Chapter 188 Chapter Ninety-Three: I’m So Sorry.

Chapter 188 Chapter Ninety-Three: I’m So Sorry.
Chapter Ninety-Three: I’m So Sorry.

Corey Whittman lay in his hospital bed, replaying everything.

The moment he learned the full truth about Rachel. The moment Jason—his best friend of over twenty years—chose to betray him. And the moment he opened his eyes and saw what he could only describe as an angel.

The day before, Corey had finally awakened from what the doctors called a paralytic coma.

But the truth was far more horrifying.

For over a week, Corey had been trapped in a perpetual state of pain. Unable to move. Unable to speak. Completely frozen within his own body—yet fully aware. He could hear everything. He could feel everything.

Every touch. Every needle. Every shift of the bed.

His body remained in constant turmoil right up until the moment his consciousness began to surface. Before his eyes opened, before sensation returned, sound came first—panicked voices overlapping, sharp and frantic.

“Corey!”

‘Mom? Mom! I can hear you. Please—help me.’

Fear surged through him as he strained to respond, to move, to do anything at all.

Then his father’s voice cut through the chaos.

“Fight, son! Fight!”

‘I’m trying, Dad—I can’t—'

A sensation like ice water suddenly flooded his veins. His body locked completely, heart racing out of control as terror spiked—

And then everything went dark. He wasn’t sure how much time passed after that. But slowly, impossibly, sensation began to return.

Piece by piece, his body came back to him. Fingers first—tingling, weak—then his arms, his legs, the steady rise and fall of his chest. Control followed sensation, fragile and uncertain, as though his body were remembering itself.

That was when he heard her.

A woman’s voice—soft, steady, close.

“Corey… it’s okay. You’re safe now.”

His eyes fluttered open, light burning at first as they struggled to focus. Shapes sharpened, colors settled, and then—

A face. Beautiful. Calm. Smiling down at him.

“Well,”

she said gently,

“welcome back.”

Welcome back.

The words rang in his ears like bells.

His fingers twitched, then tightened around hers, grounding him in the moment as realization finally set in.

He was back. He was alive.

Now, as he lay in his hospital bed, his body still in recovery, Corey stared up at the ceiling. Every choice he had made over the past year replayed in his mind, one after another, until they all converged on this moment.

‘This was all my doing.’

The thought settled heavily in his chest, his brows furrowing as guilt tightened its grip.

The soft creak of the door pulled him from his thoughts.

“Corey? Are you awake?”

Suzanne’s head peeked into the room, her expression instantly brightening when she saw his eyes open. She stepped inside with Connor close behind her, both of them carrying containers. A warm, familiar aroma filled the room—broth, herbs, comfort.

“Oh, thank goodness,”

Suzanne said, her voice trembling with relief.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart? The doctor said small amounts of solid food are okay. We brought some broths and a few sweets.”

Connor quickly pulled the rolling table closer to the bed while Suzanne set the containers down with careful hands.

“We had Ella make your favorite chicken bone broth,”

Connor added gently.

“Nice and thick. Should help you get your strength back.”

As Suzanne began arranging the food, Corey reached out and wrapped his fingers around her wrist. His grip was weak but deliberate. She looked up at him, startled.

“Mom… Dad…”

His voice cracked. Tears welled in his eyes before he could stop them.

“I’m so sorry. For everything.”

The words collapsed under their own weight as sobs threatened to break free. Corey’s face twisted with pain, relief, and regret all at once.

Suzanne froze. For a long moment, she said nothing. Then a small, fragile smile appeared on her lips as she turned fully toward him, covering his hand with both of hers.

“Corey,”

she said softly,

“you’re our son. We love you. When we got that call…”

Her voice wavered.

“Your father and I thought our lives were over.”

She inhaled slowly, steadying herself.

“You’ve done terrible things,”

she continued, her voice quiet but honest.

“But I need you to know… some of this is on me too.”

Corey’s eyes widened.

“Mom—”

“Yes,”

she said firmly, cutting him off before he could finish.

“I detested that girl so much that I stopped seeing clearly. I pushed you into situations you never wanted to be in. I tried to control your choices instead of trusting you to make your own.”

Her gaze dropped to their joined hands.

“Whether I was right or wrong didn’t matter,”

she went on.

“I should have let you find the truth on your own.”

Her voice fell to a whisper.

“Maybe then… you wouldn’t have felt the need to steal. Or hurt Ileana…”

Her words faltered.

“Or maybe—”

She couldn’t finish.

Corey turned his head away, his throat tightening as the unspoken truth crushed down on him.

Maybe Lorina would still be alive.

The thought hollowed him out. He stared at the wall, unable to breathe past the weight of it.

Connor stepped forward then, placing one steady hand over Suzanne’s and the other over Corey’s.

“We can’t undo what’s already been done,”

he said quietly.

“But this—right here—can be the turning point.”

He squeezed their hands, grounding them both.

“This has been a hard lesson for all of us,”

Connor continued.

“The important thing now is what we choose to do next. We strive to be better. Not just say it—but live it.”

