OLIVIA’S POV


    “Ok, I’m d that you’re doing alright even after getting shot.”


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    The words slipped out of my mouth, but even I could tell they sounded stiff, forced, like they were dragged out against my will. My tone didn’t carry the softness or warmth it should have, and I didn’t need anyone to tell me that. I heard it in my own voice.


    For a second, he didn’t respond. His expression almost looked as though I’d said something unexpected, like he had been bracing himself for more of my usual coldness. He justid there on the bed, bandaged and weak, staring at me like I’d just spoken a foreignnguage.


    “Okay,” he said finally, his voice quiet but steady. “Thank you. And I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me since we saw each other again.”


    I rolled my eyes, maybe more dramatically than I intended, but he wasn’t wrong. It was the nicest thing I’d said to him in years. A small part of me hated that he was right, and an even smaller part hated that he noticed.


    Still, he had a point. Ever since I’de back into this city and run into him again, my every word to him had been dipped in venom. I’d been carrying hatred like a shield, letting it guide my tongue. But honestly, can you me me?


    For years, I thought he had been the man behind everything, the one who ordered the attack that nearly killed my family and me. For years, I convinced myself that Adrian wasn’t just guilty but responsible for every ounce of pain I carried. I swore to myself that when I came back, I would make him pay. I plotted it, I breathed it, I lived it. And yet here I was, sitting by his hospital bed, realizing that I had been wrong all along.


    The truth stung almost as much as the lie had.


    In a strange way, I was… relieved. Relieved that I hadn’t gone through with my ns of revenge. Relieved that I hadn’t destroyed a man who didn’t deserve it. If things had gone differently, I might have carried out my promise, only to learnter that I’d ruined an innocent man’s life. That thought chilled me.


    So maybe, I owed him this tiny bit of courtesy.


    “Don’t get used to it,” I said quickly, my voice sharper now as if to cover up the vulnerability that had just slipped out. “I’m only trying to sound this way because it’s the least I can do for you saving my life.”


    I didn’t look him in the eye when I said it. I couldn’t. My gaze drifted to the floor, to the faint shadows cast by the hospital lights, to anywhere but his face.


    <b>12:15 </b>Wed<b>, </b><b>Sep </b><b>10 </b>


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    “I would also like to thank you for that,” I continued, my voice softer now. “No one has ever done that for me before. Honestly, I don’t think anyone ever would. I mean, we’re not in some K–drama where the male lead jumps in front of bullets and does ridiculous things. But… you proved that it’s not just in k–dramas that guys do ridiculous things. So… thanks.”


    My words felt clumsy, awkward, but sincere. I wasn’t used to thanking him for anything. My chest felt tight just admitting it.


    He chuckled lightly, though the sound turned into a short wince of pain. Still, he pushed through it and said, “Now you’reparing me to those Korean guys, huh? And why are you so surprised that I jumped in front?”


    His eyes searched mine, like he truly wanted to understand.


    I let out a bitterugh. “You really gonna ask me that question? After how you basically treated me like dirt during our early marriage?”


    I paused, my own words echoing in my head.


    “Point made,” he said finally, his tone low and resigned, almost as if he knew I was right but didn’t want to dwell on it any longer.


    For a moment, silence settled between us, heavy and awkward. The sterile smell of the hospital mixed with the faint hum of machines around us, reminding me of the reality we were in. He shifted slightly on the bed, his movements careful because of his injury.


    “Anyways,” he continued, his voice softening, “I don’t want this to sound too cliché, but… I’m d you and your son are okay. Speaking of him, is he here with you?” His eyes searched mine, almost hopeful.


    “No,” I said immediately, shaking my head. “My mom is watching him. It’s past his bedtime, and he doesn’t have any reason to be here.”


    The moment the word left my lips, I noticed a flicker in his expression. His brows knitted together, his lips pressed tightly as if he was fighting against a thought he didn’t want to voice. His reaction was subtle, but I caught it instantly.


    “Your mom,” he whispered under his breath, the words barely audible. His gaze broke away from me and wandered somewhere distant, like he was suddenly lost in a memory he couldn’t escape.


    And just like that, I knew exactly what had caused the shift in him. That single word mom had dug into a wound that was still festering, no matter how much he tried to bury it. Of course<b>, </b>it would. Because for him, the word mother wasn’t just simple orforting. For him, it carried the weight of blood, revenge, and guilt.


    <b>12:15 </b><b>Wed</b>, <b>Sep </b>10


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    Even though my foster parents hadn’t been perfect, even though I’d never fully felt like <b>I </b>belonged under their roof, the news of their deaths had been unsettling. Shocking, yes. But anger? Rage? Oddly, I hadn’t felt those things the way most people would expect me to. Maybe a part of me had already been numb by then.


    —


    raw,


    “I’m happy you found a new family who loves you,” he said suddenly, his voice breaking through my thoughts. His eyes met mine again, but this time they carried pain unfiltered pain that I wasn’t sure I had ever seen from him before. “I’m happy to see that you’re even alive. I know this might not be the right time to say this, and I’ll understand if you get annoyed, but…” He hesitated, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “I’m sorry for killing your foster parents. I know it must have been tough for you when you found out. But they had to die after what they did to my mom.”


    His words lingered in the air, heavy and sharp. He said them like a confession, like a weight he’d been carrying and couldn’t hide anymore.


    I studied him carefully. His expression wasn’t defiant, like the man who once stood in front of me years ago and dared me to challenge him. No. This was different. His voice carried regret, his face showed guilt, and for the first time, I saw not the hardened man I had hated, but someone broken by the past he couldn’t change.


    Yes, I had been shocked when I first found out about their deaths. Shocked at how sudden it all had been, shocked that he had been the one responsible. But over time, the sting of it had dulled. Maybe because I hadn’t truly loved them as a daughter should. Maybe because, deep down, I had always known they were never really mine.


    “My opinion on what you did?” I finally said, breaking the silence. My voice was steadier than I expected. “That wasn’t right. You shouldn’t have killed them. You shouldn’t have taken thew into your own hands.”


    His lips parted slightly as if he wanted to argue, but I lifted my hand to stop him.


    “You had connections in the NYPD,” I continued. “You could have just gotten them arrested, even without evidence. You always had your ways, your influence, your power. You could have found another way. But what you did…” I let out a slow breath, my chest tightening as I said it. “What you did was very wrong. Yes. But it doesn’t mean I’m angry.”


    His eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across his face. He stared at me as if he hadn’t expected forgiveness or at least, something close to it.


    Inside, I couldn’t even exin why I wasn’t angry. Maybe it was because I was tired of carrying hatred. Maybe because after everything we had both lost, clinging to more anger felt like adding gasoline to an already dying fire. Or maybe it was simply because I had learned to move forward, even when life left me with wounds that didn’t heal properly.