Chapter 6
1068words
Killian's breakdown came silently—more devastating than any dramatic display.
He leaned against the sofa, his imposing frame trembling with pain and regret. His face—always carved from stone—showed vulnerability and helplessness for the first time, almost childlike in its rawness.
Ilara watched as her fortress of resentment crumbled brick by brick.
She found no satisfaction in his pain—only exhaustion and sadness. A stupid prejudice about class had cost them five irreplaceable years.
Five years—enough time for a newborn to become a running, jumping child who called her "Mama."
Those stolen years could never be reclaimed.
Finally, Killian moved.
He approached her slowly. He didn't touch her, but his eyes held a shattered light she'd never witnessed before.
He lowered his head—that proud head that had never bowed to anyone.
"I'm sorry."
Those simple words from his lips were rough, raw, and heavy as stone.
"Ilara, I'm sorry," he repeated, his voice breaking. "Five years ago, I failed you. I left you to face everything alone because I was blind. Arrogant. Living in my own world. I don't deserve forgiveness."
"For five years, I fueled myself with hatred. Convinced myself you'd abandoned me for money. I used that lie to hide my own failure and stupidity."
He reached toward her cheek but stopped midway, as if fearing his touch would soil her.
"I've caused you so much pain. Forced you to raise our son alone in that tiny apartment... Then when you returned, I threatened and coerced you..."
He closed his eyes in anguish, his face contorted with self-disgust.
"If I could, I'd give everything I own to get those five years back. To have another chance to stand by you."
Fresh tears welled in Ilara's eyes.
But these weren't tears of pain—they came from something more complex, more bittersweet.
This man who had made her both love and hate was now cutting open his proud heart and offering it to her, raw and bleeding.
She reached out and covered his trembling hand with hers.
Her touch jolted him like electricity. His eyes flew open, disbelief written across his face.
"Killian," Ilara said softly, her voice gentle yet firm, "it's in the past now."
It was in the past.
No regret or apology could rewind time.
They could only choose how to face tomorrow.
"I never stopped loving you." Killian seized her hand like a drowning man grasping a lifeline and pulled her into his arms.
He crushed her against him as if trying to merge their bodies into one. He buried his face in her neck, inhaling her scent—the scent that had haunted his dreams for five years.
"I love you, Ilara. From the first moment I saw you until now—that never changed." He whispered the words against her skin like a prayer. "Don't leave me again. Please."
Ilara's heart dissolved.
All her defenses crumbled before that humble, frightened "please."
She raised her arms and wrapped them around him—slowly but with absolute certainty.
"I'm here," she whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."
At her words, Killian's body shuddered.
He raised his head, light rekindling in his dark eyes.
He lowered his mouth to hers with reverent tenderness.
This kiss held no punishment or possession—only cherishing and relief. It tasted of salt and carried five years of longing. They kissed desperately, hungrily, as if trying to reclaim every lost moment in this single connection.
From living room to bedroom, from gentle kisses to desperate embraces, everything unfolded naturally. As they lay entwined on the bed that had once felt so alien to Ilara, all barriers dissolved.
Each touch was both apology and promise.
.
The days following their reconciliation felt dreamlike in their sweetness.
The penthouse's sterile atmosphere transformed overnight into something that felt like home. Killian was no longer a silent observer but an active participant in their lives.
He awkwardly learned to prepare Leo's milk, patiently built block towers, and squeezed into Leo's small bed at night to tell bedtime stories. Though his tales were often dry business parables that left Leo bewildered, his earnest effort was unmistakable.
Ilara observed with newfound peace. She resumed her career, refining designs for the Davenport European headquarters at the massive desk in his study. Killian became her most demanding critic, identifying flaws in her concepts, leading to passionate debates about design principles that stretched into the night—just as they had done in university years before.
This reclaimed happiness, simple yet profound, almost convinced Ilara that the past five years had been merely a bad dream.
.
But nightmares have a way of returning.
That afternoon, as Ilara colored with Leo on the living room floor, the private elevator chimed.
Then came the sharp, authoritative click of heels on marble, growing louder.
Ilara's heart plummeted, dread washing over her.
She looked up to see a woman in a perfectly tailored suit, immaculate makeup enhancing her elegant, imperious bearing.
Catherine Davenport.
Killian's stepmother.
The woman who had crushed her spirit, poisoned her with cruel words, and engineered their five-year separation.
Five years had etched fine lines around her eyes, but her imperious superiority remained intact.
Her gaze swept dismissively over Ilara's casual clothes before settling on Leo, who watched her with innocent curiosity.
When she fully registered Leo's face—so strikingly similar to Killian's childhood photos—her pupils contracted sharply.
Ilara instinctively pulled Leo behind her. Though her body trembled, her eyes no longer held the helpless fear of five years ago.
"You're not welcome here," Ilara rose, meeting the woman's gaze coldly. "Leave. Now."
"My, haven't we grown bold?" Catherine's laugh was soft but venomous. "Quite resourceful, aren't you—raising his bastard all by yourself."
Sensing the malice, Ilara tightened her grip on Leo.
She opened her mouth to respond, but the elevator chimed again.
Killian.
He strode over, placing himself between his family and his stepmother.
"Mother," he said, his voice deliberately emotionless. "When did you return to New York?"
"What," Catherine arched a perfect eyebrow, "planning to banish me again?"
Killian frowned. Whatever had transformed his once-elegant stepmother into this bitter woman didn't matter now. His only concern was protecting his family.
He'd shown her enough deference.
"Let me be perfectly clear," his voice turned arctic. "Ilara and Leo are staying. For everyone's sake, you need to go."
Catherine swayed slightly, the meaning unmistakable.
She would never be welcome in New York again.
