Apology Not Accepted

Chapter 3

  

  Lyra

  

  I stepped out of the shadows and into the glow of the streetlight and Anthony’s face lit up with relief. He looked like a man who had just spotted land after days lost at sea. His smile widened as he hurried toward me, bouquet and basket still in hand, his movements a mix of exhaustion and determination.

  

  “Miss Lyra!” he called out, his voice practically dripping with gratitude. “Thank goodness! I’ve been looking for you all day. Please, these are for you.” He extended the bouquet and the basket toward me like they were peace offerings, his tired eyes hopeful and sincere.

  

  I stared at him, then at the ridiculous gifts in his hands. Flowers that might’ve once been beautiful but now looked like an insult, a mockery. The basket was stuffed with expensive treats—chocolates, wine, maybe even something more indulgent—and the entire display made my stomach churn. What was this? An apology? A bribe? A sick joke?

  

  Anthony continued to ramble, his words barely registering as I stood frozen in place. My life had crumbled in less than twenty-four hours. I had been ready to take the next big step, to propose to Ethan, to finally move forward in the life I thought we were building together. And then I found him, the man I’d spent seven years loving, with someone else. Not just betraying me—but shattering every dream I’d tied to him.

  

  He mistook my silence for hesitation and quickly added, “I was instructed to deliver these personally. Please, just take them. It’s my job.”

  

  Without thinking, I snatched the bouquet and basket out of Anthony’s hands. His face brightened, and for a second, I thought he might actually say “thank you.” But before he could, I hurled the bouquet to the ground, watching as the delicate petals scattered across the pavement like confetti at a funeral. The basket followed, tumbling onto the street with a dull thud, its contents spilling out in a chaotic mess.

  

  Anthony froze, his mouth slightly open in shock, like he couldn’t believe what he’d just witnessed. To be honest, neither could I. But there was something oddly satisfying about it—the way the roses crumpled beneath my heel, the way the cellophane crinkled as I kicked the basket aside. It was petty and immature, but it was mine. My rage, my heartbreak, my mess to make.

  

  “Miss Lyra—” Anthony started, his voice laced with disbelief, but I didn’t let him finish.

  

  “Don’t,” I snapped, cutting him off. “Just don’t.” My voice cracked, and I hated how weak I sounded, but I couldn’t stop. “I didn’t ask for this. I don’t want this. Take it back to whoever sent it.”

  

  Without waiting for a response, I turned on my heel and started walking. My boots clicked against the pavement, each step feeling heavier than the last. I didn’t know where I was going anymore. My plan to confront Ethan had dissolved the moment I saw Anthony with those goddamn gifts. What was I even doing? What was I trying to prove? I felt like a pathetic joke, spiraling out of control and barely holding it together.

  

  The cold January air stung my cheeks, but it was a welcome distraction. Maybe sleep will help, I thought bitterly. Maybe I can crawl into bed and pretend none of this ever happened.

  

  I barely made it a block before I heard hurried footsteps behind me. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered under my breath, glancing back to see Anthony jogging to catch up. He looked annoyed now, his earlier politeness replaced with frustration.

  “Miss Lyra, wait!” he called out, his voice sharper than before.

  

  I spun around, my eyes blazing. “Don’t follow me,” I warned, my voice low and dangerous. “I’m not in the mood.”

  

  Anthony raised his hands defensively, but his expression didn’t soften. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but you can’t just walk away like that. I was given specific instructions—”

  

  “I don’t care about your instructions!” I yelled, my voice echoing down the empty street. “Go back to your boss and tell him I don’t want his damn flowers, or his candy, or whatever twisted idea he has about making this day any worse than it already is.”

  

  Anthony blinked, stunned by my outburst. “I’m just trying to do my job,” he said quietly, his tone almost apologetic.

  

  “And I’m trying to survive the worst day of my life,” I shot back. “So leave me alone. I swear, if you take another step, I’ll call the cops.”

  

  Anthony gave me this tight, frustrated smile, like he was trying to keep it together but was two seconds away from losing his mind. “Miss Winters,” he said, his voice unnaturally calm, “just take a deep breath, calm down, and—”

  

  “I am calm!” I shot back, my voice escalating to a pitch that was anything but calm. My outburst echoed into the quiet night, and Anthony froze, his lips twitching. Oh no. He wasn’t. He couldn’t be—was he laughing?

