Chapter 11: A Gift Wrapped in Silence
1051 Words
Elara sat alone on the cool garden grass, her knees drawn tightly to her chest, her arms wrapped around them as though she were trying to hold herself together.
The garden was quiet—too quiet.
The fountain nearby trickled softly, its gentle sound fading into the distance as her thoughts drifted far away. She wasn’t really seeing the flowers or the tall hedges surrounding her. Her eyes were fixed on nothing, unfocused, lost somewhere between memory and ache.
She had come outside to breathe.
But even the air felt heavy tonight.
Thoughts chased each other endlessly in her mind—things she didn’t know how to name, feelings she had never learned how to express. The mansion was beautiful, luxurious, and cold all at once. Sometimes, the silence inside it pressed harder on her chest than any scream ever could.
She didn’t notice when the breeze turned sharper. Didn’t notice when the sun dipped fully behind the horizon. Didn’t notice that evening had already settled in.
Her thin dress offered little protection against the cold, but she remained where she was, unmoving—until something brushed her shoulder.
Elara gasped.
She spun around so fast her heart nearly burst out of her chest.
Lucien stood behind her.
Fear reacted before reason ever could.
She jumped to her feet instinctively, panic flashing across her face—but the movement was rushed, careless. Her foot twisted awkwardly beneath her weight, and a sharp pain shot up her leg.
“Ah—” she cried out softly as her ankle gave way.
She never hit the ground.
Strong arms caught her mid-fall, pulling her firmly against a solid chest.
Lucien.
Her breath hitched as she found herself pressed against him, his scent—clean, expensive, unmistakably him—filling her senses. Her hands trembled where they rested against his coat, unsure whether to push away or hold on.
“I—I’m sorry…” she whispered automatically, then shook her head. “No—thank you… thank you.”
She tried to step back, embarrassed, desperate to stand on her own. But the moment she placed weight on her ankle, pain flared again and she winced, biting down on her lip to keep from crying out.
Lucien noticed everything.
Without a word, without hesitation, he bent down and lifted her into his arms—bridal style.
Elara froze.
Her eyes widened in shock, her breath stolen completely as the world shifted beneath her. One moment she was standing on cold grass, the next she was cradled against him, her head near his shoulder, her feet off the ground.
“L-Lucien—” she started, but no sound came out.
He didn’t slow. Didn’t explain. Didn’t even look down at her.
He simply walked.
Each step toward the mansion felt unreal, like a dream she might wake from any second. Her heart hammered wildly, her mind scrambling to catch up.
Was this really happening?
Inside her room, Lucien gently laid her on the bed, careful not to jar her ankle. He crouched in front of her, his movements controlled, precise. Slowly, he lifted the hem of her dress just enough to examine the swelling.
Elara’s heart raced.
Her fingers clenched into the sheets as she watched him, barely breathing. Her thoughts spun chaotically.
Is he angry?
Is he being kind?
Or is my mind playing tricks on me again?
Since he hadn’t said a single word, she decided it had to be her imagination.
Lucien Blackwood didn’t do things like this.
He took out an ointment from the bedside drawer and began applying it carefully, his fingers firm yet surprisingly gentle as he massaged the swollen skin. His touch was warm. Steady. Real.
Her throat tightened.
Then, finally, he spoke.
“Why were you sitting outside in the dark?” he asked calmly. “And dressed so lightly. You could’ve caught a cold.”
The sound of his voice startled her so badly that she flinched.
So this wasn’t a hallucination.
“I… I was just sitting,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t notice it was getting dark.”
Lucien straightened slowly.
Only then did he notice the way her shoulders were tense, how her hands trembled faintly, how she still looked like she was bracing for something—even now.
He stepped back, putting distance between them.
“I’ll have the maid bring your dinner upstairs,” he said evenly. “Don’t put weight on your ankle.”
He turned to her nightstand and placed a small, neatly wrapped box on it. Then he headed for the door.
“Th-thank you…” Elara whispered.
Lucien paused. Nodded once. And left.
The door closed softly behind him.
Silence returned.
Her gaze drifted slowly to the box.
It had been a very long time since anyone had given her a gift.
Her heart thumped loudly in her ears as she reached for it with shaky hands. She hesitated—then carefully opened it.
Her breath caught.
Inside lay a brand-new phone.
And beside it—
Her favorite chocolates.
The same ones she used to love. The same ones she hadn’t touched since before everything went wrong. Before the accident. Before her parents died. Before the world became unbearably quiet.
Tears welled in her eyes.
She hugged the box tightly to her chest, overwhelmed by emotions she didn’t know how to sort—gratitude, shock, warmth, and something dangerously close to hope.
Without thinking, she stood up.
Pain shot through her ankle, sharp and unforgiving—but she didn’t care.
Clutching the box, she limped out of the room, following her heart instead of her fear.
She spotted Lucien walking from the kitchen toward the dining area.
“Lucien,” she called softly.
He turned, confused—and before he could say a word, she wrapped her arms around him.
She hugged him.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice trembling with joy. “Thank you so much.”
She pulled back slightly and smiled at him—a real smile. Bright. Genuine.
Lucien froze.
Then, slowly…
He smiled too.
And in that quiet moment, watching her happiness bloom so suddenly, Lucien realized something unsettling.
Seeing her like this— Happy. Unguarded.
That alone made everything worth it.
- Writer
