CHAPTER HUNDRED & SEVENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER HUNDRED & SEVENTY-EIGHT
ASHLEY

By the time we dropped Lucian off, the sky had darkened, heavy with the kind of clouds that didn’t cry until you were finally home and unprepared for the rain.

Kyle didn’t say much. Neither did Lucian.

They exchanged a look, a whole conversation packed into silence and then Lucian just nodded once, pulled the door shut behind him, and disappeared into the lobby.

And then it was just us.

The city flickered around us as we drove. Neon signs. Horns. People moving too fast to notice two ghosts floating through it all. Kyle’s hand stayed on the wheel like it was the only thing tethering him to the present.

He didn’t ask if I wanted to come back to his place.

He didn’t need to.

Somewhere between the ruin of that family and the silence that followed, we’d reached a quiet understanding:

We weren’t done.

Not with this conversation.
Not with each other.

When the elevator opened at the penthouse, I followed him inside.
.

Kyle dropped his keys in the tray, shrugged off his coat, and said nothing.

Neither did I.

I watched him walk to the window, stand in front of the skyline like he was trying to remember how to breathe again.

And I let him.

He needed this moment more than he needed words.

So I gave it to him.

But after a while, I crossed the room, my footsteps quiet over the hardwood, and stood a few inches behind him. Close—but not too close. He could close the gap if he wanted to.

“I meant what I said earlier,” I whispered.

His shoulders rose and fell slowly.

“You don’t have to carry it all,” I added. “Not anymore.”

He didn’t look at me, but I saw his reflection in the glass—tired eyes, clenched jaw, a war still echoing behind his ribs.

“I don’t know who I am without it,” he admitted, voice hoarse. “Without the weight. The fight. The legacy. The lie.”

“You’re you,” I said. “You’re the man who told the truth even when it hurt. The man who stood beside his brother instead of in front of him. The man who left that house not with revenge, but with resolve.”

He turned to me then. Finally.

“I keep thinking I’ll feel better,” he murmured. “Now that I know the truth. But it’s like… I don’t know how to live outside the lie. Like it became my compass. Even when I hated it.”

I stepped forward. Closed the space.

“Then let’s figure it out,” I said softly. “Together.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just looked at me—really looked.

And then he reached for me, quietly, like he was afraid to break something between us. His hand slid around my waist, his forehead touched mine.

“Don’t leave,” he whispered.

“I won’t,” I promised.

And I meant it.

Not because he needed saving.

But because, maybe, we both needed someone who saw the truth and stayed anyway.

“Can I say something?” I asked, even though I already knew he’d let me.

Kyle nodded. 
No 
“I know you’ve been through hell,” I began, my voice softer than I meant it to be. “And I know today wasn’t about me. But I need you to know what it felt like… being next to you all this time, and still feeling like I was on the outside of your life.”

His brow tightened, but he didn’t speak. He just listened.

“I loved you,” I said. “Since high school. Through everything. Even when it hurt. Even when it was messy. But there were parts of you I never got to touch—parts you buried so deep, I didn’t even know they existed until they exploded.”

I took a breath.

“And when you told me about Lucian, about your mom, about the lies… it wasn’t the truth that hurt the most. It was realizing that I could’ve loved you better, if only you’d let me. If only I’d seen the real you sooner.”

Kyle’s mouth parted, but I shook my head gently and continued.

“I don’t blame you for what your father did. You were a kid. But I would’ve stood beside you through all of it if you’d just let me in. And sometimes I wonder how much pain we could’ve avoided—how many fights, how much distance—if we hadn’t kept pretending we were okay when we weren’t.”

He looked down then, like my words reached somewhere he wasn’t ready to look at yet.

“I felt invisible,” I whispered. “Like I was loving a locked room. And I knocked, Kyle. God, I knocked until my hands bled.”

Silence.

Then—

“I know,” he rasped.

I blinked. “You do?”

He met my eyes then, full of guilt and something deeper. “I always heard you,” he said. “I just didn’t know how to open the door without everything collapsing.”

