Sorry, But I Really Love You.

: Bruises and Memories

The morning light cut through gauzy curtains, painting pale stripes across Ella’s skin.

She sat at the vanity, fingertips grazing the faint bruises blooming beneath her collarbone. The silk robe Lucas provided did nothing to hide them from the mirror. Her reflection looked foreign—tired eyes, hollow cheeks, and lips pressed so tightly they’d lost all color.

The door creaked open.

Brandon’s voice came from behind. “He left early. Meetings downtown.”

Ella didn’t turn. “Did he say anything?”

“Only that the quarterly reports better be complete.”

She laughed once, quietly. “Always so generous.”

Brandon stepped into the room, placing a sealed envelope on the table beside her. “He told me to give you this.”

Ella opened it slowly.

Inside was a bank receipt. Paid in full: Mercy General Hospital, Oncology Division. Maria Mendoza. Chemotherapy schedule confirmed.

Her hands trembled.

Brandon cleared his throat. “It’s real. The payments are weekly, automatic. She starts treatment today.”

Ella blinked fast. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t do it,” he said. “He did.”

“I know.”

Her voice was hoarse, gratitude curdled by the price.

Brandon hesitated. “I’ll have someone bring breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry.”

He nodded once and left, the door closing softly behind him.

Ella stood, crossed to the oversized closet, and pulled on a modest blouse and trousers. No heels today. Her feet still ached from last night.

The corridor outside her room was empty. She wandered until she found the study—unused, dusted but unloved. Books lined the walls, mostly untouched. She chose a rag and began wiping the shelves.

Halfway through the second shelf, her eyes caught a glint of gold wedged between two books. She pulled it out.

A fountain pen.

She turned it slowly in her hand, the initials **L.H.** engraved at the base. Sharp, elegant. Like its owner.

She set it on the desk, and suddenly—memory surged.

**Two months earlier.**

The bursar’s office had smelled like copy toner and panic. Ella clutched the rejection letter, knuckles white.

“I had full funding—” she said, voice cracking.

The dean gave her a tight-lipped smile. “Budget reallocations. There’s nothing I can do.”

Outside, rain spattered the pavement. Nathan paced near the steps, phone pressed to his ear.

Ella exited slowly.

Nathan caught sight of her. “Well?”

She shook her head.

His face darkened. “Ella, I told you—I’ll help.”

“No.” She forced a smile. “You’re saving for law school.”

“I don’t care. I’ll get a second job.”

“I won’t let you.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but stopped.

A sleek car pulled up to the curb. Black windows. Familiar.

The back door opened. Lucas Hayes stepped out, umbrella untouched.

Nathan stiffened. “That guy again?”

Ella froze.

Lucas approached. “Miss Mendoza.”

Nathan stepped between them. “She’s not interested.”

Lucas’s gaze barely flicked his way. “I’m not speaking to you.”

Ella said nothing.

Lucas held out a slim folder. “Review this. It’s a contract. One year. In exchange, your mother’s treatment and a generous living stipend.”

Nathan exploded. “What the hell kind of offer—”

“Ella,” Lucas cut in, “your scholarship is already revoked. I suggest you read the fine print.”

He stepped back into the car.

Ella stood motionless in the drizzle, contract in hand.

**Back in the present,**

Ella shredded junk mail at the desk, her hands automatic.

She whispered, “I should’ve walked away.”

But where would she have walked to?

Downstairs, the sound of someone—probably Jessica—barking instructions echoed faintly. Somewhere, a housekeeper laughed, quickly shushed.

Ella stood and wandered through the hall, fingers trailing the wall as if it might anchor her.

She passed a mirror and stopped.

She didn’t recognize herself.

Not because of the bruises.

Because of the look in her eyes.

Steel, beneath the hurt.

She turned away and headed back to the study.

The storm outside was gathering fast, clouds bruising the sky.

Ella glanced toward the windows and said aloud to no one, “You picked the wrong girl to cage, Lucas.”

She gathered the shredded paper, fed it into the bin, and opened a fresh page on the tablet.

If Lucas wanted quarterly reports, he’d get the cleanest, most airtight summaries this company had ever seen.

And when the time came to walk away, she would do it with her head high—and his secrets in her pocket.