Chapter 173

Serena's POV

The beating of helicopter blades shattered the usual tranquility of the stadium. I stood motionless, watching as the sleek black aircraft descended, its downdraft whipping my hair around my face. Through the chaos, I caught sight of Rachel being carefully loaded aboard, Lucas's tall figure beside her. My grip tightened imperceptibly on my phone as I observed the scene, maintaining the composed expression.

"Serena." Lucas's voice cut through the noise as he approached me, his gray eyes intense. "Could you watch Stella and Milo tonight?"

I nodded, my face betraying nothing of the twinge in my back from the earlier incident. "Of course."

He hesitated for a moment, as if wanting to say more, but simply squeezed Milo's shoulder before heading back to the helicopter. I watched as Milo's small hand lifted in a wave to his father, his usually confident posture slightly diminished.

"Ready to go home?" I asked them softly, receiving a quiet nod in response.

The drive home was a study in controlled discomfort. Each small bump in the road sent sharp reminders through my back, but I kept my expression neutral, occasionally catching glimpses of Stella and Milo.

My fingers found my phone, muscle memory dialing Eleanor's number.

"Eleanor, free for dinner tonight?"

"Oh honey, I'm so sorry - I've got to fly to LA for this crucial event. Is everything okay? You sound a bit off."

I forced lightness into my tone. "Just wanted to catch up. It's fine, we'll do it another time."

"You sure? You know you can tell me if something's wrong."

"Absolutely. Have a good flight." I ended the call, catching both children's concerned gazes in the mirror. Stella's eyes held a quiet worry, while Milo fidgeted with his toy car.

"How about we make something special for dinner?" I suggested, trying to lighten the mood.

Stella's face brightened slightly. "Could we make macarons?"

"Let's have some real food first," I smiled, then turned to Milo who was still unusually quiet. "What do you think, Milo? Should we try that new pasta recipe you found?"

His eyes lit up at that. "The one with the crispy garlic on top?"

"That's the one."

At home, I focused on creating a sense of normalcy, guiding both children through their evening routines while carefully managing my own movements. The kitchen came alive with the warm scent of roasted chicken and vegetables, along with the garlicky aroma of Milo's requested pasta. Stella meticulously set the table while Milo helped me with the cooking, standing on his step stool to carefully stir the sauce just as Lucas had taught him.

We ate dinner together, the silence comfortable and occasionally broken by the twins' chatter. I listened attentively, watching as they gradually relaxed, the tension from the afternoon's events slowly melting away.

After dinner came our attempt at macarons - which quickly turned into an impromptu food fight when Milo accidentally dusted his sister with powdered sugar, and Stella retaliated with a handful of her own. Their giggles filled the kitchen, and for a moment, the weight of the day lifted completely.

"Dad's going to laugh when he sees this mess," Milo said, wiping sugar from his nose and grinning.

"Only if you help clean it up first," I countered, ruffling his hair. "Both of you, go get cleaned up while I handle the kitchen."

As they headed off to shower, their playful bickering echoing down the hallway, I began tidying up. The simple domestic tasks helped ground me, even as each reach and bend sent warning signals through my body.

It wasn't until kids were safely tucked in bed that I finally allowed myself to acknowledge the full extent of my discomfort.

Through the mirror, I noticed a large bruise on my waist when I undressed in the bathroom. It hurt when I moved. After gritting my teeth through a shower and changing into pajamas, I went to find some bruise cream from the medicine cabinet.

Standing in front of the full-length mirror in the living room, I lifted my top and even pulled down my pajama pants slightly to better apply the cream to my waist.

"You should have that looked at."

The deep voice froze me in place. In the mirror, I saw Lucas standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable. I quickly pulled my robe closer, turning to face him.

"How did you get in?"

"Stella let me in when I knocked." His eyes hadn't left the glimpse of bruising. "Why didn't you mention you were hurt?"

"It's nothing serious," I replied, keeping my voice level. "Kids should be asleep by now. Since it's the weekend, there's no need to take them home tonight."

He took a step forward, and I instinctively stepped back, bumping against the counter. "Serena..."

"I'm fine," I cut him off, tightening my grip on my robe. "Rachel needed your attention more urgently. How is she?"

"Being treated." His jaw tightened slightly. "That's not what we're discussing right now."

"There's nothing to discuss." My voice was cold, but Lucas didn't move. Instead, his reflection in the mirror took a step closer, his height casting me further into shadow. "Stand back."

"Let me see the injury." His tone held that familiar note of authority.

"I said stand back." I pressed against the counter, maintaining what little distance I could in the confined space. The edge of the marble dug into my hip, a sharp counterpoint to the dull ache in my back.

He ignored my warning, closing the distance between us with deliberate steps. "Weren't you supposed to be unharmed?"

"Not as severe as Rachel's injury." I kept my voice steady, but my fingers tightened on the robe's fabric. The mention of Rachel's name hung in the air between us, weighted with unspoken implications.

"When will you learn to admit when you're in pain?" His eyes met mine in the mirror, gray and unflinching. Before I could react, his hand brushed the silk from my shoulder, exposing the mottled bruising beneath.

I jerked away, but there was nowhere to go. "Don't."

"Stop being stubborn." His fingers were surprisingly gentle as they probed the injury, but I stiffened at his touch. "This needs treatment."

"I can handle it myself."

"Clearly." The sarcasm in his voice was mild but unmistakable. "That's why you're standing here, unable to even reach it properly."

The truth of his words stung more than the injury. I watched in the mirror as he reached past me for the first aid kit I'd left on the counter, his movements precise and controlled. The familiar scent of his cologne wrapped around me.

"Don't worry," his voice dropped lower, almost mocking. "I won't lose control. Not even when you were drugged, let alone now."

The reference to that night sent heat flooding my cheeks. "That's not the point."

"I've seen it all before, Serena." His hands returned to my shoulder, cool with antiseptic.

"That was then." I met his gaze in the mirror, steeling myself. "We're strangers now."