Chapter 72: Knox's Last Apology

Knox sent me a message at 6:14 a.m.

Can we talk once? Last time. I promise.

I stared at it.

Rowan was asleep.

I didn't wake him.

Not because I wanted secrecy.

Because I already knew my answer.

Okay.

We met at Hollowcrest's lake after class.

Knox looked different.

Not physically.

He was still handsome.

Still polished.

Still unmistakably an Alpha heir.

But he no longer carried himself like every room had been built to admire him.

"Thanks."

"You said last time."

"It is."

He held an envelope.

I immediately frowned.

"If that's another letter—"

"It's not."

He handed it to me.

Inside was a donation receipt.

A large one.

To the Seraphina Center.

I looked up.

"I don't need this."

"I know."

"Then why show me?"

"Because I don't want it anonymous."

That confused me.

"Usually people say the opposite to sound noble."

"I don't want you thinking it's penance."

He sat on the bench.

"I donated because Stormridge used compatibility screening too. We're ending it."

I sat several feet away.

"Good."

"My father resisted."

"Not surprising."

"I won."

That surprised me.

Knox smiled slightly.

"First time I've seen you impressed in a while."

"Don't enjoy it."

"Too late."

He looked across the lake.

"I owe you an apology I never gave correctly."

"You've apologized."

"I apologized because I wanted forgiveness."

True.

"I apologized because I wanted you back."

Also true.

"I apologized because I hated being the villain in your story."

That one was new.

He looked at me.

"But none of those were actually about what I did to you."

I stayed quiet.

He continued.

"I took a relationship you believed was real and handed it to someone else without your knowledge."

His voice tightened.

"I let people mock you. I joined them. I reduced you to your weight before I'd even met you."

No excuses.

No mention of being young.

No mention of his friends.

"I was cruel."

The words sat between us.

"I'm sorry."

I believed him.

That didn't create love.

Didn't restore what we had.

Didn't erase anything.

But I believed him.

"Thank you."

His shoulders lowered.

"That's it?"

"What were you expecting?"

"I don't know."

"A hug?"

"No."

"Good."

He laughed.

Then became serious again.

"I don't want you back anymore."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Congratulations?"

"That sounded better in my head."

"Much."

"I mean—"

"I know."

He had finally separated regret from possession.

"I want you happy."

"I am."

"I know."

A small smile.

"That's why I can finally leave it alone."

We sat quietly.

Then I asked about Elodie.

His ears turned red.

Interesting.

"We're not together."

"Yet."

"She says I need to prove I can be alone without immediately attaching myself to whoever makes me feel wanted."

"Smart woman."

"She learned from you."

"Smarter woman."

He laughed.

"Maybe eventually."

"Maybe."

He stood.

"Goodbye, Nessa."

The word felt different this time.

Not dramatic.

Not tragic.

Just complete.

"Goodbye, Knox."

He walked away.

I remained by the lake for another minute.

Then called Rowan.

"Morning."

"You awake?"

"I am now."

"Sorry."

"Everything okay?"

"I met Knox."

Silence.

Then:

"Do I need the small lake or the large lake?"

I laughed.

"Neither."

I told him everything.

He listened.

When I finished, he said, "Good."

"That's it?"

"What do you need?"

There it was again.

That question.

Not what should I feel.

Not what response proves I love you.

What do you need?

"Coffee."

"Done."

"And breakfast."

"Done."

"And maybe you."

A pause.

"Maybe?"

"Don't become arrogant."

"Too late."

He met me twenty minutes later.

No interrogation.

No demand to read messages.

No anger that I had gone alone.

Trust.

I had once believed jealousy proved love.

Knox's possessiveness after seeing my thinner body had briefly made me feel powerful.

Now I understood the difference.

Being guarded like property wasn't the same as being cherished.

Rowan handed me coffee.

"How do you feel?"

"Light."

"Because Knox apologized?"

"Because I didn't need him to."

That was the truth.

His apology was meaningful.

But my healing had not been waiting for it.

I had already moved.

Already built.

Already loved.

Already become myself.

The apology simply arrived after the destination had changed.

And maybe that was the best place for it.

Weeks later, I realized I had not checked Knox's social pages once. That surprised me more than his apology. There had been a time when every new post from him could change my mood. Elodie. Parties. Training. Whoever stood beside him. Now his life could continue beyond my attention. Mine could continue beyond his. Detachment wasn't hatred. It was simply the end of needing information. I hoped he became better. I also no longer needed to watch the process. That boundary felt clean.

Later, I wrote the day's lesson in my private Alpha journal. I kept the uncertain parts instead of polishing them away. I wanted future me to remember that good decisions rarely arrived with perfect confidence, and that becoming stronger had never meant becoming incapable of fear. It meant learning what I would do while fear was present.