Broken by him, bound to him

Chapter 7: Forgiving what she couldn't forget

Every girl has a dream—some logical and realistic, others random and frightening. Eventually, they either outgrow them or achieve them. What matters is the act of dreaming itself: to see themselves in the places they want to be and to be encouraged to work toward it.

Naya’s dream, however, was never the stuff of fairy tales. It wasn’t a whimsical fantasy a little girl clung to for comfort. Her dream was survival. She had matured too young—forced to. With an emotionally exhausted mother and a father who never wanted her, she knew her place in the world earlier than most children ever should. She understood quickly that no one was going to take care of her but herself, and from that moment on, her greatest dream became clear: escape her father’s house.

Years later, she had done it. Out in the world, scarred by some poor decisions yet proud of how far she’d come, she finally had freedom. But even now, sprawled on the floor of her own apartment, staring up at the ceiling and listening to the quiet hum of the city outside, Naya felt the ghosts of her father’s demons pressing in on her. Escape, it seemed, was never permanent.

Still, she was not weak. She could fight, and she had fought for far too long to stop now. Yes, she was tired. Yes, she wanted a break. But giving in was never an option. With a sharp exhale, she pushed herself off the floor, made a simple but delicious meal in her kitchen, ate, dressed herself up, and headed out for some shopping. It was her way of reclaiming the day, no matter what it had tried to take from her.

Later that night, Ryan called. Again.

She had gone out with him once, and she had to admit—Ryan was good. Kind, patient, funny. A listener in a world full of talkers. He was the sort of man women prayed for. And yet, something in her wouldn’t allow her to sink into his gentleness. There was a wall she couldn’t seem to lower.

Ryan, however, didn’t mind. He was already falling—falling for her laughter, her openness, the way her smile seemed to light even the dullest corner. He knew she wasn’t there yet, but he didn’t care. He was willing to build this brick by brick, foundation to rooftop, until she loved him back.

The following week, Naya rose before dawn. Cain wanted her at his place early to make his coffee and run him through the day’s schedule. She never understood why he insisted on beginning the day together, but her career depended on it, so she obliged.

She arrived ten minutes ahead of time, sitting for a moment in the driveway of his high-rise before gathering herself. Cain had been the man she swore to hate on that hospital bed when her baby died. She had made her judgment then—cut and final. But Naya despised cycles, despised reliving old pain. It drained her.

So maybe Cain wasn’t the devil she had convinced herself he was. Maybe he was simply human—a man who panicked, walked away, then realized what he was losing and came back. Did she still care for him? Yes. But love? That, she told herself, was off-limits. She pressed the elevator button with that thought hard in her chest. She wished she could control who her heart belonged to. Since she couldn’t, she resolved to keep giving Ryan a chance, even if her feelings for him hadn’t caught up yet.

Cain’s penthouse was nothing like her apartment.

The daylight streaming through his floor-to-ceiling windows washed the place in brilliance, making every detail sharp, commanding. Black leather sofas stretched across the living space, low and wide, softened only by a dark blue throw left carelessly on one armrest. A glass-and-steel coffee table reflected the sunlight, casting shards of brightness across the polished floor. Heavy navy curtains were drawn slightly back, letting in a sweeping view of the bustling city below.

The kitchen stood as a seamless extension of the room—minimal, masculine, powerful in its simplicity. Black marble countertops laced with sapphire veins caught the sunlight like hidden lightning. High stools of brushed steel and leather stood neatly tucked beneath the island, as though awaiting an audience. The cabinetry gleamed matte black, lines so precise they could cut. Soft lighting traced beneath the counters, glowing faintly even in daylight, a subtle reminder of the luxury stitched into every detail.

Naya stepped into the living room, her gaze sweeping over it. Then Cain appeared.

He emerged from the hallway, bare-chested, wearing only dark pants that clung to his hips. The light framed him mercilessly, outlining every hard line of his body. His chest was broad and cut, muscles ridged as if sculpted, each breath drawing shadows across his torso. Wide shoulders tapered into a solid, defined waist, every muscle taut, every vein in his arms carrying the silent promise of strength. His bronze skin seemed to drink in the sun, glowing with a raw vitality that made him look both untamed and invincible.

