Rebirth: Love me Again

[EVE]

Everything was going smoothly—too smoothly, in fact—until the doorbell rang.

I froze.

There was no delivery scheduled. No visitors expected.

But in my gut, I knew. I knew who it was.

Of course he knew I had returned—and of course he knew exactly where I was, even though I hadn't said a single word about this place. He always knew. He always knew everything.

A chill ran down my spine, and every cell in my body screamed, Do not open that door.

Unfortunately, Dean, who was already making himself at home like this was his apartment, had other plans.

"Oooh, visitors!" he sang, practically skipping to the door like he was about to welcome long-lost friends to a surprise party.

"Dean, wait—" I started, my voice barely above a whisper.

Too late.

He swung the door open.

And just like I had feared—no, predicted—Cole was standing there.

Right behind him was Zen.

Everything stilled.

The air thickened in an instant, like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.

No one spoke. No one moved.

The chaos, the laughter, the ridiculous warmth of the past few hours—vanished.

It was like someone had pressed pause on my life and replaced it with one of those tense drama scenes where music swells and someone probably faints.

Except no one fainted.

We just stood there.

Breathing the same air.

And I could already feel the storm coming.

Cole's face shocked me into silence.

He looked . . . ill.

Thin, haggard, and pale—like sleep had become a distant memory. The once-pristine lines of his jaw were sharper now, not from grooming but from weight loss. There were deep bags under his eyes, the kind you only get from long nights spent staring at the ceiling and regret.

And here I was.

Glowing.

Radiant from the sheer amount of food and affection I'd been force-fed during my time with my family, wrapped in soft clothes, and cushioned by love and chaos.

He looked like he'd been through war. I looked like I'd just come back from a spa retreat.

"Eve . . ."

My name, broken and hoarse from his lips, hit harder than I expected.

I froze.

My breath caught in my chest.

But I didn't have time to process it—because the second that syllable left his mouth, my brothers moved.

Violently.

Dean was the first to reach him, launching across the room like a stylish missile. His fist connected with Cole's jaw before I could even blink. He could have evaded that, but for some reason, Cole just stood there.

"You absolute pile of emotional garbage!" Dean barked, already going in for round two before Damien caught him around the waist like a sack of flailing designer clothes.

"How dare you show your face here after what you did to my sister!" Dante roared, holding—God help us all—a scalpel that he had apparently kept in his coat pocket for emergency vengeance.

Dante wasn't bluffing either. His white doctor's coat fluttered like a cape behind him as he advanced, scalpel raised with the focus of a seasoned surgeon about to dissect a frog.

Damien was the only one who made any effort to stop them. "Dante! He's still the heir to the Fays!" he reasoned, though even he looked like he was two seconds away from throwing a punch himself. "Do you really want to be charged with stabbing a Fay?"

Dante didn't respond. He simply rolled up his sleeves. "Fay or not, he hurt Eve—he hurt our sister. And if you ask me, the death penalty is too lenient for him."

Zen took a step forward, alarmed, clearly about to intervene—but Cole lifted one hand without looking at him.

"Don't," Cole said quietly.

Zen paused.

And Cole—ragged, bruised, barely upright—stood his ground.

He didn't flinch. He didn't defend himself. He just looked my brothers in the eye, one by one, like a man accepting the weight of every mistake he'd made.

Even Dean paused.

Damien, arms still locked around his squirming brother, studied Cole's face.

For a moment, nobody spoke.

Even the city noise outside the apartment seemed to fade.

Then Cole straightened his spine, wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, and said,

"I deserve it. Every punch, every threat. I'm not here to excuse anything."

Dante's grip on the scalpel didn't loosen one bit as well as the frown on his face.

"I came here," Cole continued, his voice hoarse, "because I wanted to see Eve . . ." His eyes met mine, and my breath hitched as he dropped to his knees. "I know you don't want to see me right now, and I understand that. But . . . I want to explain everything to you—and ask for your forgiveness. Please can you just give me another chance?"

Just one look.

It held every sleepless night. Every unspoken apology. Every unsent message.

And it nearly broke me.

My brothers looked at me. My parents too, waiting for me to say something.

As much as they wanted to intervene, this was my call. They knew how depressed and devastated I was about Cole. If it weren't for them, I would've spiraled into a deep, dark abyss after he broke up with me—and especially after learning about Helen and the others' deception.

But I didn't say a word.

Because in that moment—no matter how full my heart was from my loving, ridiculous family—there was a part of me still sorting through the mess Cole had left behind.

A part of me that still remembered the pain.

And a part of me that, deep down, wondered if the man standing in front of me now . . . was even worth it.

"I heard what happened to you," I began, my voice quiet. Even though I never believed in that dark magic or any of that supernatural nonsense . . . it happened to Cole.

And Leanna and even Cain Fay himself—of all people—called me to explain everything. That alone told me how real it was.

"I know it wasn't your fault," I continued, trying to steady my voice. "Neither of us wanted any of it to happen. And . . . I forgave you. Months ago, when I finally understood what you went through—I forgave you."