Chapter 15: The Turning Point
The morning sunlight spilled softly through the glass walls of the mansion, illuminating the scent of sizzling butter and freshly brewed coffee. The sound of a pan gently scraping filled the air—a sound that made Vierrah stir from her sleep.
She blinked, confused for a moment. That smell—sweet, warm, comforting—wasn't from the staff. The house had been quiet lately; Lucas had dismissed most of them weeks ago to give her "privacy."
Her bare feet touched the cold marble floor as she followed the aroma to the kitchen. And there he was.
Lucas stood by the stove, wearing a black shirt with sleeves rolled up, effortlessly flipping a perfect golden pancake. The counter was neatly arranged—eggs, fruits, freshly squeezed orange juice. His movements were calm, precise, like he'd done this a hundred times before.
"Good morning," he said, not looking up as he plated another pancake. "You're awake earlier than usual."
She blinked at him, still surprised. "You… cooked?"
He smirked faintly, finally glancing at her. "of course for only my darling"
Vierrah hesitated by the doorway, unsure whether to step in. Lucas had cooked before—she remembered him preparing dinner once during their honeymoon—but that time, it had felt performative. A show of control, not care. But this… this felt different.
"Sit," he said quietly, nodding toward the table. "Breakfast is ready."
Her brows furrowed. "You made all this?"
He chuckled softly. "yeah, I want to always cook for my wife even though we have a maid to cook".
There was no arrogance in his tone. No command. Just quiet sincerity.
She sat down hesitantly as he brought the plates—pancakes topped with strawberries, crisp bacon, and a side of scrambled eggs. Every detail was perfect, down to the way he'd poured honey instead of syrup, just how she liked it.
"You remembered," she murmured, almost to herself.
He looked up. "Of course I did."
The silence that followed was soft, not heavy like before. He poured her coffee and sat across from her, his expression unreadable but calm.
After a few bites, she finally spoke. "Why are you doing this?"
He paused, fork halfway to his mouth. "Because I want to start over," he said honestly. "Not with grand gestures or money. Just… small things that might mean something."
Vierrah frowned slightly. "Small things?"
He nodded, reached into his pocket, and placed something on the table.
Her heart stopped. It was her phone.
"I had it replaced," he said quietly. "Same number. All your photos, contacts, and messages are restored."
Her breath caught. "You're… giving it back?"
"Yes." His voice was steady, though there was a trace of nervousness in his eyes. "It was never mine to keep."
She touched it with trembling fingers, staring at the familiar device. "Lucas… why now?"
He leaned back, sighing deeply. "Because I finally understand that love isn't about control. You deserve your freedom, Vierrah. You deserve to choose who to talk to, where to go, who to be."
She stared at him, uncertain. "And if I talk to someone you hate?"
He met her gaze. "Then I'll deal with my own demons instead of punishing you for them."
Her throat tightened. The Lucas she'd known—the one who used to track her every move, who'd smash a phone over jealousy—was saying these words with a calm she didn't recognize.
"Thank you," she whispered.
He smiled faintly. "There's more."
She blinked. "More?"
"I called the design firm you used to work for," he continued, rubbing the back of his neck. "Asked if they'd still consider hiring you. They said yes. The position's open if you want it."
Her mouth parted in disbelief. "You… did that?"
He nodded, almost shyly. "You deserve to do what you love again. And I want to see you happy doing it—even if it means being away from me."
Her chest ached. "Lucas…"
"I'll drive you on your first day if you want," he said gently. "Or you can go alone. It's your choice."
Those last two words hit her harder than she expected. Your choice.
For the first time, he wasn't deciding for her. He was letting her decide for herself.
She looked down, her vision blurring slightly. "You're changing," she murmured.
He gave a small, pained smile. "Trying to."
---
That afternoon, she found him standing by the door, holding a folder under his arm, car keys in hand.
"Going somewhere?" she asked, curious.
He turned to her with a hesitant expression. "Yeah. Therapy."
She froze. "Therapy?"
He nodded. "A private psychiatrist. I've been talking to them over the phone for weeks now… but today's my first in-person session."
Her lips parted. "You're really doing this?"
He nodded once, his gaze steady. "I need to. For you, for us… but mostly for myself. I don't want to be the man who scares the woman he loves."
The confession stole her breath.
He stepped closer, his tone soft. "I can't erase what I've done, Vierrah. But I can learn how to be different. To be worthy of you."
Her heart twisted. "You already are—if you're really trying."
He gave a half-smile. "Then I'll keep trying."
---
Days turned into weeks, and slowly, the mansion began to change.
Vierrah went back to work—nervous at first, but Lucas didn't call, didn't demand, didn't appear unannounced. Instead, she'd find quiet gestures waiting for her: a lunchbox with her favorite sandwich, a small bouquet of daisies on the counter, a note that read I'm proud of you.
Every evening, he'd join her for dinner—no questions, no suspicion. Just quiet conversations about ordinary things.
Sometimes, he'd tell her about his therapy sessions, about how difficult it was to talk about his mother, about the nightmares that came and went. Sometimes, he'd just listen as she shared stories from work.
It was strange, almost peaceful—the calm after the storm.
One night, as the sun dipped behind the horizon, painting the sky gold, they sat on the balcony in comfortable silence.
Lucas glanced at her and smiled faintly. "You know," he murmured, "I used to think love meant never letting go."
She looked at him curiously. "And now?"
He exhaled. "Now I think it means letting the other person breathe."
Vierrah's lips curved softly. "You're learning."
He nodded, eyes softening. "Because you stayed."
Her chest warmed, and for the first time, she didn't feel like his prisoner or his possession. She felt like a person again—someone seen, someone trusted.
And as the evening breeze brushed past them, Vierrah realized that maybe, this time, Lucas wasn't just learning to love her.
He was learning to be free, too.
---