Revenge amnesia upgraded to his brother novel Chapter 51

**The Goodbye That Never Reached You and My Life Chasing 51**

**Chapter 51**

**Lucien’s POV**

Norah’s silence was deafening. She didn’t answer my call, and with each unanswered ring, the weight of her refusal to forgive me settled deeper in my chest, heavy and suffocating. I found myself alone in my office, the stillness around me amplifying the echoes of my past mistakes, each one replaying in my mind like a broken record.

But I couldn’t afford to remain idle, trapped in my own thoughts.

The more I pondered that so-called “accident,” the more it began to feel orchestrated, a carefully crafted performance. Damian, the ever-charming hero? It was too convenient, too perfectly timed to be a mere coincidence.

I wasn’t buying his act for a second.

With a surge of determination, I reached for my phone and called one of my men. “I want you to pull every piece of surveillance footage from the café where Norah was struck. I need every angle, every frame. And track down any witnesses—street performers, homeless individuals, anyone who might have seen what happened. Offer them money if you have to. I need answers, and I need them now.”

My instincts screamed that Damian had orchestrated this entire scenario.

Next, I dispatched another team to dig into Katarina’s background. Someone like her didn’t just materialize in Paris and partner with Eleanor without a history. There had to be more to her story, and I was determined to uncover it.

Hours dragged on, each tick of the clock amplifying my anxiety. Finally, my phone buzzed, pulling me from my spiraling thoughts.

“Boss, we’ve got a lead,” my man reported, urgency lacing his voice. “A street violinist witnessed Damian lurking across from the café long before the crash occurred.”

“Go on,” I urged, leaning forward, my pulse quickening.

“He said he saw Damian conversing with a guy on a motorcycle. Handed him an envelope,” he continued.

My jaw tightened as I absorbed this information. Just as I suspected.

“We managed to track down the biker. He’s a small-time junkie. At first, he played tough, but a little cash loosened his tongue,” my man explained.

“What did he divulge?” I pressed, my heart racing.

“Damian paid him to create a diversion. To cause chaos when Norah exited the café, but he was instructed not to actually hurt her.”

There was a pause, and then the man continued, “But the guy was high. He lost control and ended up causing the real crash.”

My hand clenched into a fist, rage coursing through me.

A staged accident. A fabricated rescue.

Damian’s twisted plan to win Norah back.

It was sickening, brilliant, and utterly unforgivable.

“Send me the recording and the payment trail,” I commanded, my voice steely.

Without wasting another moment, I jumped into my car and sped toward her hotel.

“Sorry, sir,” the front desk clerk said, her tone apologetic yet unyielding. “Miss Hawthorne has checked out.”

She was gone. Panic surged within me as I redirected my course to Thornbird Studio.

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