Page 82 of Obsessing Over His Favorite
“What did I ever do to you… that was so awful… so unforgivable…” Her voice cracked. “That you hated me so much through all five years we were together?”
Lucas froze. Completely still.
His fingers unconsciously tightened around her thigh, the pressure growing with each heartbeat, but she didn’t flinch. She looked at him—not with sadness, not even anger—but with quiet confusion, troubled and searching. Lost.
“What did I do to you that was so bad?” she asked, her voice a soft, shaky whisper. “Why did you hate me so much… that even when I was dying on that operating table, you didn’t come? You didn’t care?”
She drew in a sharp breath, her throat working around the words, then continued—slower, rawer.
“When I was lying there in the hospital… covered in blood, barely breathing… do you know what I heard?”
Her hands balled into fists, clenching the fabric of the couch tightly. Her jaw tightened.
“You told the doctor—‘Is she dead yet? Don’t bother me if she’s not dead.’”
Lucas flinched as if the words had physically struck him. His entire body jolted, his grip slackening, eyes wide and hollowing with horror.
His voice came out hoarse, as if it had been dragged across glass. “You… you remember that?”
Emily nodded, her voice steady but icy cold.
“I heard you say it over the phone,” she whispered, her eyes fixed on him. “I was bleeding out, slipping in and out of consciousness, and I heard your voice.”
She didn’t blink. Her tone cut like frost. “I remember every word you said while I was fighting for my life on that table.”
Chapter 15 Guilt
Lucas froze, as if the world had stopped spinning. His hands, still resting tensely on her thighs, clenched involuntarily.
He had said those words bitterly, without thinking. But realizing she remembered them—even after losing her memory—struck him hard.
Guilt slammed through his chest, constricting his breath. Those were the last words she heard from him. The words that clung to her, carved deep into her fading memory.
She remembered the moment she was dying. And she remembered his indifference.
Emily had always loved him—there had never been a question. She clung to him fiercely, poured all her affection into him without hesitation. It had overwhelmed him sometimes, but beneath it all, he had loved the way she loved him.
Now… she was someone else. Distant. Untouchable. Emotionally armored. No jealousy. No tears. No begging.
And it was breaking him.
Because with that he had lost the version of her wholoved him so loudly, he realized—he didn’t want someone cold or distant. He wantedher. The girl who fought for him. The girl who held on, even when he didn’t deserve it.
His silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.
Emily sighed softly, finally freeing her leg from his grip. She slid off his lap and started to get off the couch, brushing off the tension with a small, weary shrug.
“It’s fine. You don’t have to explain.”
Lucas surged forward, grabbing her wrist in a desperate grip, his fingers tightening just enough to stop her retreat without hurting. His other hand came up to brace on the back of the couch, closing off her escape route.
Her back hit the couch, his chest nearly brushing hers.
“Emily,” he whispered, closing his eyes briefly as if gathering his scattered thoughts. His palm slid softly to the back of her neck, fingers curling in a tender hold that contrasted his rougher grasp on her waist.
He leaned in closer, voice dropping to a near-broken whisper. “When I said those things that night, I didn’t know you were really hurt,” he said. “I thought you were lying again. That it was another trick to get me back. I thought you were jealous of Amelia and just pulling something reckless again.”
Emily let out a sharp breath—half disbelief, half disgust—as her eyes widened. “Even when I wasdying… you thought I was faking it?” Her voice cracked in rage. “What kind of woman do you think I am?”
