In Love With My Bully-Chapter 100: The Last Apology

Richard laid down beside his wife, cradling her gently. Her back was turned to him, but he could tell by the slight hunch of her shoulders and the soft huff of her breath that she was far from asleep. In fact, she was doing that thing again—overthinking at a level only mothers could achieve.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and placed a soft kiss just beneath her ear, the place that always made her shiver—though tonight, not even that got a reaction. This was serious.

"Babe, you have to get some rest," he whispered. "Tomorrow is a big day."

She inhaled sharply and finally rolled onto her back. Her face was barely visible in the dim light, but Richard didn’t need much light to see his wife’s thoughts. He’d been reading her moods for over two decades. She looked troubled, eyes darting back and forth. He knew that look—it was the one that meant something had deeply unsettled her, and he was probably about to find out what.

"I don’t like this, Richard. Martin should be here to talk some sense into Drake. Someone has to."

Richard blinked. "You don’t want her marrying Drake?" he asked.

Nita hesitated, rubbing a palm over her forehead. "It’s not like I don’t want her to. I just don’t think she should be taking such a big leap with her head and not her heart. This feels like another mission. Another campaign. Not a wedding." She shifted under the covers, clearly too worked up to find comfort. "All she wants—all she’s ever wanted—is to prove she can be greater than you. You know that, right?"

Richard exhaled slowly and rested his head on his arm. "Yeah," he said. "I know."

Nita sat up, running her fingers through her hair with mild aggression. "I can’t believe I’m also saying this, but you raised her wrong. She should have socialised more, not hung around boardrooms and shadowed office managers since before she could walk. Richard, she wasn’t even potty trained before she knew what a quarterly report was. Who does that to a baby?"

Richard smirked. "Wow. I have a sudden sense of déjà vu. My mom used to whine the exact same way to my dad."

Nita’s mouth dropped open.

"I’m whining?" she snapped. "I’m trying to have an honest conversation about our daughter’s emotional future and you think I’m whining?"

Richard blinked up at the ceiling. He’d poked the bear.

"Oh shit! No... no... uh... wrong word. Uh... I meant..." Richard stumbled over his apology. He raised both hands in the air.

"Just go to sleep!" Nita barked, flipping over. The duvet fluttered in the air, settling over her as if even the fabric had taken her side.

"Babe, come on," Richard tried again, reaching out. "I didn’t mean it that way. Uhn..." He leaned in and kissed her shoulder.

But nope. She shrugged him off.

"I’m sorry," he whispered. His usual smooth charm wasn’t working tonight, and he knew it.

Then Nita turned her head slightly, just enough for her voice to float over her shoulder. "Did you know Chay likes Drake?"

Richard’s eyes widened so fast it was like someone had just dumped a bucket of ice water on his soul. "What? No... I don’t think that’s possible. Drake just came back to town."

Nita scoffed. "If you say so. Like I said, I don’t like this. And when shit hits the fan—because it will hit the fan—be well informed that I am going to strongly whine about it... incessantly."

Richard sighed and slumped into his pillow, defeated but still smiling. "Yes, ma’am." He saluted the air as though she were a four-star general in a war he clearly lost before it began. "Now will you move closer so I can hold you to sleep?"

"No!"

"Babe! Please... I said I’m sorry!" Richard begged, dragging out the last word. "Come on...!"

"Good night!" Nita snapped, yanking more of the blanket over to her side.

But Richard wasn’t giving up that easily. In one swift move, he rolled her back into his arms and wrapped himself around her.

"I had to marry a stubborn wife."

She squirmed a little, but even in her mock struggle, she didn’t really want to break free. "And I had to marry an asshole."

"Ouch," Richard winced, but he chuckled softly. "A handsome asshole though, right?"

"Hmm. A tolerable one."

And just like that, the tension dissolved. The fight was over, reduced to ashes in the warmth of the shared duvet.

The grays in their hair, the slight aches in their joints, none of that changed the way they melted into each other. Almost three decades of love, of battles fought and forgiven, of joys multiplied and sorrows halved. And in this moment, tangled up in each other, they were still just two hearts beating a little faster in the presence of love.

Richard held her tighter, pressing his forehead to hers. "Don’t worry, babe. Whatever happens tomorrow, we’ll handle it. Just like we always do."

Nita smiled softly into the darkness. "As long as you’re not trying to handle it with that dumbass logic of yours."

Richard grinned. "Noted."

*****

Liam arrived at the Numero mansion bright and early. The grand iron gates, parted without hesitation—after all, to the guards, he was still the fiancé. The man who was supposed to say "I do" to the Numero heiress later that day.

If only they knew.

The guards gave him the usual nod of familiarity. They didn’t know that somewhere between the bubbles in the engagement champagne and the last song of the night, Liam had detonated their engagement.

He stepped into the cavernous living room. And there sat Chay. Her hair was pulled up in a bun and she clutched a steaming mug of coffee.

"Chay," Liam said gently, as though her name was a prayer or a spell that could soften her edges. "I know you’re angry, but please... just let me speak with her..."

She didn’t even look up. Her eyes were half-lidded, the dark circles under them painting a masterpiece of misery. The coffee trembled slightly in her grip.

"She’s upstairs. Third door on the right," Chay muttered. She didn’t even have the energy for drama.

Liam blinked. "Right... thank you." He gave her a nod of gratitude, though she didn’t look his way.

With adrenaline and desperation flooding his veins, he bolted up the marble staircase, taking the steps three at a time. When he found the door, he didn’t knock. He didn’t think. He just turned the knob and walked in.

Queen was sitting at her vanity, her reflection a vision of composed chaos. Her robe hugged her shoulders loosely, her makeup brushes laid out, and her eyes locked onto her own as if she were trying to convince herself she was okay. She didn’t flinch when she saw him. She didn’t even turn around.

"Get out!"

"Queen, just please listen!" Liam stepped inside further, his hands raised, surrender oozing from every pore.

"There is nothing to talk about," she snapped, finally turning to face him. Her eyes glistened, but it wasn’t with tears—it was with unspent rage and humiliation. "You cheated on me! The night before our wedding! At our engagement party!"

"I know... I know," Liam’s voice broke, pain threading through every syllable. "And I’m sorry! Everything was just so overwhelming. I felt... small. Like I was being swallowed whole by your world." He took a breath. "I feared that I wasn’t enough for you. Your family is this... this powerful empire. And you—for God’s sake, Queen, you are Queen Numero. You walk into a room and everyone takes notice. Me? I’m just... a guy who got lucky."