Crazy but sweet

 LOLA'S POV

 I opened my eyes slowly, my head pounding like a war drum. But unlike before, the pain wasn’t unbearable.

 I blinked a few times, adjusting to the dim light. My body still felt weak, but at least I could move without feeling like I was being ripped apart.

 With a soft groan, I rubbed my eyes and sat up.

 That’s when I saw him.

 A tall figure stood by the window, his posture tense, phone pressed to his ear. His voice was dangerous—low, sharp, laced with barely controlled rage.

 "I'm telling you to destroy him and his entire generation! How the hell did Brian get the courage to try and disfigure my wife?"

 My heart skipped.

 My wife.

 He was talking about me.

 I couldn’t hear the other side of the call, but my stomach twisted with dread.

 Was my face really destroyed?

 "She's still sleeping," he continued, voice tight with emotion. "I won’t allow anyone to see her. Not even her grandfather."

 I froze.

 Did I hear that right?

 He was planning to hide me?

 To keep me away from everyone?

 Suddenly, my breathing felt too loud. My fingers curled into the sheets.

 I needed to know what was going on.

 So I did what any sane, terrified person would do.

 I pretended to be asleep.

 Seconds later, I heard his footsteps approaching the bed. The mattress dipped as he sat beside me.

 My pulse spiked.

 I snapped my eyes open, instinctively scooting away, curling my legs up like a frightened animal.

 He reached for me.

 "No! Leave me alone!" I yelled, flailing weakly, my body still betraying me.

 He caught my wrists—but gently. Not forcefully, not harshly—just firmly enough to stop me from hurting myself.

 His grip was warm. Familiar.

 "Lola…" His voice was soft now, coaxing. "Don't you remember me? I'm your husband. I would never hurt you."

 I stared at him, my breath shaky.

 Jolie.

 His dark eyes softened as he brushed a few stray strands of hair from my face, cradling me with a tenderness that felt almost foreign.

 Then, he did something unexpected.

 He leaned in—so close that our breaths mingled.

 His thumb brushed over my lips, lingering for just a moment before he did it—

 He kissed me.

 Soft. Slow. But deep.

 Like he was trying to remind me of something.

 And suddenly—flashes.

 Images.

 His smirk. His touch. His laughter.

 A hot tear slipped down my cheek.

 I blinked up at him, voice barely a whisper.

 "Jolie?"

 His lips curled into a smile.

 Relief.

 I threw myself into his arms, clinging to him like a lifeline.

 He held me tightly, his hands everywhere—stroking, soothing, reassuring.

 For the first time in days, I felt safe.

 ---

 LATER THAT NIGHT…

 Jolie refused to let me lift a single finger.

 He had a servant—Sally—bring in a light meal. But instead of letting me eat by myself, he spoon-fed me like a damn toddler.

 "Jolie, I can—"

 "Shhh," he interrupted, popping another spoonful into my mouth. "Just eat."

 I rolled my eyes but ate anyway.

 When I was done, Sally cleaned up, but before she could leave, Jolie excused himself.

 She hesitated. Clearly, she wasn’t allowed to leave until he returned.

 I seized my chance.

 "What's your name?" I asked.

 She hesitated. "Sally, ma'am."

 "Sally…" I swallowed. "Be honest with me. Do I look horrible?"

 She fidgeted.

 "Not at all, ma’am. The wound might scar a little, but it’s nothing serious."

 Oh.

 That was… better than expected.

 But something else nagged at me.

 I remembered Jolie's phone call.

 He didn’t want anyone to see me. Not even my own grandfather.

 Why?

 I squared my shoulders.

 "Sally," I said carefully. "Do you know what's really going on?"

 The girl turned pale.

 "I'm sorry, ma'am," she whispered. "But I’m not entitled to answer that."

 My stomach sank.

 I turned away, frustrated.

 And that’s when I heard it—

 Jolie's phone buzzing.

 I looked over.

 A name flashed on the screen.

 Anna.

 Who the hell is Anna?

 I had noticed her name before. She had called multiple times.

 Was she important? Why was she calling so much?

 I watched the phone ring until it stopped.

 A slow breath left my lips.

 Tonight.

 I was going to ask Jolie tonight.

 I needed answers.

 Sally must’ve noticed my expression, because when I turned, she was watching me with an indifferent gaze.

 I tried to stand up—not because I needed to, but because I wanted to intimidate her.

 Before I could say anything, the door swung open.

 Jolie walked in.

 He raised an eyebrow.

 "What do you think you're doing?"

 His voice was calm. Too calm.

 Sally took that as a cue to scurry out.

 Jolie crossed the room in two strides, looping an arm around my waist before I could protest.

 He held me in one hand, my IV drip in the other, and guided me toward the bathroom.

 His movements were practiced. Gentle. Like this wasn’t the first time he’d done it.

 He even helped me wash up, his touch careful but intimate.

 After changing me into a fresh gown, he carried me back to bed, tucking me in like I was made of glass.

 I swallowed hard, watching his every move.

 Because tonight?

 I was going to get some damn answers.

 ---

 LUKE'S POV

 I leaned back on my couch, swirling the whiskey in my glass.

 I was drunk.

 Not wasted, but just enough to let my thoughts turn bitter.

 Brian.

 Jolie.

 The only two friends I ever had.

 Until Brian betrayed us.

 I let out a scoff, shaking my head.

 But Jolie? Jolie was different.

 He had found her. His wife.

 The woman who had been driving him crazy for months, even though he refused to admit it.

 I took another sip, laughing under my breath.

 Love was a damn joke.

 Just as I r

eached for the bottle to pour another drink, my maid walked in, head bowed.

 "What is it now, Lucy?" I muttered.

 "A lady’s here to see you," she said. "Her name’s Anna. She said it’s urgent."

 I stilled.

 Anna?

 Jolie’s ex-fling?

 What the hell does she want?

 I sighed, rubbing my temples.

 This night just got a whole lot more interesting.