Meanwhile,, back in Lucien's Private Study,,
Thick smoke coils in the air, untouched whiskey resting on the desk.
Lucien sits in silence, half-slouched in his leather chair, eyes fixed on the wall—but not really seeing it.
A lit cigarette burns slow between his fingers. The ash tray is already full.
He doesn't blink as memories flood in:
Caelan's defiance.
The sound of his breathing, ragged and hoarse.
The look on his face when Lucien threw him into the storm like trash.
Lucien exhales.
His expression is unreadable—stone carved in shadow.
But something in the way his fingers twitch around the cigarette betrays him.
Guilt.
And beneath that, fear.
"I did this," he mutters. Voice low.
"And he still wouldn't break."
Later a few minutes,
He doesn't say much when he calls his men.
"Find him. Bring him back. Don't bruise him."
He doesn't look them in the eye.
The men exchange look with each other, clearly confused. One open mouth to speek but the man next to him shoved the man's side and gave him a warning look.
Later,
Outside the mansion, all of the men walking from corner to corner, their one mission is only to find cealen and bring him to their boss.
While Others keep investing from in to outside, two of the men got distracted and starts talking, laughing and making jock.
Just a few minutes later, one of the men with buzz cut appears, looking at them with warning glear. Soon the two men shifted to professional face.
""
Later, They find Caelan tucked in the lower ruins of the west garden—a collapsed greenhouse lost to time. Broken glass. Rusted metal.
He's shivering. Dirty. But his eyes blaze with venomous fire.
"Lucien wants you back," one guard says. "You're coming with us." the other charm in.
Caelan doesn't move.
Another reaches for him.
Big mistake.
CRACK.
The steel pipe near his foot is old, but it's enough.
He grabs it. Swings.
The first man drops. The second staggers, bleeding from the temple.
Another lunges, and Caelan slams the pipe against his leg with a sickening crunch.
Blood sprays. Someone screams.
But Caelan doesn't stop.
He fights like a starving wolf—teeth bared,
"I'd rather bleed out than crawl back to him!" cealen snear, spitting on ground in hatred.
"""
After the intense fight,,
Lucien's men stumble back to the study, limping and furious.
"Boss, he went feral—he nearly killed us!" one man reported, breathing heavily
"With what?" Lucien asks without turning around.
"A pipe. From the old greenhouse ruins. He's not right in the head—he's gonna die out there!" the other man nod and spoke, his voice is trumbling with fear.
Lucien still doesn't speak.
Then—
A smirk. Slow. Icy and Proud.
"He used a pipe?" Lucien asked slowly.
They hesitate. Exchanging a look with each others.
"Yes, sir." one answered, his voice is lower.
Lucien leans back. Smoke drifts from his lips like a sigh.
"Good." Lucien smirked, chuckling that sounds Rich.
Confused silence. All the men looked at each others.
"We should go get him before—" one tried to speek.
"No." Lucien's voice cold, cutting him.
They All freezes.
"But Boss—" the same man tried to continue.
"I said no." Lucien cut him off this time too, his voice is sharp. Cold. Leaving to place to argue. "You touch him again, I'll put a bullet through your hands."
He stands up. Coat on. Gloves tightened. Cigarette snuffed out.
"I'll find him myself." Lucien muttered. Loud enough for his men to hear.
One men open his mouth to speek but Lucien send a icy glear, cutting them off.