Naya’s throat tightened, her eyes caught against her will. She didn’t realize she was staring until his voice broke the silence.

“Like what you see, my love?”

Her cheeks heated instantly. She turned her head away, trying to smother her smile with seriousness.

Cain strode to her, sliding his arms around her waist, pulling her back against the hard plane of his body. She grabbed at his forearms, tugging, but they didn’t move.

“This isn’t very professional, Cain. Let me go,” she said, breath uneven.

He leaned down, pressing a light kiss to her cheek. It wasn’t intense, not romantic—just the kind of kiss that said, good morning. She stopped struggling, realizing resistance was pointless.

“I got you something from Europe,” he whispered near her ear.

“You’re making this harder than it needs to be,” she muttered, ignoring the words.

“And you make it too easy,” he replied, releasing her before disappearing briefly into his bedroom. When he returned, he carried a purple gift box.

“Cain, please…” she said, reluctant to take it.

“Just take it,” he urged, his eyes locking with hers.

She finally accepted the box, her hesitation fading the moment she lifted the lid. Her eyes widened. Inside lay a pair of bohemian bracelets—the very ones she had searched for since college. She had scoured the internet endlessly, but it was as though the designer had made only one pair and vanished. Yet here they were, sitting in her hands.

Her breath caught. She wanted to scream with excitement, to leap around the room like a child, but she restrained herself. Still, she couldn’t stop her hands from slipping the bracelets on. They fit perfectly.

“God, they’re perfect. Where did you even find them?” she whispered.

Cain didn’t answer. He only watched her face—lit with joy, barely contained, her little control-freak composure cracking at the edges. She was his control freak, and he loved her that way. Seeing her like this stirred something deep in him, a desire to scour the world for every hidden thing she’d ever wanted, just to place them in her hands. And knowing himself, he probably would.

“Thank you so much. I love them, but if I keep them, it defeats the whole point of me keeping you out. I’ll have to give them back,” she said reluctantly, slipping them off and clutching the box tight against her stomach.

Cain smirked. “Keep them. And if it’s any consolation, not taking the bracelets isn’t going to keep me out. Nothing is.” He perched casually on the arm of the sofa, folding his arms across his chest, eyes steady on her.

She stepped forward, stopping just short of him, her playful tone breaking through. “Fine. I’ll keep them. Because they’re the last pair in the world—and because you owed me for abandoning me when I needed you. That settles the score. Now we’re even.”

“That easy?” His brow arched. “Just like that, you forgive me for freezing out that night?”

“Yes,” she said simply. “You came back, and that helped your case. I don’t want to live in the past anymore. I want to be happy. Successful.”

It wasn’t that she forgot. Naya had simply decided to release the weight. She had bigger battles ahead—Hassan, for one. Holding grudges only drained her, and she needed her strength.

“Does that mean you accept me too?” Cain asked, hope flickering.

“Don’t push your luck, mister,” she said, laughing as she headed toward the kitchen.

“So what do I give you to win you back?” he teased.

“Nothing,” she shot back lightly.

“Not a single thing. We’re over, Cain. It’s been a long time coming.” Her words were firm, but her smile was warm. He never understood how she managed that—how she could close doors and still look like sunlight while doing it.

“Besides, I have bigger problems right now. How do you take your coffee?” she asked, changing the subject.

“What problems?” His tone sharpened instantly.

“Nothing I can’t handle. Seriously, Cain—your coffee?” she pressed.

He studied her a moment longer before turning back toward his room.

“You already know. You made it for me a hundred times back in school. Do it the same way, my love. And make one for yourself too,” he said, disappearing inside.

Behind the door, Cain allowed himself a quiet smile. For the first time in a long time, he felt genuinely happy. More than that, he was glad she was happy. He only needed to figure out what was haunting her—and fix it—so she could be completely happy.

If only it were that easy.