Ive Loved You
Melody sat at the head of the long conference table in the executive boardroom of Marshall Corp, legs crossed beneath the polished walnut surface, one hand resting lightly on the stack of project reports in front of her.
The room was quiet now except for the low murmur of the HVAC and the occasional rustle of papers as the last team members gathered their laptops and files.
The briefing had lasted nearly two hours, detailed slides on the joint supply-chain initiative with Holt Enterprises, timelines, risk assessments, projected ROI figures, and integration milestones.
She had listened intently, asked sharp, precise questions, and nodded once or twice when the numbers aligned with her expectations.
Christian had been seated directly across from her the entire time.
She felt his eyes on her from the moment the meeting began.
Not the cold, calculating stare she remembered from years ago.
Not the angry, accusing glare from the mansion.
This was something softer. Hungrier. Almost reverent.
Every time she looked up, whether to clarify a point with Rachel or to ask Ryan about the legal clauses, his gaze was already there, locked on her face like she was the only person in the room. He didn’t hide it. Didn’t pretend to take notes or check his phone. He just watched her.
And she knew it.
When the lead analyst finally closed his presentation and said, “That concludes the overview. Any final questions, Ms. Marshall?” Melody simply shook her head once.
“Thank you, everyone. Excellent work. We’ll reconvene next week with the revised risk matrix.”
Chairs scraped back. Briefcases snapped shut. Quiet goodbyes and “see you Monday”s floated around the room as the team filed out.
Ryan lingered near her chair, leaning casually against the table, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up.
“You killed it in there,” he said with a grin. “They were hanging on every word.”
Melody gave him a small, distracted smile as she slid her tablet into her leather folio.
“They had good material.”
Ryan chuckled. “Still. Coffee? There’s that new café downstairs... decent espresso, quiet corner booth. We can debrief the debrief.”
She glanced up at him, grateful, but already half elsewhere.
“Maybe later. I need a minute.”
Ryan nodded, no pressure. “Fair enough. I’ll be in my office if you change your mind.”
He gave her shoulder a quick, friendly squeeze and walked out, the door closing softly behind him.
The room emptied.
Except for one person.
Christian remained seated.
Melody continued packing, sliding pens into their case, stacking folders, closing her laptop with a quiet click. She could feel him watching her still. The silence stretched, thick and heavy.
Finally she straightened, clutching her folio to her chest like a shield.
“Christian.”
He rose slowly, palms flat on the table as though steadying himself.
“Melody.”
She didn’t move. Didn’t soften.
“Say whatever it is you’ve been waiting to say. I have another meeting in twenty minutes.”
He took a single step around the table... slow, careful, like approaching something that might bolt.
“I know you don’t want to hear this,” he began, voice low and rough. “I know you think it’s too late, or too convenient, or just another lie. But I need you to listen. Just once.”
Melody’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t walk away.
Christian exhaled, eyes never leaving hers.
“I know the whole truth now. I punished you for something you never did. And every day since I found out the truth, I’ve hated myself for it.”
He took another step closer. His voice dropped to something raw, almost broken.
“I’m sorry, Melody. I’m so fucking sorry. For every scar I let them leave on you. For every night you cried alone. For every moment you spent wondering if Symphony even remembered you. I was wrong. About everything.”
He reached out, and gently took both her hands in his. His fingers were warm, trembling slightly.
“I’ve always loved you,” he said, voice cracking on the last word.
“Even when I hated you. Even when I thought you’d destroyed me.
I loved you the first time you walked into my office with that damn coffee and a spreadsheet I didn’t ask for.
I loved you when you fell asleep on my couch and I didn’t move for hours because I didn’t want to wake you.
I loved you when you looked at me like I could be something good.
And when Ashton told me he wanted you… I backed off.
I loved him too much to get in his way. But I should have fought for you.
Maybe none of this had happened if I stood up for my love. If I had spoken up.”
Tears shimmered in his eyes now, unashamed.
“I’m not asking you to forget. I’m not asking you to love me back. I’m just asking you to believe me when I say I’ve spent years regretting every second I let hate win. And if there’s even a chance you could ever forgive me… I’ll spend the rest of my life earning it.”
Melody stared at him.
His hands were warm around hers, steady despite the tremor in his fingers. His voice was soft, humble, stripped of every defense he’d once worn like armor. The way he looked at her, felt achingly familiar.
And for one dangerous heartbeat, she almost believed him.
Then she remembered.
The hospital bed. Her empty arms. The nights she cried herself to sleep wondering if her baby even knew her name.
