Chapter 6 Apologies in the dark

The rain began to fall just as Elena closed her laptop for the night.

She didn't notice at first-just the soft patter against the window of her Brooklyn apartment, then the slow rhythm building into a relentless downpour that blurred the city lights into watercolor. She sat on the edge of her bed, back tense, eyes staring blankly at the walls she'd decorated to feel like home. But tonight, nothing felt like hers anymore.

Grayson hadn't called. Not since that fight. Not since the article. Not since she told him she regretted trusting him.

And yet... every time her phone lit up, her breath caught. Hoping.

Dreading.

Expecting.

She didn't know what was worse - the idea that he wouldn't come after her, or the idea that he would.

The television buzzed faintly in the background, an old black-and-white film playing on mute. She didn't bother turning it off. She just wanted noise. Something, anything, to fill the silence where his voice used to be.

Then came the knock.

Three soft taps. Muffled through the hallway.

Her heart stalled.

She froze, unsure if it was a hallucination. A memory. A wish.

Then came a fourth knock - louder, steadier, more certain.

Elena stood, legs moving on instinct. She crossed the living room and stared at the door, unsure if she wanted to open it.

But when she did, he was there.

Grayson Maddox. In the flesh. In the rain.

His suit jacket was soaked, his usually sleek hair damp and curling slightly at the edges. His eyes - always sharp, always calculating - looked almost... vulnerable.

Neither of them said a word.

Not at first.

"Hi," he finally said, as if it were normal. As if it were easy.

Elena stared at him. "How did you find my address?"

"I'm resourceful," he said simply. "I've had it since the beginning."

"That's not comforting."

"I didn't come to scare you. I came to fix this."

Elena let out a slow, humorless breath. "Fix what, Grayson? Your PR problem? Or the inconvenient feelings of the woman you didn't bother defending?"

A pause.

"I came because I was wrong," he said. "About everything. About you."

She opened the door wider, letting him in - not because she forgave him, but because she needed to hear it. Needed the closure. Or the clarity.

Maybe both.

He stepped inside slowly, shaking off the rain like a man unsure of his welcome.

The space felt tighter with him in it. He was always so composed, so big in every room, not just in presence but in gravity. He carried things - the weight of expectation, the armor of pride, the silence of old wounds.

"I didn't say anything to the press," he began, "because I've spent my whole life believing that reacting gives them power. That silence is control. But I forgot something..."

Elena folded her arms, watching him closely. "What did you forget?"

"That not everyone is as numb to being hurt as I am."

The honesty in his voice caught her off guard. She expected a speech. A justification. But not that.

"I didn't realize how much it would matter to you," he continued. "And I hate that it took you walking away for me to see it."

She looked away, jaw clenched. "You humiliated me."

"I know."

"You let people treat me like a prop. Like I was nothing more than another disposable woman in your orbit."

"I know," he said again, softer. "And I would undo it if I could."

Elena shook her head, pacing a few steps toward the window. The rain had slowed, now a gentle drizzle blurring the orange glow of streetlights below.

"You don't get to just walk in and apologize like it changes things," she whispered.

"I'm not here to change things overnight," he replied. "I'm here because I can't stop thinking about you. Because I haven't been able to breathe right since you left. Because the idea of you thinking I didn't care is the one thing I can't live with."

Her breath caught.

She turned to face him - really face him.

For the first time, there were no masks. No business fronts. No power dynamics. Just Grayson Maddox: soaked in rain, regret in his eyes, stripped of every defense he once held like gospel.

And it made her ache.

"I thought I was over being broken by men like you," she said, voice trembling. "Men who only love in silence. Men who push people away and call it strength."

"I was never trying to be like them," he said. "I've just never learned how to love without fearing what I'd lose in the process."

Elena closed her eyes.

The silence between them felt like a held breath.

Then, slowly, she walked toward him. She reached for his hand. Cold from the rain. Hesitant.

"You hurt me," she said.

"I know."

"But you came."

"I did."

"And you're still here."

"I am."

She looked into his eyes - stormy gray, flickering with everything he wasn't saying.

"I don't know if I can trust you again," she whispered.

"I'll earn it," he said without hesitation. "One day at a time, if that's what it takes."

He pulled something from his pocket - a small, folded square of paper. She opened it.

A sketch. Not fancy. Not drawn well. But detailed enough to recognize: it was a floor layout of the Astoria Grand ballroom. But in the corner... a table. Just for two. Candlelight. A note beside it.

"Dinner. Just us. After the gala. No cameras. No speeches. Just me, showing up."

Elena's eyes welled.

"You made this?"

He gave a sheepish nod. "I don't draw well. But I wanted you to see that I've been thinking about the end of that night... and how I wanted you in it."

She pressed the paper to her chest.

"I'm not promising anything," she said, stepping close.

"I'm not asking for promises," he replied. "Just a chance."

And in the quiet, rain-washed glow of her apartment, with thunder now distant and hearts slightly less guarded, she leaned up and kissed him - not like a woman falling in love, but like a woman giving herself permission to try.

To begin again.

To hope.