Chapter 123

Chapter 123
Eloise – First Person POV

The steam from my shower still clung to my skin, wrapping me in its lingering warmth as I padded barefoot across the hardwood floor of my apartment. Droplets slipped down my collarbone and disappeared into the neckline of my silk robe. My hair, damp and heavy, clung to my shoulders. For weeks, my mornings had begun like this, quiet, steady, predictable. Peaceful, people would call it. They didn’t know how silence could sometimes be the loudest noise in the room.

Peace had returned, yes. The atelier glimmered again, its glass walls spotless, its display cases brimming with new designs that bore only my name. My funds were back in my hands, and contracts that had once been ripped from me were signed anew under Eloise Laurent. Every magazine headline called me a survivor, a fighter, the woman who rebuilt herself from the ashes.

And yet, not one of those glittering titles filled the void Mike had carved into me.

Every time I let my thoughts wander, his name bled through. Mike. His laugh, his stubborn silences, the way his eyes softened in the quiet hours when no one else was looking. I had fallen too deeply, dangerously deeply for him. I hated myself for it, because love shouldn’t feel like drowning. Love shouldn’t feel like punishment. And still, I hadn’t answered a single one of his calls since… since everything shattered.

The sharp rap on my door jolted me. I froze mid-step.

A knock.

No one ever came here unannounced except Ava. My stomach flipped as though it already knew before my head caught up. My hand hovered above the door handle, hesitation buzzing through my fingertips. For a breath, I thought of turning away, pretending not to be home. But something, hope, foolishness, masochism pushed me forward.

I pulled the door open. There he was.

Mike.

I swallowed hard. The man who stood before me barely resembled the one etched in my memories. He had lost weight in just a matter of weeks, his broad shoulders seemed narrower, and his clothes hung looser, as though his body had retreated from the world. His eyes—oh God—those blue eyes were sunken, ringed with sleepless shadows. He looked like a man unraveling thread by thread.

“Can I?” His voice cracked, soft, raw, nothing like the commanding tone I once knew.

I said nothing. My silence was my answer, but I stepped back anyway. My body betrayed me before my pride could stop it. He slipped inside, closing the door gently behind him, as though afraid the sound might shatter me.

I dropped onto the cushion of my cream sofa, my robe pooling around me. I didn’t look at him. Not directly. But I felt him move closer, felt the pull of his presence like gravity. He walked into the living room and then, to my shock, lowered himself onto his knees before me.

My chest tightened.

“I’m sorry.” His voice trembled, desperate but steadying itself with each syllable. “I know I’ve hurt you, Eloise. More times than I care to admit. But being away from you… it might just be the death of me.”

I blinked hard, my throat prickling. His hands pressed flat against his thighs, his knuckles pale.

“I never meant harm. Not to you. Never.” His gaze lifted to mine, searching, pleading. “I never pretended to love you. Eloise, I love you. I always have. Even if I didn’t say it enough, even if I was too much of a coward to show it every day—I do. And I won’t let anyone or anything stand between us again.”

The words burned through me like wildfire. I hated how much I wanted them, how they pulled at the fragile threads of my anger. I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to hold still when every part of me wanted to crumble into his arms.

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone. His thumb tapped quickly, nervously, before he set it on the coffee table in front of me, screen unlocked, open.

“Please,” he said, voice almost breaking. “Just… let me explain. Let me show you.”

On the screen, chat messages filled the display. Years-old messages. My heart stumbled. My name wasn’t there, but Damon’s was.

I leaned forward despite myself, eyes scanning line by line. The first message dated back to the night that cursed bet began. Damon: So you won? Mike’s reply: No. I’m out. It was stupid. She doesn’t deserve this.

My chest constricted as I read on. Damon had pushed, taunted him. You’re walking away? Don’t tell me you caught feelings already. Mike’s answer had come quick, firm: This isn’t a game anymore. She’s not a game. I’m done.

