He Was Always In Love
Melody descended to the lower level of Marshall Corp headquarters just after lunch, heels echoing in the quiet service corridor.
In her right hand she carried a small kitchen knife she’d taken from the executive break-room fruit tray. The blade glinted under the fluorescent lights.
She pushed open the door to the women’s restroom on the maintenance floor.
Ashley was there on her knees in front of the last stall, yellow rubber gloves on, scrubbing the porcelain with a sponge. Her hair was tied back in a messy knot, uniform shapeless and stained, face pale and tired. She didn’t notice Melody at first.
Melody stepped inside and let the door swing shut behind her with a heavy thud.
Ashley’s head jerked up.
The sponge dropped into the bucket with a wet slap.
“Melody—”
Melody didn’t speak. She walked forward slowly, knife held loosely at her side. Not raised, not threatening in stance, just present.
Ashley scrambled backward until her shoulders hit the tiled wall, eyes wide, breathing shallow and fast.
“Please,” Ashley whispered. “Please don’t—”
Melody stopped three feet away, looking down at her.
The fluorescent light caught the blade, throwing a thin silver reflection across Ashley’s face.
“I could end you right here,” Melody said quietly. “One quick motion. No one would hear. No one would look for you down here. You’d just be another janitor who didn’t show up for her next shift. Gone.”
Ashley’s lips trembled. Tears spilled over instantly.
“I’m sorry,” she choked. “I’m so sorry. I was wrong. I was jealous, I was stupid... I—”
Melody tilted her head.
“Victoria’s gone,” she said. “She left for Europe. Permanently. Christian made sure of it. She won’t be coming back. Ever.”
Ashley stared up at her, confused, terrified.
Melody crouched slowly, bringing her face level with Ashley’s.
“But I made sure she paid before she left. A little ‘accident’ on the private airstrip. Brake failure on the tarmac. The car flipped. She survived… barely. Paralyzed from the waist down. Face burned and scarred beyond recognition. She’ll spend the rest of her life in a wheelchair, hidden away in some clinic, too humiliated to show her face in public ever again.
And Christian knows. He knows exactly what I did.
He didn’t stop me. He didn’t even ask questions.
He just let it happen. Because even he knows some debts have to be paid in blood and screams.”
Ashley’s eyes widened in pure terror.
Melody’s smile was small, cold, satisfied.
“You, on the other hand… you’re nothing. No blood tie. No protection. No one will miss you if I decide to finish what you started in that diner.”
Ashley’s body shook. “Please… don’t kill me…”
Melody grabbed Ashley’s thigh with her free hand, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, and pressed the knife against the fabric of her uniform pants, just above the knee.
Ashley screamed—high, panicked. “No! Please, no!”
Melody sliced through the fabric in one quick motion, exposing pale skin. Ashley thrashed, but Melody pinned her leg down with her knee, strength fueled by years of pent-up rage.
“Hold still,” Melody murmured, almost gently. “This will only hurt for a minute.”
She pressed the tip of the blade into Ashley’s thigh, and began to carve.
L.
O.
S.
E.
R.
The word bloomed red against the skin. Shallow cuts, not deep enough to scar permanently, but enough to burn, enough to bleed, enough to humiliate.
Ashley sobbed, begged, twisted, “Stop! please! oh God, it hurts... I’m sorry... I’m so sorry—”
Melody ignored her. She leaned in closer, watching the blood well up, a dark satisfaction uncoiling in her chest. This was payback. This was the reversal.
She finished the R with a flourish.
Ashley’s thigh was a mess. Red, weeping, the word stark and ugly against her skin.
Melody sat back on her heels, admiring her work for a second. A slow smile spread across her face.
She raised her hand and slapped Ashley across the face... hard, open-palmed, the crack echoing off the tiles.
Ashley’s head snapped sideways. A red handprint bloomed instantly on her pale cheek.
Melody slapped her again, backhand this time.
Ashley cried out, fresh tears mixing with the sting.
“Shut. Up.” Melody’s voice dropped to a venomous whisper. “You don’t get to speak. You don’t get to beg. You lost that privilege when you tried to kill me and my baby.”
She slapped her once more, cutting off the pleas.
