The door opened exactly at 6:18 a.m.
Bella turned sharply, her eyes widening as Lucas stepped in. He was dressed in black, as usual, his coat damp with morning mist, but what startled her was the way he moved — not his usual effortless grace, but stiff, as if pain gripped his body with each step.
He was about to head straight to the bathroom when her voice stopped him cold.
"Lucas."
He paused, his back still turned.
"Lucas," she said again, firmer now. "Turn around."
He didn't. Not immediately. His hand clenched at his side.
"You're not getting past me like that," she warned softly, stepping closer. "Either turn around or I swear I'll—"
He turned.
Her breath caught.
A shallow cut ran down his left cheekbone, blood dried at the edge. The corner of his lip was swollen, split. There was a faint bruise forming under one eye, just beginning to discolor. His knuckles were red and raw, his collar slightly disheveled, and even in the low light, she could tell he'd been in a fight.
"Wh—Lucas!" she gasped, rushing to him. "What the hell happened?"
He caught her wrists gently before she could touch his face. "I'm fine," he said quickly. "It's nothing serious."
"That's not nothing! You're—your face—your hands—"
"There was… a small accident," he said, smoothly cutting in. "On the way to the company. Something urgent came up. I went in early and got hit when I stopped near a construction truck that swerved."
Bella's eyes narrowed. "You went to the company at four in the morning?"
He didn't flinch. "It was something I had to look into personally."
She hesitated. Something about his voice was calm—too calm. But the worry in her chest was louder than her suspicion.
"You should've called me," she murmured.
"I didn't want to wake you."
She let out a slow breath, stepping back reluctantly. "Sit down. I'll get the first-aid."
Lucas caught her hand again, this time gently. "I'm okay. Let me wash up first."
She studied his eyes, reading something behind them — a storm he wasn't sharing. But after a long moment, she nodded.
Lucas stepped out of the bathroom, hair damp, shirt changed, but even the fresh cotton couldn't hide the tension in his shoulders or the faint wince in his gait. His cheek was swollen, lip split, and knuckles raw — he had done a quick rinse, but nothing thorough.
He froze when he saw Bella waiting in the living room, sitting cross-legged on the couch with the first-aid kit open on the coffee table. Her eyes immediately scanned his face, taking in the damage with that quiet, stormy intensity he'd come to know well.
"Sit," she said simply, patting the space in front of her.
Lucas gave a faint smirk as he walked over, doing as told. "You're making it sound like I lost a war."
"You look like the war walked through you," she replied flatly, her hands already reaching for the antiseptic.
He chuckled softly, but it died quickly when she dabbed the cotton pad against his cheek and he flinched.
Bella didn't tease him. She was focused — unusually serious. She leaned in slightly, brushing his hair gently away from the wound near his temple. "So," she murmured, "construction trucks punch people now?"
Lucas blinked.
She didn't look up, didn't accuse — just kept working.
He offered the faintest of smirks. "Some of them have fists, apparently."
Bella's fingers paused for a second against his skin before continuing. The room fell quiet again, only the soft clink of ointment tubes and the low hum of the heater filling the space.
When she moved on to the cut on his lip, their faces were much closer. Her breath fanned over his cheek. She was careful — gentle in a way that made his chest ache.
Her hand trembled slightly.
Lucas reached up and caught her wrist. Just held it.
Their eyes met.
"You really scared me," she whispered, the words barely audible.
He looked at her, expression unreadable at first… then softer. "I'll be more careful," he said, voice quiet but steady. "I promise."
Bella held his gaze for a second longer. Then she nodded and resumed.
She took her time with the rest — the bruised knuckles, the faint swelling around his jaw.
As she applied cream to the torn skin across his hand, she arched a brow. "Are you sure it wasn't a fight?" Her voice was light, teasing — but her eyes were sharp. "You look like the other guy probably ended up worse."
Lucas chuckled under his breath. "I didn't start it."
"Hmm." Bella looked at him, lips twitching upward. "That's not a denial."
He didn't respond — just gave her a look that was equal parts amused and unreadable.
When she was done, she packed the kit back up, but Lucas caught her hand before she could get up.
"Thank you," he said, tone quieter now.
She shrugged, trying to play it off — but the flush on her cheeks betrayed her.
"You should rest," she said.
Lucas leaned back on the couch with a soft groan. "You're better than most medics I've had, you know."
"High praise from someone who's clearly been patched up too many times."
She moved to rise again, but his grip on her hand tightened gently.
"Mia cara," he said softly.
Bella stilled.
The way he said it — tender, grateful, protective — made something flutter in her chest and fall quiet all at once.
She didn't respond, just met his eyes for a second… and gave the faintest nod.
Then she stood up and went to put the kit away, but her heart was still not quite steady.