Chapter 87
Mirabelle’s POV:
I felt flushed, caught off guard by how much care Ken was showing me. It wasn’t like him to be so thoughtful, not the Ken I remembered, at least. Clearing my throat, I decided to break the silence. “Why did Michelle leave?” I asked, trying to steer the conversation to safer grounds.
He glanced at me, pausing as he cracked an egg into the sizzling pan. “She didn’t leave…” He said casually. “I kicked her out.”
The answer stunned me. My brows furrowed as I set the coffee mug he’d poured me down on the counter. “You… kicked her out?”
He nodded without looking up from his cooking. “Yeah.”
“Why?” I pressed, unsure if I even wanted to know.
He finally turned to face me, leaning against the counter, his arms crossed. “I guess I finally understood that if I wanted to start something new with you, I needed to let go of the past. And that past was Michelle.”
The room seemed to freeze around me, his words settled deep in my chest. I didn’t know why, but I felt a flicker of happiness at his words. Was I happy because Michelle was gone? Or because he thought about starting something with me? My mind was a whirlwind, but there was no denying it-I suddenly found him… cute.
I focused on my coffee, using it as a distraction while Ken turned back to the stove. The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. I found myself watching him as he worked. His hands moved carefully, whisking eggs, flipping toast, adding a pinch of salt here and a dash of pepper there.
My eyes drifted to his arms, the way his muscles flexed with each motion. Memories of our past together flooded my mind-his touch, his laugh, the way he used to hold me in bed. He wasn’t as good as Noah, I admitted to myself, but there was something about Ken that was undeniably charming. Those moments we shared… they made me miss the life we had, even if it was fleeting.
Before I could stop myself, the question slipped out of my mouth. “Do you ever just sit and think about what our life would’ve been like… if you didn’t screw things up because of Michelle?”
The words hung in the air between us. I didn’t mean to say them aloud, but now that they are out, I don’t regret it. I always wondered.
Ken froze for a minute, his spatula paused mid-air. Then, without a word, he placed the eggs on the plates, poured himself a glass of wine, and sat across from me. His face was unreadable as he finally answered. “I think about it every day.”
I blinked, surprised by his honesty. “And?”
“And I always come to the same conclusion.” He replied, taking a sip of wine.
“What conclusion?” I pressed.
“That I wouldn’t have learned your value.” He said simply.
I stared at him, genuinely confused. “What does that even mean?”
He exhaled deeply, setting his glass down. “Even before Michelle came into the picture, I was already feeling jealous of you. Angry, even. I hated how successful you were while I was stuck… nowhere. I hated how well you took care of me. It irked me every time you loved me without asking for anything in return.”
I frowned. “You were angry because I loved you?”
“Yes.” He said firmly. “Because I didn’t deserve it. I wanted you to hate me, to insult me, to call me poor and useless. It would’ve given me a reason to hate you back. But you never did that. You just loved me, and it made me hate myself.”
His words hit me like a wave, leaving me breathless. I struggled to process what he was saying. “That doesn’t make any sense.” I muttered.
“It didn’t make sense to me either.” He admitted. “Not until I lost you. Losing you was the only way I could see how much you were worth. And now, Mirabelle, I know exactly how valuable you are. You’re worth fighting for.”
I should have been disgusted. His confession was ridiculous, selfish, even manipulative. But for some reason, I found it sweet. My face grew warm, and before I could stop it, a blush crept across my cheeks.
Why am I blushing? I thought, frustrated. Why am I flustered? Why is my face red?
To hide my embarrassment, I picked up my fork and focused on eating. The breakfast was delicious, and the silence between us this time felt heavier, more intense. Ken didn’t say another word as I finished my plate, and when I finally looked up, he was already clearing the dishes.
“Let me do it.” I said quickly, standing up. “You cooked, so I should clean.”
He shook his head. “No way. Sit down. I’ve got it.”
“I’m not letting you do all the work.” I argued, grabbing the plates before he could stop me.
We went back and forth, bickering like old times, until Ken finally relented. “Fine.” He said with a dramatic sigh. “Besides, I only insisted in the first place because I didn’t want you breaking anything.”
I rolled my eyes and carried the plates to the sink. As I turned on the faucet and began washing, I felt a warmth behind me. Before I could react, Ken’s arms wrapped around my waist.
“Ken.” I said sharply, trying to twist out of his grasp. “What are you doing?” I asked.
“Just let me stay like this for a minute.” He murmured against my shoulder. His voice was low, almost pleading. “I miss you, Mirabelle.”
I hesitated, torn between pushing him away and letting him stay. Against my better judgment, I relented. “Fine. Just for a minute.”
His hold on me tightened, and I felt his breath against my neck. Then, to my surprise, he began placing soft kisses along my skin. A shiver ran through me, and though I wanted to shove him away, a part of me… liked it.