Chapter 11 Begging For Forgiveness
The anger evaporated from his face instantly, replaced by a rush of relief and joy so palpable it nearly knocked the breath out of him. His shoulders relaxed, his chest rising and falling more evenly.
“Mia.”
He breathed her name like it was oxygen, like the air had been absent from his lungs for years. His hand lifted with growing urgency, extending toward her—a silent, pleading invitation.
Mia’s gaze flickered to his outstretched hand, hesitation flickering across her face. But the pull of the moment, the raw need in his eyes, was impossible to resist. She stepped forward, her fingers brushing his before intertwining with his.
The instant her hand met his, Alexander’s arms moved instinctively. He guided her gently, pulling her down so she could sit beside him on the bed.
“Thank you for coming to see me,” he said softly.
Mia’s eyes fell immediately to his injuries—the bandage on his forehead, the faint scratches along his arm—and guilt swept over her like a cold wave. Her shoulders tensed, and her fingers tightened slightly in his grip.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “I shouldn’t have spoken about James last night.”
Alexander shook his head almost imperceptibly, his gaze never leaving hers.
“Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t matter at all,” he said quickly, reassuringly, but there was a vulnerability in his expression, a hint of lingering hurt.
He studied her carefully, as though memorizing every detail of her face.
“Are you all right? How did you get here?”
“I took a cab,” Mia answered quietly, her hand resting gently against his.
His eyes softened, concern immediately flickering through them. He leaned slightly toward her. “You shouldn’t have come. I told you I’m fine,” he said. “It’s so late at night… why did you come by cab?”
She didn’t answer.
But her fingers tightened around his hand, instinctively curling into his palm.
The moment Magnus had called, her body had already decided to move before her mind could catch up.
She could still feel it clearly: how she’d barely reached home after leaving James when the phone rang, how her heart had dropped so violently it felt like it had slammed into her stomach.
She hadn’t even stopped to think.
She’d turned around, grabbed her bag, and rushed out the door, her feet moving so fast she hadn’t been aware of the ground beneath them—only the sharp pounding in her chest, only the fear clawing its way up her throat.
Alexander felt the tension in her grip.
Carefully, he lifted their joined hands. His fingers loosened just enough for him to slide his palm up, cupping her face. His hand was warm against her cheek. He tilted her face gently upward, guiding her until she had no choice but to look at him.
“Were you worried about me?” he asked softly.
Mia didn’t answer.
Her eyes stayed locked on his for a moment, something turbulent flickering deep inside them—fear, conflict, restraint—before she turned her face away, breaking the connection.
Alexander didn’t stop looking at her.
His thumb rested lightly along her cheekbone, unmoving, as if afraid that even the smallest motion might push her further away. When he spoke again, his voice softened even more, low and raw with vulnerability.
“Mia…” he murmured. “I love you. Will you please come back home?”
Mia froze.
Her body went still, shoulders stiffening. For a moment, it looked as though she didn’t want to speak at all—like the effort to hold herself together was taking everything she had.
Then she finally did.
Quietly.
“Mr. Graves…” she said, her voice controlled but strained. “If you are not ready to let go of me yet, I will stay with you until you are.”
Alexander’s brows drew together sharply.
His expression darkened, a deep frown carving itself across his face as confusion and alarm flared in his eyes.
“What does that mean?” he asked.
Mia inhaled slowly, steadying herself.
“If you think you’re not ready to separate from me,” she continued, her tone calm, “and you still need time to get over… whatever feelings you have for me, then I will live with you until you get over them.”
She met his gaze briefly.
“And then we can separate.”
“Mia.” His voice sharpened instantly, disbelief breaking through. “I’m in love with you. What do you mean—get over my feelings?”
“You are not in love with me, Mr. Graves,” Mia said immediately.
Her eyes flicked back to his face, disappointment and buried anger flashing through them as she continued, “You are in love with a memory.”
Alexander’s jaw tightened.
“You liked me when you were younger,” she went on, her voice steady. “It was infatuation. Not love. You just need time to get over those feelings before you actually fall in love with someone you truly love.”
He stared at her.
With every word she spoke, his face darkened further—his jaw clenching, his eyes burning, fury boiling beneath his skin.
Mia didn’t stop.
Her voice remained calm, but it carried years of quiet pain.
