Claiming His Heart (English Version)

Chapter 32

Drake turned his back to her as Lucy chattered softly beside him, her words flowing like a gentle river that he had no strength to resist. The medicine she had given him earlier seemed to be doing its job; the fever had ebbed enough that he felt slightly more human. He closed his eyes, pretending to rest, yet acutely aware of her every movement, every soft inhale, every rustle of the blanket beside him.

“Drakey, can I nap for a bit? I’m a little sleepy too,” she murmured, her voice gentle, coaxing, almost like a melody he didn’t know he needed.

He remained silent, thinking that ignoring her might send a clear signal. But then the mattress shifted. She had lain down next to him. His chest constricted, a mixture of surprise, panic, and something he refused to name tightening inside him.

What is she thinking? Why is she lying next to me? Doesn’t she realize what she’s doing?

Before he could summon a protest, her arms wound around him, warm and insistent. His pulse spiked. His mind scrambled for rational explanations but found none.

“Damn it! Get your hands off me, you brat! Don’t hug me!” he shouted, weakly pushing against her. But Lucy, as always, refused to relent.

“This is called body heat, Drakey. To warm you up. Don’t complain. Let me sleep for a while and hug you like this,” she said calmly, teasing, utterly unbothered by his protests.

He growled low in his throat, a mixture of exasperation and something else he refused to acknowledge. “Stop making things difficult, Lucresia. Let go right now.”

“Just for a bit. I barely slept last night thinking about you. And it’s your fault too. You need to rest so you can get better. So shut up and let’s sleep,” she replied, tone soft yet firm, the kind of tone that dared him to argue.

“At the count of three, if you’re still clinging to me, I swear I’ll throw you off,” he threatened, tension coiling in his chest like a spring ready to snap.

“Shh, go to sleep,” she murmured, ignoring him completely.

Summoning every ounce of his strength, Drake finally pried her arms from around him. He spun to face her, and both froze, their faces inches apart. Her warm breath brushed against his skin. His heart thudded violently, a drumbeat that drowned out reason.

Then, as if the universe had decided to punctuate the moment with perfect timing, the door swung open. Both of them startled, too slow to pull apart. The intruder saw exactly what it looked like.

A gasp shattered the silence.

“Oh my gosh!”

“What the hell, son?”

Drake jumped back, hastily stepping away from Lucy, who mirrored him instinctively. His parents stood frozen in the doorway, eyes wide, mouths agape, disbelief written on every line of their faces.

“Mom! Dad! It’s not what you think!” he shouted, panic making his voice rough.

“Oh my gosh, son!” his mother repeated, hands clasped over her mouth, eyes darting between him and Lucy as though she were trying to solve a puzzle in real time.

“Mom, don’t overreact. It’s just a misunderstanding. We didn’t do anything. She just…” he began, waving his hands helplessly, searching for words that would undo the spectacle before them.

“I’m so proud of you, my son!” his father interrupted, a proud smile stretching across his face despite the chaos.

“What the hell is going on, Drake Amadeus Anderson? And who is this girl?” his mother demanded, eyes narrowing, scrutinizing Lucy as if she were about to unravel the universe.

“H-hello, ma’am. I’m Lucy. I’m his secretary. He was sick, and I got worried when he didn’t show up, so I came to check on him. He was shivering, had a fever, so I helped him get dressed, fed him, and gave him medicine,” she explained quickly, yet calmly, her composure unshakable.

“And that still doesn’t answer why you were lying on the bed together! Did you two... oh my gosh!” his mother shrieked, hands flailing, as if the idea alone could summon disaster.

“Relax, Mom. I’m still proud of our son. He’s grown into a fine man. Everything’s fine!” his father interjected, a mixture of amusement and exasperation softening the tension.

Drake groaned inwardly, his body still weak, yet he tried to stand, leaning on Lucy for support.

“Careful! You’re not fully recovered yet, Drakey,” she warned, steadying him with a hand on his back, her touch grounding him.

“Mom! Dad! We didn’t do anything! She’s just stubborn and wanted to nap beside me. I swear I didn’t—whatever you think, you’re wrong. I’m innocent!” Drake exclaimed, frustration, embarrassment, and the residual heat from illness coiling in his chest.

His mother’s eyes narrowed, unconvinced. His father shook his head, disbelief and amusement mingling in equal measure.

“You can’t lie to me, son. We’re going downstairs, now, and we’ll talk. Get up. You too, Lucy. Come with us,” his mother commanded, voice sharp, leaving no room for argument.

Lucy frowned, tilting her head slightly, her protest light. “But he’s not fully recovered! He still has a fever!”

“Mom, we’ll follow. Come on,” Drake said firmly. With a small, mischievous smile, Lucy helped him, ignoring the sharp glare he sent her way.

“Don’t give me that look. You always bring trouble,” he muttered. She simply returned a cheeky peace sign, and he couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

By the time they reached the living room, his mother’s gaze was like a laser, piercing through Lucy’s cheerful demeanor. His father leaned back in his chair, a bemused expression on his face, silently enjoying the spectacle. Lucy sat beside Drake, still smiling, unflustered as if nothing had happened.

“Now, you may start explaining,” his mother demanded, arms crossed, her voice sharp yet tinged with curiosity.

Lucy spoke quickly, politely, yet confidently, meeting his mother’s gaze. “I’m Lucy, Drake’s secretary. We didn’t do anything, I swear. I just helped him because he was sick. I have no intention of taking advantage of him. What you saw means nothing, cross my heart.”

Drake watched, astounded. His mother’s eyes softened slightly, impressed by her composure, but skepticism lingered like a shadow.

“You need to marry my son, Lucy,” his mother declared suddenly, leaning forward, eyes glittering with mischief as if her words were law.

“What? Mom! Are you serious?” Drake shouted, incredulity cutting through his voice.

“Of course, ma’am,” Lucy replied cheerfully, utterly unfazed.

“Don’t listen to her, Mom! Nothing happened between us!” Drake protested, voice rising, hands flailing for effect.

“You think you can fool me? If there’s a child involved… I won’t let my grandchild grow up a bastard,” his mother scolded, wagging a finger like a general issuing orders.

If Lucy is crazy, then Mom is a whole other level, Drake thought, pinching the bridge of his nose in disbelief, wishing he could disappear into the floor.

“Not a problem, ma’am,” Lucy said innocently, her eyes sparkling with mischief and sincerity all at once.

“Don’t call me ma’am. Call me Mom,” his mother corrected, a sly smile playing on her lips.

“Okay, Mom,” Lucy said sweetly.

Drake could only gape, mind spinning, caught between mortification and the strange relief that someone, anyone, could navigate this chaos better than he ever could.

The room hummed with a strange mixture of exasperation, amusement, and warmth, the tension slowly giving way to laughter from his father and a bemused smirk from Lucy. And Drake, for all his embarrassment, realized one thing: in this bizarre, chaotic household, he wasn’t alone, and perhaps, just perhaps, neither was his heart.