But Damon… Damon had never let it die. Message after message revealed his obsession with keeping the bet alive, twisting it into a weapon, a shadow he could hold over Mike—and me. Mike had stopped replying. The thread became one-sided, Damon’s words stacking like knives against a silence Mike never broke again.

My pulse pounded in my ears. I scrolled, faster and faster, until my hands shook and my vision blurred. Proof. Proof that what I had believed all along, that Mike had strung me along in some cruel bet—wasn’t the full truth.

I dropped the phone onto the table, my breaths shallow, uneven.

“Eloise.” His voice was low, almost reverent. “I tried to stop it. I told him I wanted nothing to do with it, but he—he twisted it, used it, because he knew it was the one way he could destroy me. Destroy us.”

I couldn’t speak. The room spun, every thought colliding with the next.

“Say something,” he begged, leaning forward, his hands gripping the edge of the cushion as if he were clinging to me. “Scream at me, curse me, throw me out—just… don’t stay silent.”

Tears pricked hot at the corners of my eyes. I pressed my hands into my lap, forcing them still. Because what I wanted to do was reach for him, trace the sharp line of his jaw that grief and exhaustion had carved deeper. What I wanted to do was believe every word.

But belief meant forgiveness. And forgiveness was too easy. Too fast.

I shook my head, choking on the storm in my throat. “I don’t… I don’t know, Mike. I don’t know what to do with this. With you.”

He inhaled sharply, as though my uncertainty was a blade to his ribs. “I’ll wait. I’ll give you time. As much time as you need. Just don’t shut me out completely. Don’t let this be the end.”

His words wove around me, tethering me to him even as I fought to keep distance. My heart screamed at me to kneel beside him, to press my forehead to his and whisper the forgiveness he begged for. My pride screamed louder, demanding I hold onto the hurt, the betrayal, the sleepless nights.

The silence stretched, broken only by the soft hum of the city outside my window. Horns in the distance, the faint whistle of wind through the cracks. My apartment smelled faintly of lavender and damp stone from the shower, grounding me.

I finally whispered, “You’ve taken so much from me, Mike. My trust. My peace. My certainty. And now you want me to believe again—just like that?”

His eyes shone with moisture he refused to let fall. “Not just like that. I don’t deserve that. I only ask… for a chance. For you to see me not as the man who betrayed you, but as the man who loves you.”

The ache in my chest swelled, pressing against every wall I had built around myself. I rose from the sofa, my robe swishing softly against my calves. He stayed on his knees, watching me as though every movement dictated his fate.

I turned away, walking toward the wide window that overlooked the city skyline. The night was falling, the buildings glowing with golden light against the darkening sky. My reflection stared back at me in the glass, wet hair, damp robe, eyes rimmed with indecision.

Behind me, I heard his breath shudder. The weight of his presence filled the space between us, thick and unrelenting.

“I want to forgive you,” I admitted, my voice breaking. “God, I want to. But if I do right now, what does that say about me? That you can hurt me and walk back in with a few messages, a few words, and all is fine again?”

He shifted behind me, but didn’t rise. “No. It says you’re strong enough to love even when it’s hard. But I’ll never ask you to do it before you’re ready.”

My hands trembled at my sides. Slowly, painfully, I turned to face him again. He was still kneeling, still waiting, still stripped of every ounce of arrogance. Just a man undone, offering me what little he had left—his truth.

And oh, how I wanted to kneel beside him, wrap my arms around his neck, and hold him until neither of us remembered what pain felt like.

But I couldn’t. Not yet.

I shook my head, tears spilling now, unrestrained. “Give me time, Mike. Please. Because if I forgive you too quickly, I’ll hate myself for it later. And I don’t want to hate myself. Or you.”

He closed his eyes, relief and heartbreak colliding across his face. “Time,” he whispered. “You’ll have it. Every second you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment, neither of us moved. The air between us heavy with everything unsaid.

And though I didn’t kneel, though I didn’t embrace him, something shifted inside me. A crack in the wall. A thread of hope I couldn’t cut no matter how I tried.

Mike remained on the floor, and I remained standing above him, but for the first time in weeks, I didn’t feel completely alone.