Episode11
1036 Words
The faint scent of saltwater and pine drifted through the air as the first rays of morning sunlight crept through the sheer curtains of the beach house. Marilyn stirred on the couch, the blanket tucked gently around her still warm from the night before. Her eyes opened slowly, heavy from the weight of dreams—or more accurately, memories.
She blinked up at the wooden ceiling, trying to process where she was. Then it all rushed back—Xavier, the party, the drink, the room, his touch… and Lucas, barging in, saving her, carrying her out like a knight from a collapsing tower.
The pain hit her in the chest like a hammer.
She sat up abruptly, her hands gripping the edge of the couch, her breath shallow. Her phone buzzed on the coffee table. She snatched it up, hope flickering—but it was a promotional text from her mobile provider. Nothing from Xavier. No missed calls. No messages. Not even a pathetic excuse.
Her heart cracked a little more.
The room was quiet except for the sound of something clinking softly in the kitchen. She turned her head and saw Lucas at the stove, sleeves rolled up, brow furrowed in concentration as he flipped something in a pan. Eggs, maybe. The sight was so normal it felt surreal.
He looked over and gave her a small, warm smile.
“Hey,” he said gently, as if his voice might startle her. “You’re awake.”
Marilyn nodded, brushing her tangled hair behind her ears. “Yeah… I guess.”
“I made breakfast. Figured you might need something warm.”
She hesitated, unsure of how to act, unsure of what to feel. Her body ached, not from anything physical—but from the emotional betrayal, the crash from trust to devastation. She had really believed Xavier was different. She had pictured a future. Now, it felt like the floor beneath her had collapsed.
Still, she stood slowly and walked toward the kitchen.
Lucas placed a plate on the counter for her—scrambled eggs, buttered toast, and a cup of tea.
“It’s not fancy, but it’s edible,” he said with a half-smile.
Marilyn gave him a grateful look and sat down, but she didn’t touch the food immediately. Her eyes were distant, fixed on the steam rising from the tea.
Lucas leaned against the opposite counter, his arms crossed casually. He didn’t push her to eat or speak—he just waited, giving her space.
After a long moment of silence, Marilyn finally said, “He didn’t text. Or call.”
Lucas exhaled, then slowly replied, “I didn’t think he would.”
Her voice cracked. “I just… I really thought he cared, you know? I thought maybe I was special.”
Lucas stepped forward, speaking carefully. “You are special, Marilyn. That’s not the problem. The problem is… he never deserved you.”
Her eyes welled up again. “It hurts so much. I feel stupid. I let him in, I trusted him. I defended him even when my friends warned me he wasn’t right.”
“You’re not stupid,” Lucas said firmly, pulling out the chair across from her and sitting down. “You believed in someone. That takes strength. He’s the one who’s weak. He doesn’t know how to value something real.”
Marilyn stared at him, her lips trembling. “He said all the right things. Made me feel like I was the only girl in the world. And then just like that… I was a joke.”
Her voice broke on the last word.
Lucas reached out without thinking, placing a comforting hand over hers. “He made you think love looked like manipulation. But it’s not supposed to be that way.”
She stared down at their hands, his warm and steady over her trembling one. The contrast made her eyes burn again—but this time, the tears came from something else too. Safety. Kindness.
Lucas stood, trying to change the atmosphere before it overwhelmed her again. He moved back to the stove, talking with gentle humor. “You know, I’m a lawyer. Not a chef. But I take pride in my toast-burning skills.”
Marilyn let out a small laugh—her first in what felt like weeks. “It’s not bad, actually.”
“Careful,” Lucas teased, “that sounded suspiciously like a compliment. I might get used to it.”
They shared a quiet smile.
She picked at her food slowly, finding comfort in the normalcy. Every bite helped stabilize her, like she was regaining control over herself again—piece by piece.
After breakfast, Lucas poured her another cup of tea and sat beside her on the couch. The silence was less heavy now, more companionable.
“I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t shown up,” she said softly, her eyes fixed on the tea. “Thank you… for being there.”
Lucas looked at her, and for a moment, his usually stoic face softened entirely.
“I wasn’t going to let anything happen to you,” he said. “You didn’t deserve what he tried to do. No one does.”
Marilyn studied him, her chest aching with confusion. How could two brothers be so completely different? One broke her down, the other held her up.
Lucas—protective, grounded, intimidating yet deeply human—was nothing like the cold lawyer she had imagined when she first heard his name. He had protected her like it was instinct.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked quietly. “You barely know me.”
Lucas’s gaze met hers. “Because I see you, Marilyn. I see how much you’ve been through. And I don’t want you to go through any more of it alone.”
Something warm bloomed in her chest.
For now, the future was uncertain. Her heart was still bruised, her spirit raw. But sitting there, sipping tea with Lucas in the quiet of a beachside morning, something felt different.
Safe.
Maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t broken. And maybe Lucas wasn’t as cold-hearted as he pretended to be.
- Writer
