moments later, Dr. Vane and his trauma team rushed into the suite with specialized medical equipment, moving with rapid precision.
They immediately tended to Blair—cleaning the deep, jagged cuts on her shredded hand, carefully picking out every single broken glass in her flesh, applying advanced blood-coagulating foam, and hooking her up to an emergency oxygen monitor.
Dr. Vane conducted a rapid biometric scan, his forehead creasing into a deep, worried frown as he read the diagnostics floating on his tablet.
"How is she?" Lukas demanded, crossing his arms as his white fox ears twitched.
"She has lost a critical amount of blood—and unfortunately, her baseline volume was already dangerously low," Dr. Vane explained in a low, serious tone. "A hand injury shouldn’t trigger acute lung inflammation or internal hemorrhaging like this unless her circulatory system is severely compromised or reacting to heavy medication. I suspect she suffers from an underlying vascular condition, but I will need a full panel of medical tests to be certain. In her current state, this much blood loss is life-threatening."
Before Lukas could give the go-ahead, a soft, frantic movement on the bed drew their attention.
Blair was turning her head back and forth against the pillows, cold sweat dripping down her pale temples. Her eyelashes fluttered open, her blurred vision taking in the doctors and their heavy scanning equipment. She had overheard those few words—run a full panel of comprehensive medical tests—and panic surged through her weak chest.
If they ran tests, they would find out about her condition. They would realize she was terminally ill, broken, and completely useless, on top of it—a heavy financial and medical burden. And then... they would throw her out.
"No... no tests," Blair gasped, her voice raspy and trembling as she weakly tried to pull her injured hand back. "No tests... please..."
Lukas looked down at her, his brows furrowing into a tight, frustrated crease.
"You’re really a handful, you know that?" Lukas scolded, stepping closer to the bed. "We left you alone for one morning, and you couldn’t even handle a simple woman who walked into your house to make trouble?"
Tears immediately welled up in Blair’s clear eyes, her lower lip trembling. "I’m sorry... I’m so sorry... I didn’t want to cause trouble... I just wanted it to be peaceful..."
Lukas’s face crinkled in immediate annoyance. He hadn’t scolded her to hear her degrade herself further; he said it because he was frustrated that she had let those women step all over her without fighting back!
"I didn’t tell you that so you’d apologize!" Lukas snapped, waving his hand in the air. "Stop apologizing! I told you, you’re our wife—do not act like a servant!"
Blair pressed her lips tightly togethe. Then, she bit down on her bottom lip so hard it lost all color. Her eyes trailed down, her shoulders tense as she tried to force herself not to utter another ’sorry’.
Looking at her terrified, shrinking frame, a sudden pang of guilt struck Lukas’s chest. He felt like a bully yelling at a bedridden patient.
He let out a heavy, harsh sigh and turned to Dr. Vane. "Skip the tests for now. Just give her high-grade supplements, treat her hand, and stabilize her blood pressure."
Lukas remembered his own childhood—endless medical rooms, painful needles, and cold, terrifying neural tests when his sensory overload first went off the charts. He hated hospitals, and he hated being poked and prodded when he was already in so much pain.
So in a way, he sympathized with her.
Dr. Vane bowed respectfully. "Understood, Master Lukas. We will focus on immediate stabilization."
As the medical team wrapped her shredded hand in clean synth-dressings and administered a soothing nutrient drip, Blair lay quietly. Her head was still spinning with dizziness, her body cold and exhausted. She knew she should have collapsed or died from the shock, but Lukas’s fast timing had miraculously saved her life.
She looked up at the white-haired fox pureblood standing beside her bed, her timid voice barely audible. "I... I didn’t want to be a burden... I truly am sorry!"
"I told you not to say that—" Lukas started, raising his voice again.
Sniff.
He froze mid-sentence.
Blair’s shoulders began to shake violently. Her eyes welled over, and hot, silent tears spilled past her lashes, cascading down her pale, bruised cheeks in an unstoppable stream.
Lukas’s mouth stayed half-open, completely speechless.
Was he too harsh?
A wave of pure panic washed over him. He had never handled a woman in his life, let alone a human who looked as fragile and breakable as spun glass.
What in the world was he supposed to do with a crying wife?