“I lived in a loveless marriage for five years,” she said. “I know what it feels like to be with someone who doesn’t want you.”
Her fingers slowly slipped from his grasp.
“I won’t repeat that mistake.”
She lifted her eyes to him.
“You don’t love me—you never fell in love with me. You just liked the younger version of me you met back then,” she continued. “That’s a crush. Not love.”
For a second, Alexander didn’t move.
Then his gaze sharpened, his expression hardening as something dark slid into his eyes.
“So you think I treat you the same as James?” he asked.
His voice had turned deadly cold—flat, controlled, dripping with venom.
Mia’s chest tightened.
She pushed herself up from the edge of the bed, instinctively trying to create distance. Yet her hand remained clutched in his grip, fingers still tangled with his even as her body leaned away.
“Not now,” she said softly, avoiding his eyes. “But after you realize it isn’t love… you will.”
That was the spark.
The restraint snapped.
“What the fuck do you think I am, Mia?” Alexander roared, ripping his hand free from hers with violent force.
His voice exploded through the room, raw and furious.
“You think I need your fucking charity?” he barked. “That I need you to stay with me for a while until I get over you—and then you’ll just walk away?”
His chest heaved as he leaned forward, eyes blazing.
“Do you think I’m a damn child you need to coax?” he snarled. “Is that what you think of me?”
Mia flinched visibly.
Her shoulders tensed, her hands twisting together anxiously at her waist, knuckles whitening as she stood there, silent.
Alexander didn’t stop.
“I don’t want your charity,” he snapped viciously. “Get out of this room. I don’t want to see you ever again.”
His voice thundered, final and merciless.
“Leave!”
Mia didn’t argue.
She took a step back—then another.
Without a single word, she turned around and walked toward the door.
The moment her back faced him—
Something inside Alexander collapsed.
His face drained of color. His chest caved in with a sudden, terrifying drop, panic flashing across his features as the fury evaporated, replaced by pure, naked heartbreak.
“Mia—wait,” he called out.
His voice cracked, plunging from rage into raw desperation in a single breath.
He shoved the blanket off his legs and swung them over the side of the bed, trying to stand and stop her, but his strength failed him. His feet tangled in the sheets.
He stumbled.
And fell hard onto his knees.
The crash echoed violently through the room.
Mia froze mid-step.
She spun around instantly, fear flaring across her face. Rushing back to him, she dropped to her knees and grabbed his shoulders, her hands careful as she helped him up.
“Alexander—” she breathed, panic unmistakable now.
She guided him back onto the bed, easing him up inch by inch until he was seated properly, his back supported by the pillows. She lingered just long enough to make sure he was steady.
Then she stepped back.
She said nothing at all.
Just like she had come—she left.
Silent. Distant.
Alexander sat there, unmoving, watching her retreating figure disappear through the doorway. His face was hollow, eyes empty, devastation etched into every rigid line of his body.
As Mia stepped into the hallway, Magnus entered from the opposite direction and caught sight of her walking away. His gaze followed her for a second before he turned back toward the room.
Inside, Alexander sat quietly.
Magnus raised an eyebrow slowly.
“You look like you just lost your entire inheritance,” he remarked dryly.
“Get out,” Alexander said coldly, turning his face away.
Magnus didn’t move.
Instead, he walked in, pulled out a chair, and sat down casually, leaning back as he studied Alexander with a sharp, assessing gaze—like a man examining a rare specimen that needed his head examined.
***
Mia’s day dragged by painfully.
Every minute felt stretched thin, like time itself had decided to move against her. The ticking of the clock scraped at her nerves, each second louder than the last. She tried to work, tried to focus—but her thoughts kept slipping, betraying her again and again to Alexander.
Her shoulders stayed stiff the entire day, muscles knotted tight as if her body had been bracing for something that never came. Even when she sat still, unease hummed beneath her skin. She reread the same lines on her screen over and over, not absorbing a single word.
By the time evening came and she climbed the stairs to her apartment, exhaustion weighed heavily on her limbs.
She wasn’t paying attention anymore.
Her eyes stayed fixed on the floor as she walked, steps slow and automatic, mind still somewhere far away. The sound of her own breathing felt too loud in the quiet stairwell.
She stopped only when she reached her floor.
That was when she lifted her head.
The corridor was empty.
Except for one person.
Alexander.