Updated Oct 1, 2025 • ~11 min read
Lucas was released from the hospital the next morning with a prescription for anxiety medication and a referral to a therapist.
He texted the family group chat—yes, they had a family group chat now, courtesy of Eleanor’s forced reconciliation—with typical Lucas brevity:
I’m fine. Going away for a while. Don’t contact me unless someone’s dying.
Mrs. Cross immediately responded: Going where?
Somewhere without cameras or family drama. Will check in weekly so you know I’m alive.
Damon typed: Lucas, we should talk—
But Lucas had already left the chat.
“He’s running,” Sienna said, reading over Damon’s shoulder. She was twenty-seven weeks now, officially in the third trimester, and everything hurt—her back, her feet, her conscience.
“Can you blame him?” Damon set down his phone. “He just had a public breakdown at a charity gala. I’d run too.”
“You’d never run. Running requires admitting defeat.”
“Fair point.” He pulled her close, careful of her stomach. “How are you feeling about all of this?”
“Guilty. Relieved. Worried. All of it simultaneously.” She pressed her face into his shoulder. “He apologized to us, Damon. In front of everyone. And then his body literally shut down from the stress.”
“Which is why he needs space. Needs to process without us constantly reminding him what he lost.”
“Or what he never really had,” Sienna said quietly. “He was right in that speech. He was in love with an idea of me, not the real me.”
“And you were in love with safety, not him.”
“God, we’re all so broken.”
“Broken but healing. That’s something.” Damon kissed the top of her head. “Eleanor wants us at the estate this weekend. ‘Family meeting’ about Lucas’s absence and the gala fallout.”
“Of course she does. Because nothing says healing like mandatory family confrontation.”
But Lucas didn’t just go away for a while.
He disappeared completely.
One week turned into two, turned into three. He checked in with Eleanor via text—brief, impersonal updates that confirmed he was alive and nothing more. He stopped responding to Damon’s messages. Stopped acknowledging Sienna’s worried emails.
He was gone.
“I’ve never seen him like this,” Mrs. Cross said at the mandatory family dinner, week three of Lucas’s absence. She looked older, worried in a way that transcended her usual society polish. “He’s never just… left before.”
“He’s processing,” Eleanor said calmly. “Let him.”
“Let him? He’s been gone almost a month! He has responsibilities—”
“Which are being handled. His assistant is capable, his division is running smoothly, and frankly, the boy needed a break.” Eleanor turned to Damon. “You’ve heard from him?”
“Nothing since that group chat. He’s ghosting all of us.”
“Good. Means he’s finally taking care of himself instead of managing everyone else’s feelings.” Eleanor took a pointed sip of wine. “Though I do wish he’d chosen a less dramatic exit strategy than a public breakdown.”
“That’s our fault,” Sienna said quietly. “All of this—Lucas running, the breakdown, everything. We broke him.”
“He broke himself,” Eleanor corrected. “By clinging to something that was never his. You were just the catalyst.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“It’s not meant to be reassuring. It’s meant to be true.” Eleanor set down her glass. “Lucas needed to hit bottom before he could rebuild. You can’t fix someone who’s still pretending they’re fine.”
But Sienna couldn’t shake the guilt. Every kick from the baby—getting stronger now, constant reminders of what Lucas had lost—felt like a betrayal.
Lucas called on a Tuesday afternoon, thirty-one days after his disappearance.
Sienna was alone—Damon at a board meeting, Eleanor off managing some crisis, the penthouse quiet except for the sound of her own breathing.
She almost didn’t answer. Wasn’t sure she could handle whatever he needed to say.
But she picked up on the third ring. “Lucas?”
“Hey.” His voice sounded different. Calmer. Steadier. Like he’d found something in his absence that he’d lost months ago. “I know I’ve been gone. I know I said not to contact me. But I—I needed to talk to you.”
“Are you okay? Where are you?”
“I’m okay. And I’m not telling you where I am because you’ll worry and Damon will show up trying to fix everything.” A pause. “How are you? How’s the baby?”
“We’re fine. Good, actually. Twenty-eight weeks now. He kicks constantly.”
“Good. That’s—good.” She heard him take a breath. “Sienna, I called because I need to say something. Officially. Cleanly.”
Her heart sank. “Okay.”
“I’m ending this. Not the baby stuff—he’s family, and I’ll be his uncle, whatever that looks like. But us—” His voice was firm. “The part where I still hope maybe we could work, where I torture myself imagining different outcomes. I’m ending that.”
“Lucas—”
“I need you to know that it’s over. Really over. Not ‘I’m angry and hurt’ over. Not ‘maybe someday’ over. Just—done. Finished. You’re with Damon, you’re having his baby, and I accept that. Completely.”
Tears burned her eyes. “I’m so sorry—”
“Don’t. Don’t apologize again. We’ve both apologized enough for ten lifetimes.” He laughed softly. “You know what I realized while I’ve been gone?”
“What?”
“That I was holding onto you because letting go meant admitting I’d been wrong. About you, about us, about what I thought I wanted. And I hate being wrong.”
“Lucas—”
“But I was wrong. We were wrong together. And that’s okay. It doesn’t make me a failure or you a villain. It just makes us—human. People who made mistakes.”
She was crying now, silent tears that she didn’t bother wiping away. “Where does this leave us?”
“It leaves me in therapy three times a week, working through some apparently ‘significant attachment and control issues.'” His tone was wry. “And it leaves you free. Completely free. No more guilt, no more wondering if I’m okay. I’m releasing you from that.”
“I don’t think I can just stop caring about you.”
“You don’t have to stop caring. Just—stop carrying my pain. It’s not yours to carry.” A pause. “Be happy, Sienna. With Damon, with the baby, with whatever life you build. That’s what I want for you.”
