Chapter 14: The Apology
The rain had stopped by morning, but the air still smelled like thunder. The storm had passed—outside, at least. Inside, silence lingered like smoke.
Vierrah woke to find Lucas sitting at the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, staring blankly at the floor. His wet hair from last night was now dry and messy, his shirt clinging loosely to his frame.
For a long moment, she just watched him. The same man who terrified her last night now looked… small. Tired. Like a child lost in a place too big for him.
When he noticed she was awake, he didn't turn immediately. His voice came out low and rough.
"Couldn't sleep."
She sat up slowly, the blanket still wrapped around her. "You were… shaking in your sleep."
He nodded once, still not looking at her. "Nightmares. Same ones I've had since I was a kid."
Her heart ached at the emptiness in his tone. "About what?"
Lucas let out a soft, bitter laugh. "About being alone."
Silence. Only the faint ticking of the clock between them.
Finally, he turned to face her—and she saw the guilt in his eyes, the kind that doesn't go away with a simple sorry.
"Vierrah," he said quietly, "I know I keep hurting you."
Her throat tightened. "You do."
He nodded, accepting it like a punishment. "I know. And I hate myself for it."
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. "Do you know what it's like to grow up waiting for someone who never comes back?"
Vierrah blinked. "What do you mean?"
"My mother left when I was eight," he began. His voice trembled at first, but he forced himself to continue. "She said she'd come back after she 'found herself.' My father didn't stop her. He just kept drinking. Every night, I'd sit by the window, thinking maybe she'd show up in the driveway. She never did."
He paused, his jaw tightening. "After that, I stopped waiting. I stopped trusting. I stopped feeling. Because what's the point of loving if they'll always leave?"
Vierrah's chest constricted. She wanted to say something—but the pain in his voice held her still.
"So I built walls," he continued softly. "Money. Power. Control. They were the only things I could hold onto. Things that couldn't walk away."
His gaze met hers then, raw and unguarded. "And then I met you."
Her lips parted, but no words came.
"You were… everything I wasn't," he said. "Bright. Kind. Honest. I saw you once at the university garden, laughing with your friends. You looked so happy that I hated you for it. Hated how easy it seemed for you to smile while I was rotting inside."
Vierrah's heartbeat faltered. "Lucas…"
"I thought if I had you," he went on, "if I could make you mine… maybe I'd finally feel whole. Maybe you'd fill the space she left behind." He gave a sad smile. "But I was wrong. You're not supposed to heal me. You're supposed to be loved. And I keep ruining that."
Tears welled in Vierrah's eyes before she could stop them. She hated that she still felt something—pity, sympathy, whatever it was—for the man who scared her, the man who kept her in a golden cage.
He reached out carefully, hesitating midair before his fingers brushed hers. "I'm sorry, Vierrah."
She didn't move away this time. But she didn't say it's okay either.
"You can't keep apologizing if you're not going to change," she said softly.
"I know," he whispered. "I just… don't know how to stop being afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
"Of losing you," he said simply. "Of waking up one morning and finding you gone like she did. Of realizing that I'm not enough to make you stay."
Her tears finally fell. "Lucas, you can't force someone to stay out of fear. That's not love."
"I know," he repeated, his voice breaking. "But it's the only way I've ever known how to love."
He lowered his head, his shoulders trembling. "I'm not asking you to forgive me. Just… don't give up on me yet. Please."
Vierrah stared at him, her heart warring with itself. He looked so different from the man who'd shattered her phone, who'd shouted in jealous rage. This was a boy—broken, desperate, begging for something he didn't know how to ask for properly.
She took a deep breath. "You hurt me, Lucas. You make me afraid sometimes. And part of me wants to walk away. But…" She paused, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Part of me also wants to understand you."
His head lifted slightly, eyes glistening. "You… do?"
"I don't forgive you," she said firmly. "Not yet. But… I want to understand why you are the way you are."
He nodded slowly, tears threatening to spill but not quite falling. "That's more than I deserve."
Silence followed. But this time, it wasn't heavy—it was quiet in a fragile way, like something broken was slowly beginning to breathe again.
Lucas exhaled shakily and reached for her hand once more. "I'll try. I'll try to be better. I just… don't know where to start."
"Maybe by not treating me like something you own," she said gently. "By trusting me enough to let me breathe."
His lips curved into a faint, sad smile. "I'll try."
She looked at him for a long time—really looked—and saw not just the possessive billionaire who frightened her, but a man who never learned how to love without clinging.
And somehow, that realization changed something inside her. Not forgiveness, not acceptance—but a small, hesitant crack in the walls she built to protect herself.
When Lucas leaned forward and pressed his forehead against the back of her hand, whispering, "Thank you for not giving up on me," she didn't pull away.
Instead, she let her fingers thread through his hair—tentative, unsure—and for the first time, the silence between them didn't feel like a cage.
It felt like the beginning of something fragile.
Something that might one day, if they were careful enough, learn how to be love.
---