Too Late to Wanted Me Back

“Hm, why do you suddenly ask about that?” Tobias looked confused by my abrupt question.

I hesitated, realizing how strange it was to ask. Instead of explaining, I brushed it off. “Never mind,” I said quickly before retreating to my bedroom and locking the door.

As the morning came, I ignored Tobias’ persistent knocks, cocooned under a blanket that was still damp from the tears I had cried all night.

The remnants of my breakdown surrounded me. Photos and mementos of Lewis and me lay torn and scattered across the floor.

Not long after, I heard Tobias speaking to someone.

“I’m going to work now. She hasn’t eaten since last night, so cook something delicious,” he instructed, his voice fading as the front door clicked shut.

I assumed it was the chef Tobias occasionally hired to cook at the penthouse, so I paid no attention.

Moments later, the sounds of chopping and sizzling drifted from the kitchen. My stomach growled despite my misery, the scent of food wafting faintly through the walls.

“Ugh, never mind. Being hungry won’t take away my heartache,” I muttered bitterly.

Reluctantly, I left my room, drawn by hunger. But when I stepped into the kitchen, I froze.

It was not the chef standing at the stove. It was Lewis.

He turned to me with a cheerful expression, holding a ladle in one hand. “Oh, Grace, you’re finally out. Come eat! I cooked a lot for you. There’s even your favorite meatball soup.”

He acted as if nothing had happened.

Tears welled in my eyes again, pouring freely as the memories of the previous night flooded back.

I stood there, rooted near the kitchen doorway, neither approaching him nor retreating.

Lewis quickly noticed and hurried over, wiping my tears with his hand. “Look at you, such a big girl, but still always crying. What would you do without me?”

His words cut deeper than he could have known. For seven years, I had been spoiled by him, clinging to the belief that he would eventually love me as much as I loved him.

The first time I saw Lewis, I was 13. He was already an 18-year-old college student and my brother’s best friend.

I did not remember much about his earlier visits to our house when Tobias and he were in elementary school, but I knew he was the older boy who used to play with me.

When we reconnected during my teenage years, everything changed.

Lewis became a constant presence, bringing me small gifts, driving me to school, and occasionally inviting me to hang out.

My childhood admiration grew into a full-blown crush.

So, when my parents introduced the idea of an arranged marriage during my college years, I immediately rejected it.

I moved into a studio apartment near campus to escape their pressure, though Tobias eventually convinced me to live with him at his penthouse, promising not to bring up the matchmaking again.

Still, my parents persisted.

Desperate, I turned to Lewis and asked him directly if he would marry me.

“Maybe we can get engaged first,” he said.

His words made my heart soar. I thought my love for him was not one-sided after all.

From that day, we officially began dating and started preparing for our engagement.

Even Tobias, who clearly did not approve of the relationship, chose not to interfere. Everything seemed perfect.

Until last night, when it all came crashing down.

Lewis gently stroked my hair as I cried, his touch once a source of comfort but now unbearable. “Stop crying and eat, okay?” he coaxed.

The intimacy I had long cherished only made me feel repelled.

“But, Lewis, I am crying because of you, because of your fake love. It really made don’t want you anymore,” I thought, though I lacked the courage to say it aloud.

Lewis noticed my silence. “Are you still upset about last night?”

The mention of it ignited the anger I had tried to suppress. “How could I not be angry when I saw my boyfriend kissing another girl?”

“Right, right, you have every right to be angry,” he admitted, raising his hands defensively. “But it was just a game, Grace.”

“Truth or dare is a game that should be banned at gatherings!” I shouted, my voice trembling with rage.

Lewis immediately pulled me into a hug, stroking my hair again. “I see how disappointed you are, and I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. Forgive me, okay? You know I love you.”

He grinned, teasing me. “You can even kiss me to get rid of the kiss marks on my lips.”

I pushed him away, my voice sharp. “No need. I’m hungry.”

