When His Love Changed,He Finally Regretted It

She didn’t respond, just listened in silence as his voice, laced with urgency, echoed through the door. Without a word, she calmly slid the wedding invitation back into the drawer.

"Ash, how’s your foot?"

Her foot?

She glanced down at the bandage wrapped around her wound. What did it matter? Compared to the ache twisting in her chest, this was nothing. Barely a scratch.

Leaning against the wall, she carefully made her way to the door on one leg. The knocking had stopped. Silence stretched on, as if he had finally given up and left.

Pressing her ear against the doorframe, she listened, waiting. When it seemed like he was truly gone, she slowly turned the handle—

Only for a tall figure to push through the moment the door cracked open, trapping her in his arms.

"You didn’t leave!"

She tried to break free, but before she could, he swept her up without effort and carried her straight to the bed, setting her down firmly.

Max didn’t say a word—just knelt before her, silently and carefully unwrapping the bandage around her foot.

"Tss…"

A sharp sting shot through her as he peeled the dressing away. She flinched, instinctively jerking her leg back—And ended up kicking him square in the shoulder.

Caught off guard, Maz let out a low grunt of pain. But he didn’t let go. His grip on her leg remained firm.

Ashley’s heart trembled. "Knocking on my door in the middle of the night, barging in without a word and now holding onto my foot like this—do you really think that’s okay?"

"Max."

His hands stilled. His jaw tightened, his expression dark and unreadable. He didn’t say a word, but the tension in the air was palpable.

Under the dim glow of the night lamp, she could sense his simmering anger, though she had no idea what had set him off.

What did he have to be angry about?

Ashley was the one who had been abandoned. She was the one who had been hurt. And now, she was the one being cornered in the middle of the night.

If anyone had the right to be mad, it was her. Yet, somehow, he was the one acting like the victim?

Ashley’s chest rose and fell sharply, frustration bubbling beneath her skin. The man in front of her was utterly unreasonable.

"Why is the wound this deep?" Max’s voice came out rough, tinged with something that almost sounded like regret. For a fleeting moment, she wondered—did he actually care? "Just stay home and rest, alright?"

She nearly laughed. What else was she supposed to do? Ran off to work with injured foot?

Instead of saying her thoughts out loud, she forced a small, detached smile and gave a quiet nod.

Seeing her unwillingness to speak, Max assumed she was still angry about what had happened earlier.

"Apologize to Lili when you get a chance. She’s just a young girl—you really scared her."

Ashley’s lashes trembled. In that moment, everything clicked.

Max hadn’t come to check on her injury. He didn’t care how bad it was. He was here to make sure she apologized to Liliana. That’s how much she meant to him now.

A dull, suffocating pain crept through her, wrapping around her like a vice. Tears slipped down her cheeks, silent and unnoticed as they landed on her knees.

Max had been angry before, but the moment he saw her cry, his frustration faded.

And in its place, an unfamiliar panic took root. A gut-deep unease, like something was slipping beyond his control.

"Ash, I promise… I’ll never let you get hurt again."

A bitter laugh nearly escaped her lips. A promise?

Seventeen-year-old Ashley would’ve clung to those words. Would’ve trusted him with her whole heart.

But she was twenty-seven now. And she knew better.

This was classic Max—hitting her with the stick, then offering a sweet lie to smooth it over. He had mastered the art of breaking her down and dressing the wound all in one breath.

Too bad for him. Her heart had already died.

His promises? They meant nothing now.