“You’re a pathetic, jealous, spineless little cunt,” Melody hissed, each word deliberate and cutting.
“You thought you could take what was mine. You thought you could ruin me and walk away clean. Look at you now. On your knees in piss and bleach, bleeding from my initials carved into your fucking leg. How does it feel, Ashley? How does it feel to finally be the one who’s worthless? ”
Ashley’s sobs turned hysterical. “Please... please stop. I’ll do anything—”
Melody slapped her once more, cutting off the pleas.
“Anything?” Melody echoed mockingly. “You already did everything. You drugged my child. You broke my ribs. You laughed when they said I’d never see my baby again. And now you want mercy?”
She pressed the knife tip harder against Ashley’s thigh. Right over the fresh, bleeding L.
“If I ever hear your name again, if you breathe a word about me, my daughter, or Christian, I’ll come back. And next time, it won’t be your thigh. It won’t be a word. It will be your tongue. Or your eyes. Or your fucking life.”
Ashley sobbed openly now, body shaking.
“Please… I won’t... I swear I won’t... I just want to live—”
Melody studied her for a long moment.
Then she stood.
She turned the knife once in her hand, before sliding it back into the pocket of her blazer.
Ashley flinched at the motion.
Melody turned to leave.
Halfway to the door, Ashley’s voice cracked behind her.
“I was just jealous and frustrated,” she whispered. “That Christian was married to you. That he broke off the engagement. That man… he was in a relationship with me for a few months before Ashton died. But he never kissed me. We never slept together. Maybe… maybe he was always in love with you.”
Melody paused.
Her shoulders tensed.
But she didn’t turn around.
She didn’t speak.
She simply opened the door and walked out.
The door swung shut behind her with a soft, final click.
Ashley remained on the floor, sobbing, shaking, thigh bleeding, face stinging from the slaps, alone with the smell of bleach and fear.
Melody kept walking down the corridor, head high, steps steady, knife still tucked in her pocket.
She didn’t look back.
She didn’t need to.
The past was behind her now.
And it would stay there.
Forever.
×××××××
Christian stood alone in the expansive kitchen of the Holt mansion, the late afternoon sun slanting through the tall windows and turning the marble countertops to warm gold.
The house was quiet. Symphony at Melody's, staff dismissed for the afternoon, the usual hum of life muted to a hush. He had sent them away. Today, he wanted the silence. Needed it.
He wore a faded black T-shirt and dark jeans, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, hair slightly mussed from running his fingers through it too many times.
On the island in front of him lay the ingredients for Melody’s favorite lunch.
He moved methodically, drying the chicken with paper towels, seasoning it with salt and pepper, the familiar motions grounding him when his mind refused to stay still.
Melody.
Her name slipped into his thoughts like it always did now, uninvited, persistent, soft as a bruise that never quite healed.
He remembered the way she used to stand in this very kitchen years ago, on the rare nights, cooking.
She’d roll up her sleeves just like he was doing now, hair tied back in a messy knot, laughing to herself as she talked to the baby in her belly.
He remembered how she’d taste the sauce straight from the wooden spoon, eyes closing in concentration, then lower the spoon with that small, private smile that made his chest ache even then.
“Needs more salt,” she’d say to herself.
Now the kitchen felt too big. Too empty.
He sliced the tomatoes with careful, even strokes, the knife moving on autopilot while his mind wandered to her face yesterday in the sunroom... softened by Symphony’s laughter, guarded when she looked at him, but still so achingly beautiful.
The way she’d tucked a curl behind their daughter’s ear, the quiet joy in her eyes when Symphony called her “Mommy.”
The way she’d played that old lullaby on the piano that day.
.. slow, tender, the same notes she’d hummed when she was pregnant, when he’d stood in the doorway and listened like a man who’d found religion.
He set the knife down, palms flat on the counter, breathing hard.
He missed her.
Not just the idea of her. Not just the mother his daughter needed.
He missed her.
The woman who fell asleep on his couch with spreadsheets still open on her laptop.
The woman who looked at him like he could be good, once.
Christian closed his eyes.
He didn’t deserve her.
He knew that.
But God, he still loved her.
Loved the way she fought for what mattered.
Loved the quiet strength she carried now like armor she’d forged herself.
