Chapter 7
But three days later, the Muttrie family dropped a fortune and bailed Simon out.
That night, I was on Clark’s balcony with a book when the doorbell rang.
I checked the monitor–Simon, in a suit, holding a giant bouquet of roses.
He wore that fake soft smile, like his courtroom meltdown never happened.
I laughed coldly and hit the intercom.
“Get lost.”
His smile twitched but he recovered fast, voice smooth.
“Heidi, I know you hate me. Just give me five minutes. Please. Face–to–face.”
I almost shut it off.
But then I thought–why make it easy for him?
I walked to the door and opened it just enough to leave the chain on.
Simon lit up the second I cracked the door. He stepped forward fast, but the chain stopped him.
“Heidi…”
His eyes dropped to the diamond necklace–Clark’s gift. His pupils shrank, but he forced a bitter smile.
“You’re really marrying him?”
I leaned on the frame, smirking.
“What, you think I’d marry the guy who nearly beat me to death?”
He went pale.
“No, Heidi, that wasn’t what it looked like–I lost it that day-”
“A misunderstanding?” I yanked my collar down, showing the whip marks still healing.
“Ninety–nine lashes, Simon. You counted every one.”
He flinched. Panic and regret flickered in his eyes.
Then he dropped to his knees. Roses hit the floor like confetti.
“I messed up… I really messed up…” His voice cracked, eyes red, like he actually meant it.
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In my last life, this might’ve worked on me.
Same routine–tears in court, begging for mercy, then partying with Nancy the second I turned my back.
Simon must’ve seen it in my eyes, how over it I was. His fake remorse only got more desperate.
Still kneeling, he grabbed my pant leg, voice cracking.
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“Heidi, remember when we met? You were helping that kid in the library. The sun was behind you, and I was watching from the shelves… my heart felt like it was gonna explode. I confessed that day.”
I didn’t say anything, but yeah–those memories came rushing in.
He was broke back then. Worked three jobs just to buy me a birthday gift.
“You had a 102 fever once. I stayed with you three straight days.”
Tears hit the marble.
“They said it could turn into pneumonia. I was in the hall, on my knees, praying to anything that would listen…”
My fingertips twitched.
That night, he really had stayed. Half–dead from exhaustion but refusing to leave.
“I know I deserve everything coming. I lost my mind.”
Then he bowed, forehead pressed to the top of my foot, tears soaking my slipper.
“For all the years we had… let me fix this…”
The warmth felt familiar–like the way he used to press his face to my hand when I cried.
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Chapter 8