I walked to the dining table, grabbed a glass of water, and sipped it while still sobbing. Lewis followed me, sitting close and flashing his usual charming smile.

“Should I feed you? What do you want to eat first?” he offered.

I glared at him. Even when I noticed the bite marks on Lewis’ lips, my anger flared hotter.

"I can eat by myself. I'm 20 years old," I snapped.

Lewis smirked, barely holding back a chuckle. "Right, right, you're an adult."

He had always seen me as the 13-year-old kid who used to trail after him everywhere.

His constant spoiling of me, while occasionally annoying, was something I had come to accept as his way of showing affection.

I slammed my glass down and grabbed the spoon to dig into the meatball soup. My frustration fueled my movements, and in my haste, I choked.

Lewis leaned in, dabbing my mouth with a tissue. "Slow down. Don’t eat while sulking like that."

"I said I can do it myself!" I snatched the tissue from his hand, glaring at him.

Lewis smiled, undeterred. "Fine, fine. I’ll leave you to it. I’m heading to the toilet for a minute."

He grabbed his phone but left his wallet on the table. So, the sight of his wallet tempted me.

Curiosity gnawed at me. Maybe there was a photo of me tucked inside. A small token of our relationship, proof that I mattered to him.

As I opened the wallet, my pulse quickened. But what I found was not what I had hoped for.

Inside was a photo of young Katrina and young Lewis, smiling together as if they had shared their entire lives.

Anger surged through me, and before I could think, I tore the photo in anger.

My hands trembled with fury, and I did not even notice when they brushed against the hot soup, spilling it onto my arm.

Lewis returned just in time to see the mess.

His face turned to panic as he rushed to clean up the spilled soup and check my hand. "Oh my God, look what happens if I leave you for a second. We’re going to the hospital."

"It’s just a minor burn," I protested, trying to downplay the situation.

Lewis ignored me completely. Before I knew it, he had scooped me up and carried me to the car.

As if fate were mocking me, we ran into Katrina in the hospital corridor. She was hopping down the hall on one foot, clearly struggling with a sprained ankle.

Lewis, who had been so attentive moments ago, immediately shifted his focus to her. He frowned, his worry etched into every line of his face.

“What happened?” he asked, rushing over to support her.

Katrina smiled sweetly, her gaze only focusing on Lewis. "It’s just a sprain. And you?"

My hands curled into fists since she acted as if Lewis was alone there. So, I said mockingly, “We’re here to visit the obstetrician.”

The change in Katrina’s face was instantaneous, but Lewis stiffened, his expression freezing. He turned to me with wide eyes, clearly caught off guard.

“No, no,” he stammered, addressing Katrina. “As I said to you last night, she’s my reckless little sister. Her hand got burned because she was careless with hot soup.”

Little sister?

My breath hitched. Last night, after they kissed, Lewis did not just betray me, but he even introduced me as his little sister to Katrina.

Katrina’s gaze flicked between us, a slow smirk playing on her lips.

“If your hand is injured, you shouldn’t be at a gynecologist but at a general clinic, little sister,” she said, emphasizing the words with relish.

Then, she turned to Lewis, her voice dripping with faux concern, “Lewis, you must be overwhelmed taking care of her, right? So, hurry and take her before it gets worse. I’ll excuse myself then.”

As she started to hop away, Lewis did not even hesitate, he lifted her effortlessly into his arms. "Let me take you over first, Kate. Grace, wait here for me."

Kate.

The nickname struck me like a blow to the chest. He did not just give me a special nickname; he had one for her too.

The energy drained from my body, leaving me weak and lightheaded.

What was more, Lewis did not ask for my permission, he simply walked away, carrying her toward the other clinic as if I did not exist.

No matter how well he acted toward me, his true feelings always slipped through when Katrina was around.

And the worst part? He didn’t even realize it.

The bitterness boiled over, but I held it in, swallowing the lump in my throat.

Turning away, I walked to the clinic alone.