Chapter 300

Serena's POV

I couldn't bear to look at them. "How is Stella?" I asked, deliberately changing the subject.

Drew's voice was strained. "She's fine. I told her you and Lucas took Milo to handle some business. She seemed to understand something was wrong, but she didn't ask questions."

A brief silence fell before Drew tentatively continued, "Lucas... he didn't come back with you?"

I could only manage a single, broken "No."

The room seemed to freeze. I watched as the reality of what I wasn't saying crashed over them. Drew's body began to shake visibly, and Spencer paled dramatically.

"But..." Drew's voice broke. "He promised... we were supposed to have dinner together, all of us. He promised..."

The pain was etched so clearly on his face that I had to look away. What could I possibly say? That the sea had taken Lucas? That I had watched, helpless, as the man we all loved disappeared beneath the waves?

"You should go," I said, my voice hollow. "Please, just go. I'm exhausted..."

The dam finally broke. Drew let out a gut-wrenching sob, the sound of pure anguish filling the quiet apartment. Spencer couldn't contain his tears either. They streamed down his face as he clutched Milo closer, as if the child were a last connection to his lost friend.

I stood there, numb and drained, watching their grief unfold before me. In that moment, I felt a strange disconnect, as if I were observing the scene from outside my body. Their pain was raw and immediate; mine was a vast, endless ocean that threatened to drown me from within.

"I need to put Milo to bed," I finally said, taking my son from Spencer's arms. "And I need to be with Stella when she wakes up."

Drew looked up, his face contorted with grief. "Serena, what happened? How did he-"

"Not now," I cut him off, unable to relive those moments so soon. "Please, not now."

As they reluctantly prepared to leave, I cradled Milo close, feeling his exhausted body grow heavy against mine. Soon I would have to tell Stella that her father was never coming home.

It's been a month since the explosion that took Lucas from me. A month of waking up gasping for air, reaching across empty sheets, and falling asleep to the muffled sounds of Milo's nightmares from the next room.

They never found his body. Or Rachel's. The blast was too powerful, they said. Nothing left but debris and ash scattered across the harbor. The authorities gave up searching after two weeks. Howard had conceded to reality shortly after. And I... I tried to convince myself that acceptance was the only path forward.

Yet some part of me clung to that absence of proof. No body meant no certainty. No certainty meant a sliver of hope that somehow, against all logic and reason, Lucas might have survived. That he might still be out there, finding his way back to us.

I knew better. The rational part of my brain understood the physics of explosions, the fragility of human bodies, the overwhelming evidence. But the heart is rarely rational, especially when it's been torn in two.

"You're sure you don't want anyone to accompany you?" Clara was asking Howard, her voice tight with concern as we stood in the private terminal of the airport.

I watched Howard's profile carefully. The once-imposing patriarch of the Harrington empire looked diminished in his wheelchair, his shoulders hunched beneath the weight of successive tragedies. His silver hair, once meticulously groomed, now hung limp around a face etched with lines of sorrow. In just a few months, he'd buried his son and now faced the prospect of losing his grandson too. Jace was scheduled for high-risk surgery next week, and Howard was traveling overseas to be by his side.

"No," Howard replied, his voice barely audible above the ambient hum of the terminal. "I prefer to travel alone."

Clara pressed her lips together, clearly dissatisfied. "Dad, let me come with you. If Jace doesn't-" She stopped herself, her eyes reddening at the edges.

"That's precisely why I must go alone," Howard said firmly. "You stay in Manhattan with Maeve. Her career is just taking off, and she needs family around her."

Clara tried again. "Maeve is doing well in the industry now. I could join you for just a few weeks..."

Howard shook his head, more resolute this time. "Let me have my solitude. If anything happens to Jace, I'll call you immediately."

I could see the resignation in Clara's eyes as she stepped back, accepting her father's decision.

I stepped forward, Milo and Stella's small hands clasped tightly in mine. "Maybe Milo and Stella could go with you? Children have a way of brightening even the darkest days."

Howard turned to look at us, his weathered eyes softening as they landed on the twins. He gestured for them to approach, and they moved toward their great-grandfather with the cautious reverence.

He placed one gnarled hand on each of their heads, attempting a smile. "Milo, Stella," he said softly, "your daddy isn't with us anymore. You need to take care of your mother now, understand?"

Milo nodded solemnly, while Stella's lower lip trembled slightly. "We know, Great-grandpa," they replied in unison, their voices small but determined.

Howard looked up at me, his eyes pools of accumulated loss. "They should stay with you, Serena. Lucas always wanted you three to be together. At my age, I'm better off alone with my thoughts."

I wanted to argue, to insist that no one should face such potential heartbreak alone, but I recognized the finality in his tone. This wasn't just about convenience-Howard was preparing himself for the worst, arranging his life to accommodate one more devastating blow.

"It's time to go," he said quietly, signaling to his butler to wheel him toward the waiting jet.

We stood in a solemn line-Clara, Maeve, the twins, and me-watching as Howard was helped onto the plane. None of us spoke as the jet taxied down the runway and ascended into that mockingly perfect blue sky, becoming smaller and smaller until it disappeared completely.

I stared at the empty horizon, thinking about Jace and his surgery. If he didn't survive, I doubted Howard would either. Not physically perhaps, but the essential part of him that might never return from this trip.

Beside me, Clara dabbed at her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief. When she'd composed herself, she turned to me with a question that caught me off guard.

"Would you consider bringing Milo and Stella to live at the Harrington estate with us?" she asked, her voice raw with emotion. "It's just Maeve and me rattling around in that big house now."

I could hear the loneliness in her invitation, could see the genuine affection she had for the twins. The Harrington mansion had once bustled with activity-staff rushing about, family members coming and going, Lucas commanding the space with his quiet authority. Now it stood as a monument to absence, its grandeur hollowed out by grief.

Looking down at Milo and Stella, I gently shook my head. "I'm sorry," I said softly.

Clara nodded in understanding, no offense taken. "The mighty Harrington family," she murmured, more to herself than to me, "reduced to fragments."