The Blood Contract
Chapter 91: A sign

Chapter 91: A sign

Modi sat in his office, the air around him thick with a silence that hummed with tension. The weight of the phone pressed tightly against his ear seemed heavier than usual, as though the device itself knew the kind of news it carried.

His jaw was clenched so tightly, a faint ticking could be heard from the strain in his temples. His eyes, which were normally sharp and unreadable, were now stormy, shadowed with growing rage that deepened with every word spoken through the receiver.

He didn’t say anything, not yet. He just sat there, statue-still, except for the twitch of a muscle in his cheek that betrayed the turmoil building inside him. The doctor’s voice on the other end of the line was calm, clinical, and that only made it worse. There was something infuriating about how detached the man sounded while delivering such brutal news. Modi’s fingers tightened around the edges of the phone, his knuckles whitening, lips pressing into a thin line.

When the call finally ended, the silence that followed was deafening. Then suddenly, he yanked the phone away from his ear and flung it onto the wooden desk with more force than he intended. The device hit the surface with a sharp crack, bounced twice, and spun slightly before coming to a final rest—its screen slightly askew, the tension in the room amplified by the harsh sound of impact.

Salvador, who had been pacing a short distance away, halted mid-step. His eyes were locked on Modi, his brows knit in worry, mouth slightly open as though afraid to speak but knowing he had to. His face, usually so full of arrogance and bluster, now held the trace of something unfamiliar: remorse.

"What did the doctor say? How is he?" Salvador asked carefully, his voice low and taut.

He hadn’t stopped blaming himself since they returned from Lucian’s house. His mind was a battlefield, guilt and pride waging a relentless war. Deep down, he knew his impulsive decision had driven them to this cliff’s edge. And now, he was staring into the abyss of consequences he hadn’t been prepared for.

Modi turned his head slowly, his glare sharp and cutting. His voice, when it came, was laced with steel.

"He’s unconscious, got multiple facial injuries and a dislocated shoulder," he said, enunciating each word like a bullet being loaded into a chamber. "But he’s still barely alive, and might still have a chance of surviving it." He paused, his stare darkening as his jaw locked in place. "I hope you’re happy now," he added, his tone slicing through the room like a blade.

Salvador’s frown deepened. "Don’t blame me, Modi. Anyone would have done what I did after hearing what I heard," he defended, lifting his chin stubbornly even though his eyes flickered with uncertainty.

But Modi was far from appeased. He rose from his chair with a kind of slow-burning fury, the movement deliberate, controlled. When he spoke again, his voice was colder, harsher, an avalanche gathering momentum.

"Any right-thinking person wouldn’t have done what you did," he snapped. "Now because of your recklessness, we not only have to face Lucian’s wrath, but also the wrath of Vincent’s father."

His hands gestured as he spoke, emphasizing every point like hammers striking nails. Salvador flinched slightly, but stood his ground, though the guilt in his eyes was impossible to miss.

"How can you just decide to go attack Lucian—in his own house—based on hearsay?" Modi thundered, the restraint he had been holding onto finally unraveling. "What am I supposed to tell Morgan when he comes asking questions?"

His voice cracked slightly at the end, the emotion threatening to rise above the anger. He had been holding in so much, playing damage control behind the scenes for far too long. And now everything was spiraling.

"The truth, of course," Salvador shot back, but his voice lacked the usual bravado. "The monster you raised almost killed his son."

There was venom in his tone, but it was also laced with something deeper—hurt, disbelief. He couldn’t shake the memory of Vincent’s bloodied body, crumpled and broken like discarded paper. It haunted him, and part of him needed someone else to bear the blame.

Modi blinked slowly, eyes narrowing as if he’d been slapped.

"The monster I raised?" he echoed, his voice heavy with disbelief. He took a step closer, voice lowering into something far more dangerous. "That guy became a monster because of you. Because of your selfish ambition. Because of the curse you carefully concocted to achieve your goals." He stabbed a finger in Salvador’s direction as his voice rose again. "So don’t you dare put that on me."

The room felt suddenly too small, the walls pressing in around them as Modi stalked out from behind the desk. The floor creaked under his weight, each step punctuated with fury barely held in check.

