Becoming strangers again (Lily and Ryan)



LILY

Slowly, as if waking from a long, heavy dream, my eyes fluttered open. The room was quiet, but the first thing or rather, the first person-I noticed was Ryan. He stood by the window, his back slightly hunched, his phone pressed to his ear. There was a tension in his posture, the kind that made it clear whatever conversation he was having wasn't going well. His shoulders were tight, his free hand occasionally running through his hair—a clear sign of frustration.

I shifted in bed, the soft rustle of the sheets breaking the silence. The sound caught Ryan's attention, and he turned sharply, his eyes locking onto mine. As soon as he saw I was awake, he ended the call abruptly, sliding the phone into his pocket.

"Was that the police?" I asked, my voice hoarse but steady. He winced-just a flicker of discomfort that was gone almost as quickly as it appeared- before nodding in confirmation.

"I'm guessing they don't have any news about the boys," I added, my heart sinking as I spoke.

Ryan sighed, walking over to the bed and sitting down beside me. “They're staying optimistic," he said, his voice calm but edged with a strain he couldn't quite hide. “They're confident we'll find something. We just need a CCTV camera that caught the right footage.”

He leaned forward, brushing a gentle kiss against my forehead. His touch was warm, grounding. "How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice dropping to a soft whisper. "Do I need to call Amell?"

I shook my head. "I'm fine," I assured him, though my voice carried a faint tremor. "Whatever I inhaled, it was just meant to knock me out. But, Ryan, I swear on everything I have it was no accident. That crash was staged, nothing but a setup to take the boys." My voice cracked, but I pressed on, gripping the bedsheet tightly. "If only they'd call with a ransom demand... I'd give anything. I'd sell every last share in the hospital just to have them back in my arms."

Ryan's jaw tightened, his hand brushing mine in quiet reassurance. "Can you tell me exactly what happened?" he asked gently, his tone careful, as if afraid of pushing too hard. "The cops wanted to question you as soon as you were up, but I told them I'd talk to you first. I figured it'd be easier on you that way."

I exhaled shakily, pulling away from his touch as I tried to steady myself. The memories were fresh, vivid, and painfully sharp. "Everything was fine at first," I began, my voice a low murmur. "It was just another ordinary day. But then Clover-he picked up a perfume from his friend. That's when it all started,"

I paused, my mind straining to recall the face of Clover's friend, but it was a haze-like a name on the tip of my tongue that refused to surface. Frustrated, I shook my head. "I can't remember what he looked like," I admitted, my voice trembling. "But I do remember what Clover said on the drive back. He was talking about starting a perfume business. He was so excited, Ryan. He told me the bottle he got from his friend was one of his own products. He even said he'd already given one to Amell and then offered one to me."

I swallowed hard, the weight of guilt pressing down on me. “I accepted it, Ryan,” I whimpered, my voice cracking. "I wanted to help him, to support him. All I did was sniff it. Just one sniff. And then... everything went wrong. Minutes later, I was out. But I remember-before I completely blacked out -I called 911. I know I did."

Ryan let out a heavy sigh, rubbing a hand down his face. "Yeah," he murmured. "The police said they received the call, but all they heard was loud music playing before it disconnected. When they traced it, they found the car at the scene of the accident... where they found you and Clover unconscious." He hesitated, his voice growing quieter. "But the boys were already gone by then."

This is bullshit, I'm going to find my boys.

"Is Clover awake?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Not yet. I think he took the worst of the impact."

I frowned, confused by his words. Sensing my unease, he quickly clarified. "I mean, I think his head hit the steering wheel during the crash. There was blood on it-his."

I nodded, absorbing his explanation, though it didn't ease the ache in my chest. Closing my eyes, I leaned back, forcing myself to think, to piece together anything that might help us figure this out.

Eventually, Ryan had to leave. The police had called him in for an update, and despite my insistence on going with him, he outright refused. "You're not strong enough to leave the hospital yet," he said, cutting off any protest. "I promise I'll tell you everything as soon as I know."

Left alone, frustration and helplessness churned inside me. I couldn't just lie here and do nothing while my sons were missing. Forcing myself out of bed, I steadied my wobbly legs and made my way to the door.

The moment I stepped into the hallway, the two men standing guard outside my room snapped to attention, their backs straightening as their sharp eyes fixed on me.

"Do you know where the driver's room is?" I asked the guards outside my door, my voice sharp and direct. The one on the right nodded without hesitation. "Take me to him," I ordered.

Without a word, he turned and led the way down the sterile hospital corridor. When we reached Clover's room, both guards moved to follow me inside, but I stopped them. "Wait here,” I instructed. "I'll go in alone."

Though he was a suspect in my mind, Clover was still a patient. I had no intention of causing a scene.Text property © Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org.

Stepping inside, the room was quiet save for the soft beeping of the monitors. I approached his bed cautiously, my gaze fixed on his

unconscious form. His face was

pale, and a bandage wrapped around his forehead told the story of a serious injury. But I wasn't here to pity him. I was here for answers.

Standing beside him, I fought the growing urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake him awake. Instead, Heaned in slightly, my voice low. "I don't care what anyone else thinks, Clover," I whispered. "But I believe you have something to do with this." My eyes burned with anger and pain as I stared down at him. "A mother's instinct doesn't lie, and mine is telling me you know something."

I stopped mid-sentence, my words trailing off as I noticed something odd. His face, though still, betrayed subtle signs-muscle tension around his eyes, a flicker of movement beneath the lids. And then there was his breathing, irregular and uneven, far too controlled for someone truly unconscious.

Suspicion churned within me. Reaching for his hand, I pressed my fingers to his wrist, checking his pulse. It was elevated-far higher than it should've been for someone supposedly unconscious.

I straightened, narrowing my eyes at him.

He's faking it.

It was clear—he was anxious. His breathing, his pulse, even the subtle movements beneath his eyelids screamed it. He wasn't as unconscious as he wanted me to believe.

Without hesitation, I leaned closer and reached for his face. Using two fingers, I forced one of his eyes open. His pupil reacted sluggishly, and his gaze darted aimlessly, refusing to fix on me. That confirmed it.

This bastard was conscious.

"I guess I'm just being paranoid for thinking you're awake," I muttered, deliberately feigning doubt. My tone was casual, almost dismissive, as

my suspicions. "Maybe this pounding headache is finally catching up with me. I should get my medication and lie down before I drive myself insane."

though I'd talked myself out of aset

Straightening, I turned on my heel and walked toward the door, my movements slow and deliberate to avoid raising alarm. If Clover was pretending to

be unconscious, that meant he was hiding something and I wasn't about to let him get away with it.