Chapter 58 Will You Please Forgive Me?

Chapter 58 Will You Please Forgive Me?

Every word from him was like a needle, stabbing hard into Monica's heart.

His sharp words hurt her deeply, but she still stubbornly refused to let go, frantically explaining: "That's not what I meant! I just... I just don't want you to go see them!"

"Why?" Shane finally broke free from her grip. He spun around sharply, his bloodshot eyes locked on her, pressing closer step by step. "Give me a reason—a real reason, something other than 'it's not appropriate.'"

Monica was forced to retreat until her back hit the cold wall. There was nowhere left to go.

What could she say?

That her family was a cesspool and she didn't want him, this precious gem, to get dirty? That her mom and brother were bloodsucking leeches, and she was afraid they'd latch onto him and treat him like a new cash cow? That she felt inferior, that she didn't think she was good enough for him, and didn't want him to see her most miserable origins and past?

Every single one of these words would be like tearing open her bloody wounds. She couldn't say any of them.

Her silence, to Shane, was as good as an admission. The last bit of hope churning in his eyes finally died out completely, settling into a deathly disappointment.

"Ha." He pulled out a cold smile, stopped looking at her, turned around and strode back to his room.

"BANG—"

A loud crash. The heavy door was slammed shut, shaking the entire house and completely cutting off two separate worlds.

All the blood in Monica's body went cold. She leaned against the wall and slowly slid down to the floor, hugging her knees and burying her face deep into them.

He was really angry.

The house was deathly silent. That tightly closed door was like an impossible chasm, completely separating her from him. Panic and helplessness surged over her like a tide, almost drowning her.

No, it couldn't be like this.

She climbed up from the floor, barefoot, and walked step by step to that door, raising her hand to knock gently.

"Shane... can you open the door?"

Inside, no response.

"I was wrong. I shouldn't have said that."

"I really don't look down on you. I just... I'm just afraid they'll cause you trouble."

"Please don't be angry anymore, okay?"

She apologized over and over, explained over and over, her voice getting smaller and softer, thick with tears and pleading. But inside, there was still only deathly silence.

Monica's heart sank bit by bit. She pressed her forehead lightly against the cold door, tears falling without warning. She knew—this time she had really hurt him.

That night, Monica didn't go back to her room. She just hugged a pillow and curled up on the living room sofa, watching that closed door.

She didn't dare sleep, afraid that when she woke up, he would disappear without a trace again, just like five years ago.

Time passed second by second until late in the night, when that door finally showed signs of movement.

The lock clicked softly, and Shane walked out.

He probably thought she was already asleep, so his footsteps were very light.

Monica practically bounced off the sofa the instant he opened the door, like a startled rabbit, rushing over barefoot to block his path.

Shane clearly hadn't expected her to still be awake. His steps paused, and when he saw her swollen eyes and pale face, his brows furrowed unconsciously.

"Are you..." Monica looked up at him, carefully studying his still-cold expression, asking tentatively, "Are you still angry?"

Shane looked down at her, his thin lips pressed into a straight line. After a few seconds, he squeezed out a single word from his throat: "Yes."

No hesitation whatsoever, cold and hard as ice.

Monica's heart twisted again, a dense, spreading pain.

She bit her lower lip, her eyes starting to redden again, her voice soft like she was acting cute but also carrying humble pleading: "I'm sorry, I really know I was wrong. I don't want to lose you as a friend. Please don't ignore me, okay? Just try to understand me, please?"

His Adam's apple bobbed, and he finally softened.

"Go to bed." He turned to the side, avoiding her burning gaze, his tone still lacking warmth, but at least he'd relented.

Monica wasn't sure if this counted as forgiveness, and she still felt uneasy. She watched him walk toward the bathroom and, possessed by some impulse, followed him.

Shane noticed the footsteps behind him and stopped at the bathroom door, turning back impatiently: "What now?"

"Are you thirsty? Should I get you some water?" She was making conversation, just wanting to confirm his attitude once more.

Shane ignored her and walked straight into the bathroom, apparently preparing to wash up.

Monica wouldn't give up. She poked her head in too, about to say something more, when she saw Shane with his back to her, raising his hand to untie his robe's belt.

The loose robe was casually tossed into the nearby laundry basket, revealing his broad, solid back, the smooth muscle lines outlining a powerfully built silhouette under the light. He seemed to feel a bit hot, so he raised his hand to tug at the hem of his loose T-shirt, about to take it off.

Monica's brain exploded with a "boom."

She quickly covered her face, as if she'd seen something she shouldn't have, let out a startled cry, turned and ran, moving like there was a ghost chasing her.

Behind her came the soft sound of the bathroom door closing, and the familiar sound of running water.

Monica fled all the way back to her bedroom and threw herself into the soft bedding, burying her burning face deep into it.

All she could think about was that brief glimpse from earlier—

The man's broad, solid back, his smooth, firm waistline, and when the hem of his robe slipped down, what could faintly be seen...

Her face burned even hotter, her heart pounding like a drum, embarrassed and annoyed, yet unable to stop replaying it.

This man was basically walking hormones.

That night, Monica barely slept well.

Her dreams were full of bizarre fragments—sometimes the brilliant fireworks at Disneyland, sometimes the steamy mist in the bathroom, and his criminally attractive body.

When she came downstairs the next day with obvious dark circles under her eyes, Shane was already sitting at the dining table, impeccably dressed.

He glanced up at her, his brows furrowing almost imperceptibly, and pushed a cup of warm milk in front of her.

The wedding was in the afternoon, so they still had plenty of time in the morning.

After breakfast, Shane took out the medicine kit and gestured for her to come over.

This had become an unspoken habit between them.

Monica resignedly sat down, lifted her clothes, and exposed the wound on her leg that had already formed a light scab.

Shane knelt in front of her, his fingertips dabbing cool ointment, carefully applying it to her injury. His movements were focused and gentle, his gaze falling on her haggard dark circles as he asked seemingly casually: "Didn't sleep well last night?"