"And you know what?" he asked, standing toe-to-toe with Salvador now. "If this goes beyond my control, then be prepared to shoulder the blame. Because I’m done cleaning up after you while you do nothing more than mess everything up right after."

His voice lingered in the air like smoke, bitter and choking. Then he turned, storming out of the office and slamming the door behind him. The sound echoed through the walls like a gavel striking final judgment.

Salvador stood there, motionless, staring at the door. His hands were clenched at his sides, his heart thudding like a war drum. And for the first time in a long while, he had no words.

***

"Why won’t you wake up?" Lucian’s voice trembled, barely above a whisper, as he sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at Serena’s sleeping form.

His thumb brushed lightly against her cheek, the contact feather-soft, as though he was afraid she’d shatter at his touch. His brows were drawn tightly together, a frown etched deep into his features.

"You’ve slept enough already," he murmured, tapping her cheek again with gentle insistence. "Wake up."

His voice cracked at the last word.

The room was dim, save for a soft beam of sunlight filtering through the curtains. Dust motes floated lazily in the golden light, suspended like fragments of a world that had paused. The silence around him was unbearable.

Then, her brow furrowed, and Lucian’s breath caught in his throat.

Her eyes fluttered open slowly, like curtains drawn to reveal a sunrise. For a moment, she stared at him, dazed and confused, before her expression shifted into a scowl.

"What are you talking about? I am already awake," she said, her voice low and tinged with irritation.

But right after saying that, her frown dissolved, melting into a soft, radiant smile that warmed every corner of his cold, hollow heart.

"I’ve missed you," she added softly.

Lucian stared, unmoving, his eyes wide with disbelief. His heart was slamming against his ribcage so hard it hurt. He watched as she slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position, every movement graceful, familiar, real.

"Are you really awake?" he asked, his voice trembling. "You’ve been sleeping for so long..."

He reached out, afraid to touch her again, afraid she’d vanish like a mirage. But she didn’t. Instead, she did something completely unexpected. Something that cut straight to the center of him.

She wrapped him in a hug. A warm, soft hug.

Her arms coiled around his back, and the warmth of her body seeped into his like the sun breaking through a winter sky. He froze at first, then slowly, achingly, he wrapped his arms around her too. And in that moment, the air in his lungs returned. His heart steadied. Relief poured through him like rain after a drought.

But just as quickly, it all began to unravel.

As he pulled back slightly to look at her face, something shifted. Her form flickered. Wavered.

And she began to dissolve.

"No..." he breathed, horror creeping in as her body turned to dust before his eyes. He reached out, desperate, trying to grasp the tiny particles that drifted into the air like ash on the wind.

"No!" he shouted, frantically swiping at the disappearing pieces, trying to pull her back, to rebuild her. But it was useless. His hands closed on nothing. She was gone.

"NOOO!" he screamed.

And that was when he jolted awake, gasping.

His chest heaved with labored breaths, sweat dampening his forehead. The nightmare had been so vivid, it took a moment for reality to settle in. He turned his head, heart pounding in terror, and he found her still lying there.

Unconscious. But there.

Relief crashed into him like a wave. His limbs trembled as he leaned forward, his hand searching for hers. When his fingers finally wrapped around her palm, he nearly cried. Her skin was warm, bringing back the memory of the warmth her hug had given him in the dream. He wanted that again. He wanted to feel it in the physical, not in a dream.

He brought her hand to his lips, pressed a kiss to it, and whispered into the silence.

"Wake up, Serena. Please."

His voice was so soft, barely more than a breath.

He had said it so many times, lost count. Yet he said it again. And again.

"If you wake up today..." he started, and paused, squeezing her hand a little tighter, "...I’ll buy you something very beautiful I saw in a store, but was too scared to buy for you earlier."

It was his last promise. The one he had held back, the one that felt most personal. He had made a dozen others—promises of cars, her favorite chocolates, anything—but nothing had worked. He wasn’t sure this one would either. But he said it anyway.

Then he waited.

His eyes scanned her face, desperate for any sign. A twitch, a frown, anything at all.

But she didn’t move.

And once again, his heart began to sink. The weight of helplessness crawled back into his chest and made itself at home.

He sat there, fingers still entwined with hers, the echo of her smile from his dream haunting him.