The Man Who Stayed.
820 Words
The world did not become kinder.
Lucian simply became something it had to fear.
Years had passed since that day—since the trembling voice that interrupted silence, since the girl who gave him a reason he never asked to keep.
Now…
He stood at the top of an empire.
Glass walls surrounded him, reflecting a city that pulsed beneath his control. Every light, every movement—it all felt distant. Manageable. Disposable.
“Sir, the board is ready.”
His assistant’s voice was careful. Too careful.
Lucian didn’t answer.
His gaze remained fixed on the skyline, dark and unreadable.
Power had become routine.
Fear… expected.
Inside the conference room, men who controlled millions sat waiting.
Yet no one spoke.
One of them adjusted his tie for the third time. Another wiped his palms discreetly against his trousers. A third avoided looking at the door entirely.
They weren’t waiting for a meeting.
They were waiting for judgment.
Because when Lucian entered a room, outcomes weren’t negotiated.
They were decided.
“Sir…?” his assistant tried again, quieter this time.
Lucian’s fingers tapped once against the glass.
A pause.
Then—
“…Cancel it.”
The assistant froze.
“I—Sir?”
“I said cancel it.”
His tone didn’t rise. It didn’t need to.
Inside the conference room, one of the men visibly stiffened, another muttered something under his breath, tension snapping tighter instead of easing.
Canceling didn’t mean mercy.
It meant something worse.
Unpredictability.
“Yes, Sir. Immediately.”
The assistant moved quickly, almost too quickly, as if staying even a second longer would be dangerous.
The room emptied in quiet urgency. No one argued. No one questioned.
They never did.
---
Silence returned.
Lucian remained where he was.
Still.
Then—
“…Isolde Faylen.”
The name slipped out, softer than anything he had said all day.
His brows drew together slightly.
Annoyed.
No—
Focused.
Why now?
Why today?
He closed his eyes briefly.
And there she was.
A trembling voice.
Watery eyes.
“I don’t know!”
A pause.
“…Gloomy Face!”
His fingers stilled.
For years, she had been nothing more than a faint memory. A passing thought. Something distant.
But now—
Now she wouldn’t leave.
The more he tried to dismiss it, the clearer it became. Her voice. Her face. The way she stood there despite being afraid.
Irritating.
Persistent.
Unavoidable.
Lucian exhaled slowly, his expression darkening.
“…Find her.”
The words were quiet.
But absolute.
Behind him, the assistant—who had returned without him noticing—froze mid-step.
“…Sir?”
Lucian didn’t turn.
“Isolde Faylen.”
A pause.
Then, colder—
“I don’t repeat myself.”
The assistant swallowed hard.
“Y-Yes, Sir.”
Because when Lucian wanted something—
It was no longer a matter of if.
Only when.
---
Meanwhile…
The atmosphere at St. Aurora General Hospital was the complete opposite.
Bright. Busy. Alive.
“Isolde! Room 12 needs assistance!”
“I’m coming!”
Isolde Faylen moved quickly down the hallway, slightly out of breath but focused.
Her uniform was neat, though a little wrinkled from rushing. A few strands of hair had escaped, framing her face in a way that made her look softer than she intended.
“Vitals are stable,” she murmured, checking a patient’s chart carefully. “You’re doing really well.”
“Thank you, nurse,” the elderly woman smiled weakly.
Isolde returned it—warm, genuine.
This was her world.
Not power. Not darkness.
Just people.
Healing.
Trying.
But even here—
In the middle of everything—
Her thoughts drifted.
A boy.
Quiet. Strange.
Standing somewhere he shouldn’t have been.
“…Gloomy Face…” she murmured absentmindedly.
Her hand paused mid-note.
A faint crease formed on her brows.
“…I wonder if he’s—”
“Isolde!”
She startled slightly.
A colleague leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, giving her a knowing look.
“You spacing out again?”
“I—No! I wasn’t!” she said quickly, flustered.
The colleague raised a brow.
“You just called someone ‘Gloomy Face’ out loud.”
Isolde’s face flushed instantly.
“I did not!”
“You did.”
A pause.
“…Anyway,” the colleague continued, smirking, “Doctor Mensah is looking for you.”
“Oh—! Right!”
Isolde quickly looked back at her notes, then nodded to herself like she had everything under control.
“Coming!”
And just like that—
She pushed the thought aside.
Shrugged it off.
Moved on.
Because to her…
It was just a memory.
A strange, fleeting moment from years ago.
Nothing more.
---
Somewhere in the city—
A man was searching for her like she was the only answer left in the world.
And somewhere else—
A girl had already let him fade into the past.
For now.
---
- Writer