She yanked her hands free.
A cold laugh escaped her.
“You think this fixes anything?” she asked, voice low and venomous.
“You think a tearful confession in an empty boardroom erases what you did? You think saying ‘I loved you’ makes up for the years you let them cut me down, drug my daughter, tell me I was nothing? You think I’ll fall into your arms because you finally decided to believe me? ”
Christian’s face crumpled, but he didn’t look away.
“I don’t expect you to,” he said quietly. “I just needed you to know. I needed you to hear it. Even if you never forgive me. Even if you hate me forever. I needed you to know I see it. All of it.”
Melody stepped back, putting the table between them.
“I don’t care if you see it now,” she said coldly. “It’s too late. You had your chance. And you chose to believe a monster over the woman who loved you. You chose revenge over your own daughter’s mother. You don’t get to rewrite that because you’re sad now.”
She turned toward the door.
Christian’s voice broke behind her.
“Melody, please—”
She paused, hand on the handle, but didn’t look back.
“Don’t follow me,” she said quietly. “Don’t call me. Don’t beg. I’ve spent three years learning how to live without you. I’m not going back.”
She opened the door.
And walked out.
Christian stood alone in the boardroom, hands hanging uselessly at his sides, tears slipping silently down his face.
And he knew deep in his bones that groveling might never be enough.
But he would keep trying anyway.
Because some loves didn’t die, even when they should have.
And some apologies had to be spoken every day, even if no one was listening.
×××××××
Christian sat in his office as the evening deepened, the city lights beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows beginning to flicker on one by one like distant stars waking up.
The room was dim, only the desk lamp cast a warm, lonely pool of light over scattered files, an untouched coffee cup gone cold, and the framed photo of Symphony he kept turned slightly toward him so she seemed to watch over the space.
He hadn’t moved in over an hour.
His elbows rested on the desk, fingers steepled against his lips, eyes fixed on nothing. The silence was thick, almost suffocating.
Marcus worked quietly at the small side table near the window... laptop open, fingers tapping, sorting through partnership documents that no longer felt urgent. Every few minutes he glanced at Christian, jaw tight, waiting for the man to crack.
Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore.
He closed the laptop with a soft click.
“Boss.”
Christian didn’t respond at first. Just exhaled slowly through his nose.
Marcus stood, walked over, and leaned against the edge of the desk, arms crossed.
“Talk to me,” he said quietly. “You’ve been sitting there like a statue for the last hour. What’s wrong?”
Christian’s gaze drifted to the photo of Symphony.
“She didn’t believe me,” he said, voice low and rough. “When I told her I loved her. When I told her I’ve always loved her. She laughed. She said it was a lie to soften her.”
Marcus listened without interrupting.
Christian continued, words coming slow, like they hurt to speak.
“I told her why I backed off when Ashton said he wanted her. She looked at me like I was pathetic. Like every word was just… convenient. Like I was making it up to get back in her good graces.”
Marcus exhaled through his nose, shaking his head once.
“Did you tell her the real reason you divorced her?” he asked gently.
Christian scoffed... a small, bitter sound.
“She’ll believe it’s just more lies.”
Marcus leaned forward, voice steady.
“Christian, you loved her. That’s why you let her go.
You divorced her when you saw your mother and Ashley assault her, cut her hair, carve words into her skin.
You couldn’t stand it anymore. You couldn’t stand watching them destroy her and pretend it was justice.
You filed the papers so she could be free of this house.
Tell her that. She’ll listen. She’ll know you weren’t a total douchebag.
That underneath the anger, you were trying to protect her. ”
Christian’s eyes closed for a long moment.
He shook his head slowly.
“Just let it go, Marcus. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“It does,” Marcus said firmly. “If you want to make things right, if you want even a chance with her, or with Symphony having both parents, you have to fight for it. Grovel. On your knees. Cry. Beg. Or…”
He paused.
“…move on.”
Christian laughed... short, hollow, disbelieving.
“Move on?”
“Yes,” Marcus said quietly. “Move on.”
“That’s not possible,” Christian said, voice cracking on the last word. “Never.”
Marcus rolled his eyes, but there was no heat behind it, just tired affection.
He stayed silent after that.
Christian stared at the photo of Symphony again.
The room fell quiet once more.
Outside, the city lights kept burning.
Inside, a man sat with the weight of lost years and a love he had never known how to hold onto.
And the silence stretched on.
Because some things couldn’t be fixed with words.
And some hearts refused to stop hoping, even when they should have given up long ago.
×××××××