  

  Sure enough, Anthony pressed his lips together, trying and failing to suppress a laugh. Great. Just great. Now I was not only a mess but also a complete joke to this guy. My entire life was crumbling, and I had somehow turned into everyone’s favorite entertainment.

  “Why are you even here?” I demanded, my arms crossing over my chest defensively. “Shouldn’t you be doing... literally anything else with your time?”

  

  Anthony took a step closer, his expression shifting to something almost determined. “Because I have to be here. And I’ll keep coming. Tomorrow, the day after, and the day after that if I have to. Each time with a bigger bouquet, a more extravagant basket—whatever it takes—until you accept it.”

  

  I blinked at him, trying to process his words through the thick fog of alcohol and exhaustion. Was this guy for real? I motioned at him with my fingers, twirling them in a wide, exaggerated circle. “Are you... a maniac or something?”

  

  Anthony chuckled, his posture relaxing as if he’d been waiting for this moment. He leaned in closer, a little too close for comfort, and I instinctively stepped back, my eyes narrowing. “Look,” I said, holding a hand up like a shield, “you’re cute, okay? But I’m really not interested.”

  

  The effect was instant. Anthony recoiled like I’d slapped him, his face contorting into an expression of pure horror. “What? No! That’s not—oh my God, no.” He ran a hand through his hair, looking genuinely appalled. “You’ve got it all wrong. I’m not pursuing you. I’m just... doing my job.”

  

  “Your job?” I repeated, crossing my arms and narrowing my eyes.

  

  “Yes,” he said with a sheepish smile. “It’s about my boss. He’s, uh... very particular about these things.”

  

  And just like that, something clicked in my head. My mind flitted back to the earlier conversation I overheard with Ethan. The mysterious “boss” behind all of this. Then, like a lightning bolt, I remembered. Those pale, piercing blue eyes. I could barely recall his features, but the intensity of those eyes had stayed with me, haunting in their sharpness.

  

  Anthony hesitated, clearly unsure whether to continue. But when I just stared at him, he sighed and gave in. “After you smashed his... um... token of apology in the office, he personally ordered me to deliver something better. And he’ll keep doing that until you accept it.”

  

  I blinked, stunned into silence. Was this real life? Was I living in some kind of twisted rom-com?

  

  And then, out of nowhere, laughter bubbled up inside me. First, it was just a chuckle, but before I knew it, I was laughing so hard that my stomach hurt. I bent over, clutching my sides, as tears formed at the corners of my eyes. Anthony looked at me like I’d lost my mind, but then, to my surprise, he joined in.

  

  The two of us ended up sitting on the sidewalk, laughing like lunatics in the dead of night. I couldn’t remember the last time I laughed like this—probably back when my life made sense.

  

  When Anthony finally caught his breath, he shook his head. “Don’t get me wrong. My boss is great. But this part of him? The obsessive, ‘everything must be perfect’ side? It’s a real pain in the ass sometimes.”

  

  “Is he one of those perfectionist types?” I asked, wiping my tears away.

  

  Anthony snorted. “Perfectionist is putting it lightly. He needs everything exactly right. Like, one time, he delayed a million-dollar deal for three hours because the font on the presentation slides wasn’t aligned properly. And don’t even get me started on his office—it’s like a museum in there. If a pen is even slightly out of place, he notices.”

  

  I stared at him, my laughter fading as reality set back in. This wasn’t just about me. This was about him. His need for control. His need for... redemption? “So... because of his weird perfectionist tendencies, I’m going to keep getting flowers and baskets until I say, ‘Sure, thanks, apology accepted?’”

  

  “Exactly,” Anthony said, still grinning. “And trust me, it’s better to just go with it. Otherwise, the cycle will never end.”

  

  I wasn’t laughing anymore. Anthony might have been joking, but the seriousness in his tone wasn’t lost on me. I wasn’t about to let some mysterious boss dictate my life through sheer persistence.

  

  I stood up, brushing imaginary dust off my dress. Anthony followed suit, looking slightly confused but still smiling. “Lovely chat,” I said, patting his shoulder like we were old friends. “See you tomorrow.”

  

  His smile widened, but it froze when I added, “Oh, and tell your boss that if he really wants me to accept his apology, he should deliver it himself. Pleasantries and all. That’s my condition.”

  

  Anthony’s smile died completely, his complexion paling. “You... want him to—?”

  

  “Yes,” I said, my tone firm. “If he’s serious, he can show up himself. Otherwise, I’m not interested.”