Craved by the Wrong Volkov-Chapter 198: The man I must forget

Braelyn’s POV

It took everything in me at that moment not to burst into a round of laughter. Lucien was a real pain in the ass. My eyes went wide as I faked a surprised expression. "That’s new. It’s been ages since Raph laughed last," I gushed, my hand rushing to my face. I didn’t give a fuck if he read through my expression as fake or not.

Lucien grinned. "I do have a good sense of humour," he gushed. I glanced over at Raphael. His brows twitched, but his expression remained calm.

Something flickered in his gaze. I couldn’t quite place it. "How are you feeling now?" he asked.

"I’m fine," I said half dismissively before moving toward Lucien’s side to take my seat. His gaze didn’t follow me, but I was certain he wasn’t pleased by my actions.

A maid on standby pulled out the chair for me. "You should still have the ginger soup. I think it should still be warm," he offered. I nodded.

Lucien’s brows furrowed as he narrowed his eyes at me. "Did you have a fever last night?" he asked, thinking deeply. "Did you sleep in the tub or something like that?" he added.

"I kind of fell asleep under the shower," I shrugged. He arched a brow at me like he’d just heard something thoroughly absurd. His face clearly said who falls asleep under the shower. There was no way I could speak the truth of something so humiliating.

"How drunk were you last night?" he asked.

"I guess pretty drunk. I walked straight into a flower vase and couldn’t stand up. My head was spinning so badly," I laughed, but Lucien didn’t find it funny. His expression turned serious, like I’d committed a crime.

"I hope you didn’t get injured," he said, already scanning me for wounds.

"I didn’t." The ginger soup was placed in front of me.

The bowl arrived steaming, carried carefully by one of the maids. The rich, spicy aroma hit me first. Just the smell alone made me feel warmer.

Golden broth swirled with thin slices of fresh ginger, scallions floating on top, and a small pile of shredded chicken nestled in the centre. It looked simple, a bit plain if I was honest, but the smell alone made my stomach rumble despite everything.

I stared down at it as steam rose from the surface. It looked like it had been made with care. Raphael glanced at me, clearly waiting for me to take a sip.

I sniffed it before lifting the spoon. The first sip was fire, the ginger burning down my throat, chasing away the last remnants of the hangover and fever.

The taste was a little funky, like medicine, but also soothing. The broth was rich without a doubt. I swallowed, warmth settling in my stomach and spreading slow relief through my chest. "It tastes pretty nice," I muttered as I continued sipping. It felt like an instant remedy.

Raphael leaned forward, elbows on the table, watching me like he was waiting for a verdict. "Better?"

I took another sip before answering, letting the heat coat my tongue. "Yeah," I said, my voice still rough from last night’s screaming and crying. "It’s not bad. Thanks."

He nodded once, satisfied. "I’m glad you liked it."

"I really shouldn’t have let you drink," Lucien said, earning a glare from me. He flashed a smile, though his face stiffened as he glanced at the soup. "I couldn’t stop you though. You were having fun. It felt wrong to ruin that."

He barely touched his breakfast. His attention stayed on me. I looked down at the soup, stirring the ginger slices slowly. "I just drank too much. That’s all."

He didn’t buy it. I could feel his stare, steady and searching, but he didn’t push. "Maybe next time I’ll make the soup for you," he offered. I glanced at him, stunned. Was he jealous Raphael was paying attention to me?

"I’d love to taste your soup."

Raphael stayed silent across the table, but I could feel his attention like a weight. Every time I lifted the spoon, I knew he was watching, probably making sure I finished every drop.

It reminded me of a time I didn’t want to remember, back when we were in university during the heavy rains of mid spring. I’d caught a nasty flu after running in the rain because my umbrella was stolen right under my nose during lectures. It was my first year, when Dad had insisted I stay in the dorms for the experience.

I hadn’t wanted to wait for the rain to stop and ran all the way from my faculty to the girls’ dorm. It was far, but other students were doing it.

Underestimating my immune system didn’t begin to cover it. By the end of the day, I was down with a terrible fever, barely conscious. One of my roommates called Raphael. He came that night and took me to his place off campus.

He nursed me all night and prepared a similar soup. This one tasted just like it. I didn’t want to think too much about it.

He’d been upset that I’d caused my fever and reprimanded me. I should’ve called him. He would’ve brought a car. I hadn’t because I knew he was probably in a lecture.

He didn’t like my excuse.

My mouth tasted bitter at the memory he’d tainted. It was hard to believe he was the same man. I couldn’t help but wonder what happened to the boy who loved me. Would he be happy with the man he’d become?

"Are you alright?" Lucien asked, rubbing his thumb beneath my eye.

"Eh?" I blurted, startled by how close he suddenly was. I didn’t move away.

His eyes were tender, worry etched into his face. "You’re crying."

I froze and blinked. A tear slid down my cheek. I hadn’t even realised I was crying. The bowl was empty. I’d finished it without noticing, lost in memories.

I jolted up from the chair. My gaze flicked to Raphael, who looked just as stunned. "I think we should leave," I stuttered before rushing toward the door.

Why did I remember the man I was trying so hard to forget?