He met Corey’s eyes.

“Let’s move forward. Let’s be better people. A better family.”

For the first time since waking up, Corey nodded feeling optimistic about his future.

\------

The VIP suite was too quiet.

Corey Whittman lay propped against a mountain of pillows, pale against crisp white sheets, machines humming softly around him. Evening light filtered through the tall windows, casting faint gold across the floor—light he hadn’t been certain he’d ever see again.

When the door opened, he expected his mother. Instead, his breath caught.

Ileana stood in the doorway.

She looked the same—and not at all the same. Her presence filled the room in a way he hadn’t earned the right to grow used to: calm, steady, alive. Not a ghost. Not a memory. Not the girl he tried to destroy.

But it was something else…she was radiant. Sensual. Beautiful. Corey found himself blushing uncontrollably.

“I—”

His voice cracked instantly.

“You… you came.”

She offered a small, polite smile as she stepped inside, closing the door behind her.

“You’re awake. That’s a good sign. The vaccine’s holding. How do you feel?”

Corey swallowed hard.

'You saved me.'

The words pressed against his chest like a weight he couldn’t breathe around.

“Much better. Better than I deserve,”

he said hoarsely.

“After everything I—”

Silence stretched between them.

Then Corey broke.

“I’m sorry,”

he said, tears burning his eyes.

“Ileana, I am so sorry. For Patrick Cleese. For Rachel. For believing her lies. For being indifferent—cold—cruel—because it was easier than questioning her.”

His hands clenched in the sheets.

“I helped her hurt you. And I hated you for things you never did.”

Ileana didn’t interrupt him. She let him bleed the truth.

“I was rude to you. I dismissed you. I treated you like you were disposable.”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“And when you almost got assaulted because of us… I still didn’t stand up.”

When she finally spoke, her tone was gentle—but guarded.

“I hear your apology,”

she said.

“And I accept it.”

Hope flickered in his chest—then steadied when she added,

“But forgiveness doesn’t mean forgetting. And it doesn’t mean trust.”

He nodded, tears falling freely now.

“I don’t deserve either.”

“Do you know why I saved you Corey?”

Ileana said calmly.

Before he could answer, she continued.

“I saved you because I’m a healer.”

A faint, wry curve touched her lips.

“And because I know your death would have brought your parents unspeakable pain. I couldn’t allow that. I’m rather fond of them.”

A breathy, broken laugh escaped him.

She stepped closer, eyes serious again.

“You were given a second chance, Corey. A literal one. Don’t waste it.”

“I won’t,”

he said fiercely.

“I swear it.”

“Good,”

she replied.

“Then start by doing the right thing—without being asked.”

Her gaze sharpened.

“I applaud you for testifying against the Thornes; but you should apologize to Lorina Kely’s family. Her death may not have been your fault directly…but you were the root. Of her death, her humiliation, and their anguish.”

The words landed hard.

He bowed his head.

“I know. And I will. No excuses.”

She nodded once.

“Pain doesn’t disappear just because you regret it. All you can do is choose not to create more.”

Corey looked up again, voice shaking.

“I’m also sorry about the engagement. I was awful. I acted like marrying you would have been some kind of punishment.”

Her expression softened—not with hurt, but understanding.

“That’s okay,”

she said.

“You shouldn’t marry someone you don’t love. No one should.”

She paused, then added lightly,

“Besides—”

A knock interrupted her.

Three sharp taps. The door opened, and Remington Sinclair stepped in.

“Ilie,”

he said softly, eyes immediately finding hers.

Corey felt it then. The shift.

The way her shoulders relaxed. The way her guarded expression warmed. The look they exchanged—unspoken, intimate, layered with shared survival and fierce devotion. Remy’s gaze lingered on her like a promise, like she was something precious and chosen. Ileana’s eyes softened in return, steady and unafraid.

Love—real love.

Remington’s eyes flicked briefly to Corey, cool and restrained.

“Glad you’re alive,”

he said flatly.

“Despite everything.”

That was the best Corey deserved. As Remy offered Ileana his arm, a low chuckle escaped Corey's lips.

‘I never had a chance anyway.’

That’s when he realized. Ileana wasn’t someone you possessed or gave away. She was someone you were worthy of standing beside.

And Remington Sinclair was.

Soon, Suzanne and Connor came back into the room. Suzanne’s eyes instantly brightening as soon as she noticed Ileana.

As Ileana and Remy headed towards the door, Suzzane gently grabbed her hand once more.

“Thank you,”

Suzanne said, voice thick.

“For saving our son. For giving him another chance.”

Connor nodded.

“We’ll spend the rest of our lives making sure he becomes someone worthy of it.”

Ileana smiled—warm, sincere.

“Then I think he’ll be just fine.”

She gave Corey one last look.

“Get better and be better,”

she said gently.

Then she turned, walking out with Remington at her side—light and shadow balanced, healing and strength intertwined.

And Corey Whittman, alive by grace he hadn’t earned, finally understood what it meant to choose to be better.