A SECOND CHANCE AT FOREVER Chapter 78: CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

ASHLEY

"What the actual fuck? Why did the FL have to die?"

I stared at the book in my hands, my mouth slightly open in utter betrayal. My brain was still trying to process what I had just read. The main character—the badass, powerful, the chosen one—was dead. Not in a fake-out death way. Not in a sacrificed but miraculously revived way. No. She was dead dead. Gone. Forever. The end.

I flipped the page, hoping—praying—for some kind of miracle twist, but all I got was the stupid epilogue with her best friend naming their firstborn after her.

I groaned dramatically, flopping backward against the couch. “I did not sign up for this emotional trauma.”

I had picked up this book for an escape. Something magical, distracting—something that wouldn’t remind me of real-life pain. And what did I get? A heartbreak I didn’t ask for.

With a frustrated sigh, I sat up and tossed the book onto the coffee table. It landed with a dull thud, right beside my half-drunk cup of iced coffee.

"Ugh”  I muttered, rubbing my temples. "Why do authors enjoy making people suffer?"

A tiny mrow came from the kitchen.

I turned my head, spotting Mochii sitting by her food bowl, staring at me like I had personally offended her by existing.

I raised a brow. "What? You judging me right now?"

Mochii flicked her tail and let out another unimpressed mrow.

I sighed, pushing myself off the couch and heading toward her. She was crouched over her bowl, nibbling delicately on her food like some dainty little queen.

I crouched beside her, resting my chin on my palm. “You know, you’re kind of an asshole.”

Mochii didn’t even blink, continuing to eat with the grace of a royal banquet guest.

I poked her fluffy side. “You sit here, being pampered and adored, while I’m out here getting emotionally wrecked by fictional characters. You have zero responsibilities. No heartbreak. No betrayals. No unexpected emotional gut punches. Just food, naps, and occasional chaos.”

Mochii paused, gave me a slow blink—like she was processing my words—then promptly turned back to her food, completely ignoring me.

I scoffed. “Wow. Heartless.”

She kept chewing.

“I bet if I died in a tragic, soul-crushing way, you’d just sit on my body until someone came to feed you.”

Mochii let out a soft chirp—almost like she was agreeing with me.

I gasped dramatically. “Oh my God, you would, wouldn’t you?”

She flicked her tail again, the feline equivalent of a yeah, probably.

I dragged a hand down my face. “I take back every time I called you cute.”

No response. Not even a guilty glance. Just the sound of crunching.

I shook my head, pushing myself up. “Unbelievable. Betrayed by both fiction and my own cat.”

Mochii didn’t care. She finished her food and strutted off like the spoiled little princess she was.

I sighed, stretching as I moved back toward the living room.

Today was supposed to be a break. After two full days of non-stop work at the store, I had promised myself I wouldn’t think about anything stressful. No work, no drama, no unnecessary emotional damage.

Yesterday had been spent in the scent lab, working on new fragrances. It had helped—keeping my hands busy, my mind occupied. The new scents had already been sent over to Haven Boutique for production, so that part of my life was moving forward.

But now? Now I had nothing to keep me distracted.

And that was dangerous.

Because the second my mind had room to breathe, it immediately started dragging me back to things I didn’t want to think about.

The video.

Kyle.

The truth I had no idea how to process.

I sat back down on the couch, staring at my abandoned book. Maybe I should pick it back up, finish it, force myself to move on. Or maybe I should start another one—something light, something that wouldn’t ruin my mood.

Or maybe I could just put on a movie, drown out my thoughts with mindless entertainment.

I grabbed the remote, flipping through channels in search of something—anything—that would help distract me. Something mindless, maybe an over-the-top romance or a ridiculous fantasy with a broody, overpowered main lead.

But the moment I landed on a news channel, bold headlines slapped across the screen, stopping me cold.

ROBIN ENTERPRISES IN CRISIS—CEO ATLAS ROBIN UNDER FIRE

My grip on the remote tightened.

And then I saw her.

Atlas.

Her face filled the screen, framed by the swarm of reporters crowding her as she exited what looked like some high-rise office building. But something was different.

No smirk. No arrogance.

Nothing like the woman who had sent me that video, who had torn my world apart with a single message.

For the first time, Atlas Robin looked… defeated.

I leaned forward, my heart pounding—not in panic, not in anger, but in pure, unfiltered satisfaction.

Yes.

Finally.

She deserved this.

I didn’t even know what was happening yet, didn’t care about the specifics, but seeing her like this? Seeing her without that smug, holier-than-thou expression? It was beautiful.

The news anchor’s voice cut through my thoughts.

“...sources confirm that Robin Enterprises is facing a severe financial and reputational crisis following an anonymous leak of confidential documents earlier this morning. The leaked files, which have now gone viral, expose a series of fraudulent business dealings and financial manipulations dating back several years. While Robin Enterprises has yet to release an official statement, reports suggest that stocks have already taken a massive hit. Several key investors have begun pulling their shares, and legal experts speculate that this could result in criminal charges should the allegations prove true.”

Fraud?

I blinked, stunned.

This wasn’t just bad press—this was disaster-level bad.

Atlas pushed past the reporters in the footage, her lips pressed into a thin line, her usual sharp glare dulled by frustration. She said nothing, ignoring the barrage of questions thrown at her.

I smirked, leaning back against the couch.

“Oh, how the mighty fall.”

Mochii let out a little chirp from her spot on the windowsill, flicking her tail as if she, too, approved of this karmic justice.

“Exactly, Mochii,” I muttered, crossing my arms. “Karma is a bitch. And so is she.”

I didn’t know who had triggered this downfall. Didn’t need to know.

All I knew was that Atlas was finally getting what she deserved.

I smirked one last time at Atlas’s miserable face before grabbing the remote and switching the channel. I’d had my fill of poetic justice for the day.

Comedy. That’s what I needed. Something ridiculous. Something so outrageously funny that it would scrub every last trace of Kyle and that video from my mind.

I flipped through a few options before settling on an over-the-top sitcom, the kind where the laugh track played every three seconds and the characters made the worst possible decisions at all times.

Perfect.

Within minutes, I was snorting. Then laughing. Then clutching my stomach as a dramatic slapstick scene unfolded, tears threatening to spill from how stupidly hilarious it was.

Mochii, unimpressed, twitched her ears from her spot by the window and shot me a judgmental stare.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” I gasped between giggles. “I deserve this. I deserve a break from all the—”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

I froze.

The sound jolted me out of my laughter, yanking me back to reality like a slap to the face.

Fuckkk.

I stared at the door, my heart stuttering in my chest.

It was daytime. Broad daylight. People knocked during the day. It could be anyone—delivery, neighbor, some random package I forgot I ordered.

And yet.

Something in my gut twisted.

Because deep down, I knew.

This wasn’t just anyone.

I swallowed hard, forcing my feet to move. It was fine. Nothing to panic about. Just open the door, see who it is, and go back to laughing at mindless comedy.

With each step, my heartbeat pounded louder, an uneven rhythm that had nothing to do with the short walk to the door. I wiped my hands on my pajama shorts, ignoring the ridiculous prickle of unease crawling up my spine.

One deep breath. Then another.

I unlocked the door and pulled it open.

And there he was.

Kyle.

Standing on my doorstep.