When the Devil Said Sorry
698 Words
Aria’s POV
The sound of my slap rang between us.
For a second, I thought he would lose it completely.
Maybe this time he wouldn’t stop.
Maybe he would do something worse.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he froze.
Completely.
He stepped back, his gaze dropping to the towel lying on the floor, then back to me.
That was when I realized I hadn’t picked it up.
Or covered myself.
I quickly crouched down and grabbed it.
He took a step back.
Then another.
Like he needed distance.
Not from me.
From himself.
His gaze flickered once more, brief, restrained, controlled this time, before he dragged it away completely.
His hand ran through his hair, rough, frustrated.
“I…”
The word came out low. Strained.
Unfamiliar.
“I’m sorry.”
It didn’t sound soft.
It sounded forced.
Like it cost him something to say it.
Like he wasn’t used to saying it at all.
And without waiting…
Without looking at me again…
He turned.
And walked out.
The door clicked shut behind him.
And just like that he was gone.
I stood there, frozen, my fingers gripping the towel tightly around me, my heart still pounding like it hadn’t realized the danger had passed.
Or maybe it hadn’t.
Because from the little I knew about him, Wyatt Lucas wasn’t the type to let something like that go.
Not when I had just slapped him.
Not when that slap came from me.
And yet he had just apologized.
And left.
My breath came out uneven as I stared at the door, half expecting it to open again. Half expecting him to come back, angrier, colder, worse.
But it didn’t.
Silence filled the room instead.
Heavy. Suffocating.
“What just happened?” I whispered, more to myself than anything.
My mind replayed everything in fragments.
His hand on my neck.
The anger.
The words.
And then…
The towel.
And the most shocking part
That shift.
That sudden, unfamiliar break in him.
One second he was all anger, cold, dangerous, his hand gripping my neck like an angel of death.
And the next
He was calm. Sweet. Ignoring the slap, saying sorry like an angel of peace.
I tightened the towel around myself, my cheeks burning as the memory of his eyes flashed through my mind.
The way they looked when he was angry…
And when he wasn’t.
“Scary… but still handsome,” I whispered under my breath, smiling and biting my finger without realizing I was already blushing.
I froze suddenly, as if something had just clicked in my head.
“Wait… did he just see all of me?”
My face heated instantly.
“Like… everything?”
I groaned softly, gripping the towel tighter.
“Oh my God, how am I supposed to live in this house now?”
I flung myself onto the bed, rolling over in pure embarrassment.
After a few minutes, I sat up slowly.
“Well…” I muttered.
“The body isn’t bad.”
I glanced at the mirror, standing up.
“At least it’s worth seeing.”
I walked closer, inspecting myself for a second, then suddenly paused.
“Wait…”
My brows furrowed.
“Why was he even here in the first place?”
My thoughts began to race.
“What did he mean by that?”
“Everyone that stayed here didn’t last?”
A chill ran down my spine.
“Don’t tell me this house is haunted…”
I shook my head quickly.
“No. No way.”
“Or…”
I narrowed my eyes slightly.
“Is Wyatt Lucas some kind of psychopath?”
The thought sent a strange shiver through me.
I was still lost in my thoughts when
Knock. Knock. Knock.
My head snapped toward the door.
My heart jumped.
“Is he back?”
I rushed up quickly, grabbing my towel again, this time making sure it was properly wrapped. I threw on a top, turned on the lights, and looked around nervously.
Then I grabbed the nearest thing I could find.
A hairdryer.
“Just in case he’s here for revenge…” I muttered under my breath.
Slowly, cautiously,
I walked toward the door
- Writer