Loved that she’d survived him, rebuilt without him, become someone extraordinary.
He opened his eyes and picked up the knife again.
The chicken sizzled as he laid it in the hot pan.
He would cook her lunch.
And when he was done, he stood there in the quiet kitchen, alone with the scent of garlic and lemon and memories, and whispered to the empty room:
“I love you, Melody.”
Still.
Always.
Even if she never heard it.
Even if she never believed it again.
He loved her.
And that truth, silent, stubborn, unbreakable, would have to be enough.
×××××××
Christian stood outside the glass doors of Melody’s executive office on the top floor of Marshall Corp, holding a simple black insulated lunch box in both hands.
He wore a plain black T-shirt that hugged his shoulders, dark jeans, and casual sneakers, nothing like the tailored suits he usually wore for business.
His hair was slightly tousled, as if he’d run his fingers through it too many times on the drive over.
A small, nervous smile played on his lips, but his eyes were steady, determined.
Inside, Melody sat behind her desk, reviewing a quarterly report, when her phone buzzed. Rachel’s name flashed on the screen.
“Ms. Marshall, Mr. Holt is here. He says he brought lunch for you.”
Melody’s pen froze mid-signature.
She stared at the door.
“Send him in,” she said after a long pause.
The door opened.
Christian stepped inside, closing it softly behind him.
Melody looked up, confusion flickering across her face before she masked it with cool composure.
“I… brought lunch for you,” he said quietly, lifting the box slightly as if to prove it.
Melody arched a brow, leaning back in her chair.
“Lunch? What are you, my husband? My maid?”
Christian looked down at the floor for a second, the smile fading into something smaller, more vulnerable.
“Just… a loser,” he said softly. “Who broke a precious heart and… is trying to fix it.”
Melody sighed, long and slow, rubbing her temple.
“You’re lucky I’m hungry right now,” she muttered, extending her hand across the desk.
Christian stepped forward and placed the box gently in front of her. He opened the lid with careful fingers.
The scent hit her immediately... warm lemon-herb chicken tenders, perfectly golden, a side of caprese salad with ripe tomatoes, fresh mozzarella, and basil drizzled in balsamic glaze, and a small portion of butterfly pasta tossed in light butter and parmesan.
A tiny heart-shaped strawberry sat on top of the salad like a quiet offering.
Melody stared at it.
“I didn’t know you could cook,” she said, voice flat. “I only thought you could brood.”
Christian chuckled, soft, self-deprecating, barely audible.
“I learned cooking after you left.”
She picked up the fork, hesitated for half a second, then took a bite of the chicken.
The flavors bloomed... bright lemon, fragrant herbs, perfectly seasoned meat.
She chewed slowly.
Christian waited, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on her face with quiet, aching hope.
“How is it?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Melody swallowed.
“It’s… delicious.”
Christian smiled again... small, real, relieved.
He moved forward slowly, then crouched beside her chair, reaching for her left hand.
She didn’t pull away.
He lifted it gently, cradling it between both of his, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her knuckles.
“I’m glad,” he whispered, eyes never leaving her face.
Melody stared at him, his bowed head, the way his thumbs brushed her skin with reverent care.
“What are you doing?” she asked, voice quieter now.
Christian looked down at their joined hands.
“I just… missed you. And I can’t stay away.”
Melody’s breath caught.
“I thought you said you don’t expect forgiveness. Or don’t know if I’ll let you back in. What happened now?”
Christian exhaled, shoulders rising and falling.
“I can’t stay away,” he repeated simply. “I’ll make it right. Because you, Melody, are the only one I’ve ever loved… and I’m not letting you go so easily.”
The words hung between them.
Ashley’s voice echoed in Melody’s mind... unbidden, unwelcome.
“That man… he was in a relationship with me for a few months before Ashton died. But he never kissed me. We never slept together. Maybe… maybe he was always in love with you.”
Melody stared at him.
At the man who had once broken her.
At the man who now knelt beside her chair, holding her hand like it was something fragile and sacred.
She had no words.
She just stared.
And for the first time in years,
the silence between them wasn’t filled with hate.
It was filled with something else.
Something dangerous.
Something that felt dangerously close to possibility.
×××××××