Chapter 11
936 Words
Morning After Regrets
Ava woke to the low winter sun slicing through the blinds and the unfamiliar weight of Lucian’s arm locked around her waist. For one disoriented second she let herself sink into it, the steady thump of his heart against her spine, the warmth of his breath on her neck, the way his hand had drifted up to cup her breast even in sleep. It felt safe. It felt like home.
Then memory slammed back, the locked door, the confession, the piano, the way she’d begged him to never stop.
She hated how much she didn’t hate it.
Carefully she slid out from under his arm. He stirred but didn’t wake, one hand reaching across the empty sheets as if searching for her even unconsciously. She stared down at him, hair tousled, lashes dark against his cheeks, the faint bruise her teeth had left on his shoulder and felt her chest crack open.
I love you, she thought.
I hate that I love you.
She fled to the shower, turning the water scalding, trying to wash away the ache between tenderness and fury. By the time she emerged, wrapped in his robe, Lucian was gone. A single red rose and a note on the pillow.
Meeting ran long last night.
Coffee’s on.
L
No credit applied. No reminder. No cold reminder of the ledger. Just a flower and his initials. The small kindness hurt worse than cruelty.
At the office she kept her head down, answering emails with mechanical precision, but the walls felt thinner than ever. Around noon she carried a stack of signed contracts to his office and froze outside the half open door.
Lucian’s voice, low and ruthless, Harper Logistics’ remaining fleet is distressed. I want it. All of it. Make the offer so low they can’t refuse without looking suicidal. And the warehouse on 11th condemn it if you have to. I want the old man to feel this one.
A pause. Then, colder
No. He doesn’t need to know it’s me yet. Let him think it’s the market. He’ll come crawling soon enough.”
Ava’s blood turned to ice. She backed away silently, contracts clutched to her chest like armor. He was still dismantling her father piece by piece, while holding her in his bed, whispering about trying.
By six p.m. the tension was a living thing. She waited until the floor emptied, then marched into his office and slammed the door.
Lucian looked up from his laptop, expression unreadable. Something wrong?
You’re buying the rest of Harper Logistics. Her voice shook. You’re going to leave my father with nothing.
He closed the laptop slowly. It’s business.
Business? She laughed, sharp and broken. He’s dying, Lucian. And you’re picking his bones while pretending last night meant something.
He stood, too, stood, rounding the desk. Last night meant everything. This is separate.
Separate? She stepped into his space, chin high. You told me you were trying. You let me believe.
I am trying, he cut in, voice rising. Trying not to burn the world down for what’s left of your family name after your father pissed it away. I’m trying to keep you safe from the people he still owes, the kind who don’t accept bankruptcy as payment. You think I want to hurt him? I’m protecting you both the only way I know how by owning every threat before it owns you.
That’s not protection, that’s possession!
Damn right it is! He gripped her arms, eyes blazing. Because the alternative is watching you lose everything again. I won’t survive that twice.
The fight drained out of her in a rush, leaving only raw hurt. Then why does it feel like you’re punishing me for loving you?
Something fractured across his face. He hauled her against him, mouth crashing down on hers angry, desperate, sorry and not sorry at all. She kissed him back just as hard, nails digging into his shoulders, tears salting their lips.
He backed her against the desk, papers scattering, lifting her onto the edge without breaking the kiss. Her skirt rode up, his hands were everywhere tearing at buttons, shoving fabric aside, frantic. She yanked his shirt open, buttons pinging across the marble floor.
I hate you, she gasped against his mouth.
I know, he growled, lifting her hips, thrusting into her in one brutal stroke that tore a cry from her throat.
They moved like enemies making up rough, urgent, teeth and nails and broken apologies. He f****d her on the desk like he was trying to brand ownership into her bones and she met every thrust with a roll of her hips, taking him deeper, punishing him right back.
When she came it was sudden and violent, back arching off the polished wood, his name a sob. He followed seconds later, burying his face in her neck, hips jerking as he spilled inside her.
he didn’t pull away.
I’m sorry, he whispered against her lips. I don’t know how to do this any other way.
She cupped his jaw, tears slipping free. Then learn. With me. Or let me go.
He closed his eyes, breathing her in like she was oxygen. I don’t know how to let go.
Then don’t, she said, voice cracking. But stop hurting me to keep me.
Silence stretched, heavy with everything unsaid. Finally he nodded small, almost imperceptible and kissed her again, softer this time, like a vow.
Outside, snow kept falling, covering the city in white forgiveness.
Inside, on the wreckage of his desk, they held each other like survivors, terrified the morning would bring new regrets.
- Writer