I let that settle between us. Let it sting. Let it breathe.

Then I stepped closer and touched his chest—just over his heart.

“You didn’t collapse,” I said. “You cracked open. And there’s a difference.”

He exhaled sharply, almost like he didn’t believe it. Like no one had ever told him it was okay to be broken in a way that let light in.

“But I should’ve told you,” he said quietly. “Everything. Years ago.”

I nodded. “You should’ve. But you didn’t. And we’re still here.”

His eyes flickered. “Why are you still here?”

I didn’t hesitate.

“Because when you finally opened that door… you didn’t slam it shut again. You let me see you. All of you.”

And then, softer: “I really don’t deserve you, Ashley.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but he shook his head gently and stepped back, just enough to pace. Just enough to let the words rise without breaking.

“I’ve spent my whole life trying to control everything,” he said. “Every room. Every deal. Every breath. Because if I didn’t, I thought everything would fall apart.”

He paused, raking a hand through his hair. “It started when I was a kid. When I saw my mother die and had to swallow it. When Lucian disappeared and I was told to act like he never existed. I didn’t just learn silence—I became it.”

My chest tightened as he looked back at me.

“I thought if I kept everything tightly locked, if I made the world bend around me, I’d be safe. Untouchable. Strong. But the truth is—” his voice cracked, “—the more I tried to control everything, the more I lost. I lost my brother. I lost myself. I lost you.”
.

“And even when I had you,” he whispered, “I was still chasing something else. The next fix. The next milestone. The next moment where I could finally say, ‘See? I’m worth it.’ But I never said it. Not to myself. Not to you.”

I moved to him slowly, but I didn’t speak.

Because I could tell he wasn’t finished.

“I ruined so many things,” he continued, quieter now. “I wore power like armor, but it didn’t make me stronger—it made me cold. Distant. I wasn’t building a legacy. I was hiding in one. And you…” His eyes found mine again, filled with aching regret. “You saw through all of it. Even when I didn’t deserve to be seen.”

A breath caught in my throat.

He stepped closer. “You loved me when I didn’t know how to be loved. When I didn’t know how to give anything real back. And now that I’m finally starting to… I’m scared.”

I blinked. “Scared of what?”

He swallowed hard. “That it’s too late. That I finally opened the door… and you’ll realize there’s nothing worth staying for on the other side.”

I shook my head instantly, voice barely steady. “Don’t say that.”

His arms wrapped around me—slowly at first and I leaned in.

I rested my forehead against his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heart beneath my palm. 
He cupped the side of my face, thumb brushing my cheek like I was made of something breakable. And maybe I was.

But not with him. Not anymore.

I looked up and I saw him.

Not the CEO. Not the son. Not the man who spent his whole life trying to be something he never needed to be.

Just Kyle.

Raw. Open. Terrified.

But mine.

His hand slid behind my neck, fingers threading into my hair with a tenderness that made my breath hitch. 

And then—

He slanted his lips over mine, and the world narrowed down to that one electric point of contact. Every second of that kiss unraveled another layer of me unstitched me from the inside out. The slow, sensual glide of his tongue. The warmth of his palm cradling my jaw. The firm hold at the nape of my neck that anchored me to this moment and nothing else.

I slid my hands over his chest, felt the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath my palms, then up over his shoulders, his neck and finally into his hair. I tugged.

He groaned.

And that sound… God, that sound.

It wasn’t just desire. It was history. Ache. Every unsaid word we’d buried in silence for years. Every apology we had carved into each other’s skin with time.

The kiss deepened, pressure mounting soft and slow at first, then hungrier, more desperate. My back hit the wall, and his body pressed into mine like he needed to mold us together, to erase the space that had once kept us apart.

Time blurred.

Maybe it had been minutes. Maybe longer. All I knew was that breathing became optional, and when the air finally gave out, we pulled apart, gasping.

His forehead dropped to mine. Our breaths tangled in the space between us. Both of us undone.

I stared up at him..his lips kiss-swollen, eyes burning and I saw it.

Everything.

Regret. Hunger. Redemption.

Love.