Chapter 1354:
His knees were buried in pooled water, his trousers soaked through. Rain traced the sharp line of his jaw and fell in steady, quiet drops to the ground. His head remained lowered, concealing his expression, while the faint rise and fall of his shoulders betrayed his labored breathing.
“I have no intention of giving you another chance.” Her voice came from above—cold and without feeling. “Are you trying to make a scene? Let everyone in Crolens know that the great Deandre begged a woman’s forgiveness? If you don’t mind humiliating yourself, then go ahead.”
After a long pause, Deandre slowly raised his head.
“I’m not afraid of humiliation,” he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t assume I’m still the same. I’ve changed.”
Melany’s grip on the umbrella tightened. She was quiet for a long moment before she spoke again. “If kneeling is what you choose, then do it. When you grow weary, go home and rest, or seek Miss Kennedy for comfort. I’m not the one for you. I don’t belong in your world.”
𝘋𝗂𝘀с𝗈𝗏e𝗿 ne𝗐 𝘴𝘵o𝘳𝘪е𝗌 𝗼ո 𝗀𝘢𝘭n𝗈𝗏е𝗅ѕ.cо𝗆
She turned and punched in the entry code at the building door.
It swung open, and she stepped inside. Behind her, the heavy metal door thudded shut.
Deandre remained on his knees, unmoving. Rain poured from all sides, drenching him completely. He bowed his head, his eyes reddening.
As the elevator doors slid shut, Melany’s gaze drifted almost instinctively toward the building entrance. Through the glass, she could make out that dark, blurred silhouette—still kneeling in the rain, perfectly still.
She pressed her back against the elevator wall and tilted her head upward, staring at the harsh, pale light overhead until it made her eyes ache.
By the time she reached home, it was late. Her daughter was fast asleep. Melany went straight to the bathroom for a long soak, and when she finally finished and tidied up, two hours had slipped by. Her thoughts drifted to Deandre—surely he must have gone home by now. Almost without thinking, she moved to the bedroom window and drew back a corner of the curtain.
The streetlamp below cast a dim, yellow glow. Deandre was still there, still kneeling. His posture hadn’t shifted an inch—like a statue abandoned in the rain.
Her fingers clenched briefly. Then she let the curtain fall and turned back into the room.
She changed into her nightclothes, lay down on the bed, and switched off the light.
In the darkness, she stared at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep. Rain whispered through the gaps in the window—delicate yet relentless, each drop pressing softly against something she refused to name.
She rolled onto her side and pulled the blanket over her head.
“This was his decision,” she told herself. “It doesn’t concern me.”
But sleep refused to come.
By five forty in the morning, the first pale light of dawn began to pierce the darkness.
A sleek black Maybach glided quietly into the apartment complex, its headlights cutting two sharp beams through the rain. The car stopped before the building. The door swung open, and a tall man stepped out, black umbrella in hand, his polished shoes making soft ripples through the shallow puddles as he walked with unhurried ease.
It was Marcus.
.
.
.