“What do you want for yourself?”
“I’m figuring that out. Turns out when you spend your whole life being the ‘good twin,’ you forget who you actually are underneath.” He took a breath. “I should go. But I wanted you to hear this from me, directly. We’re done. Officially. And I’m okay with that.”
“Lucas—”
“Be happy,” he repeated. “That’s all I’ve got left to say.”
He hung up before she could respond.
Sienna sat in the quiet penthouse, phone in hand, and felt something shift. Relief, maybe. Or grief. Or both.
Lucas had let go. Actually, truly let go.
And she didn’t know if it felt like freedom or loss.
When Damon got home two hours later, he found her on the couch, staring at nothing.
“What happened?” He was beside her instantly. “Is it the baby? Are you okay?”
“Lucas called.”
Damon went very still. “And?”
“And he ended it. Officially. Said he’s done holding on, done hoping for different outcomes. He released me from the guilt.” She looked up at Damon. “He really let go this time.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“I don’t know. Relieved? Sad? Like I should be happier than I am?” She pressed her hand to her stomach. “He was so calm, Damon. Like he’d made peace with everything.”
“That’s good. That’s—that’s what we wanted, right? For him to move on?”
“Yes. But it’s strange. For months he’s been this constant presence—angry, hurt, demanding answers. And now he’s just—gone. Done.”
Damon pulled her close. “Do you wish he wasn’t done?”
“No. God, no. I love you. I want to be with you. This baby is ours.” She looked up at him. “But I’m allowed to be sad that Lucas had to lose so much for us to be happy, right?”
“You’re allowed to feel whatever you feel.” He kissed her forehead. “Just as long as you’re sure. About us. About this.”
“I’m sure. I’ve been sure since—” She stopped. “Actually, I think I’ve been sure since that first night. Everything after was just me being too scared to admit it.”
“The night that started all of this.”
“The night that gave us him.” She placed Damon’s hand on her stomach, and the baby kicked immediately, like he was confirming his existence. “Worth it. All of it. Even the disaster.”
“Even Lucas’s broken heart?”
She was quiet for a moment. “I wish he didn’t have to hurt. But I can’t regret choosing you. Choosing us.”
“Then don’t.” Damon’s voice was firm. “Lucas made his own choices too. He proposed knowing you barely knew each other. He held on when you were trying to tell him the truth. He fought for something that was never really his.”
“That doesn’t make his pain less real.”
“No. But it means it’s not your fault. Not entirely.” He tilted her face up. “You’re allowed to be happy without carrying his grief, Sienna. That’s what he just told you—he’s releasing you from that responsibility.”
“I know. It’s just—”
“Hard. It’s hard. Loving me came with a price, and Lucas paid most of it.” Damon’s expression was serious. “But we can’t change the past. We can only—”
“Move forward. I know.” She leaned into him. “So what does moving forward look like?”
“It looks like—” He pulled back slightly, reached into his pocket. “It looks like me asking you something I’ve been waiting to ask for weeks.”
Her heart stopped. “Damon—”
“I know the timing’s terrible. I know Lucas just officially ended things and you’re probably emotionally exhausted. But I can’t—I can’t wait anymore.” He opened a small velvet box, and inside was a ring—elegant, simple, nothing like the ostentatious three-carat Lucas had proposed with.
“Marry me,” Damon said. “Not because of the baby, not because of Eleanor’s will, not because it makes sense. Marry me because I love you. Because I choose you. Because I want to spend the rest of my life fighting with you and making up and building something real.”
“You’re seriously proposing right now? After Lucas just—”
“I know. I know it’s awful timing. But Sienna, I’ve been carrying this ring for three weeks, waiting for the ‘right moment,’ and I’ve realized there is no right moment. Our entire relationship has been wrong timing and disaster. Why should this be different?”
Despite everything, she laughed. “That’s the worst proposal reasoning I’ve ever heard.”
“Is it working?”
“Maybe.” She looked at the ring—understated, elegant, exactly what she would have chosen. “You got my style right.”
“I’ve been studying you for three years. I know what you like.” His expression was vulnerable in a way she rarely saw. “What do you say? Marry me and make this disaster official?”
She thought about Lucas, about the clean break he’d just given her. About the freedom to choose without guilt.
She thought about Damon, about three years of rivalry that had transformed into something deeper than she’d known was possible.
She thought about the baby kicking inside her, the future they could build together.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I’ll marry you. But only if you promise we’re never doing another family dinner at Eleanor’s.”
“Deal.” He slid the ring on her finger, and it fit perfectly. “Though you know she’s going to insist on planning the wedding.”
“Let her. At this point, I’m too tired to fight about anything.” She kissed him, tasting relief and love and the complicated joy of choosing something for herself. “I love you. Even though you have terrible timing.”
“I love you. Even though you’re carrying my brother’s emotional baggage.”
“Ex-emotional baggage. He officially released me.”
“Even better.” Damon pulled her close, careful of her stomach, and they sat in comfortable silence while the city hummed beyond the windows.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Lucas:
I hope you’re happy. Really. Not in a bitter ex way. In a ‘you deserve good things’ way. Be well, Sienna.
She showed Damon, who read it with an expression she couldn’t quite name.
“He really is done,” Damon said quietly.
“Yeah. He is.”
“How do you feel about that?”
She looked at the ring on her finger, at the man she loved, at the future they were building from the wreckage of the past.
“Free,” she said finally. “I feel free.”
And for the first time in months, it was true.
Lucas had let go.
And Sienna could finally breathe.
“I won’t be a consolation prize,” she’d warned once.
She wasn’t. She never had been.
She was the choice. The complicated, messy, absolutely right choice.
And that was enough.
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