Claimed by My Bully Alpha Chapter 288

Aurora’s P.O.V

I watched him carefully, studying every little movement, the way his fingers twitched slightly against the fabric of his jeans, the way his shoulders slumped as if carrying a weight that refused to lift. Shane wasn’t opposed to the idea—not at all—but everything was so new to him that he had withdrawn entirely. He had cut off contact with everyone, retreating into himself, pouring every ounce of his energy into therapy, trying to untangle the mess inside his head.

It was as if he believed that isolating himself was the only way to fix what was broken, the only way to make sense of his emotions without the noise of the outside world interfering. And now, as he stood before Mia, his expression open and vulnerable, I could see the rawness in his eyes. The sincerity. The regret. 

“I—” Shane exhaled shakily, running a hand through his already disheveled hair before locking eyes with Mia. “I know that I’ve hurt you. More than I can ever put into words. And I know that an apology doesn’t erase the pain I’ve caused.” His voice cracked slightly, but he pushed forward, his words laced with something heavy, something that felt almost like self-loathing.

“I was selfish. I only thought about myself, about my pain, and I didn’t stop to think about how it affected you. And for that, Mia… I will never be able to forgive myself.” He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as he forced himself to continue. “But I swear to you, I did care. I do care. You meant something to me—more than I ever knew how to express.” 

Mia sighed, her shoulders rising and falling as if she were trying to release some of the weight pressing down on her chest. She held his gaze for a moment before looking away, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. “Shane… I appreciate you saying that,” she admitted, her voice quieter now, softer, but not without its edge. “But words aren’t enough. Not right now.” She shook her head slightly, almost as if she were trying to clear her thoughts.

“You hurt me, Shane. And I don’t just mean in the way people hurt each other with careless mistakes. You broke something in me.” She let out a deep breath before continuing. “I’m trying to heal. I’m trying to put myself back together, and I need time. I need space.” 

Shane didn’t argue. He didn’t plead or try to convince her otherwise. Instead, he nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line as if he were trying to swallow down whatever pain was rising in his chest. “I understand,” he said simply.

“And I won’t push. I just…” He hesitated, as if carefully choosing his next words. “Whenever you’re ready, whenever you feel like you can talk to me again… I’ll be here.” His voice was steady, but I could hear the unspoken plea beneath it—the silent hope that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the end. 

Mia didn’t say anything at first. She just looked at him, her expression unreadable, before finally giving him a small, almost imperceptible nod. Mia didn’t say anything further, she just turned away from Shane, as if the conversation was over and there was nothing left to be said between them in that moment.

I could see it—the way his chest rose and fell in a slow, measured breath, the way his jaw tightened as he forced himself to accept her decision. He was trying to be strong, but I knew him well enough to see the struggle written all over his face. 

I wanted to say something—to reach out, to offer comfort—but I knew that this was something he had to sit with, something he had to process on his own. So instead, I stayed beside them both, silent but present, as he stared at Mia, as he let the moment settle deep into his bones. And then, he got up from the table and walked away.

I watch as Shane walks away, his figure disappearing into the distance, and the weight of his absence settles heavily around us. The warmth of Mia’s hand, which had been clutching mine so desperately just moments ago, begins to slip away. I barely have time to register the loss before she turns towards me, her eyes glossy with unshed tears, and then—without a word—she throws herself into my arms. The suddenness of the hug catches me off guard, but I don’t pull away. Instead, I wrap my arms tightly around her, holding her together while she breaks apart.

The first sob is quiet, muffled against my shoulder, but then the dam bursts, and she shakes in my embrace, her tears hot against my skin. I don’t say anything—I don’t need to. Words feel useless in a moment like this. What could I possibly say that would make any of this easier for her? That Shane will come back? That she won’t feel like this forever?

That the ache in her chest will eventually dull? I don’t know if any of that is true, and I refuse to offer her empty reassurances. So I just hold her, running my fingers through her hair, letting her cry, letting her pour out every bit of the hurt she’s been swallowing for far too long.

Her fingers clutch at the fabric of my shirt, as if letting go would mean losing something vital, and I don’t mind. I let her hold on as tightly as she needs. I can feel her heartbeat, erratic and frantic, a mirror of her emotions. I rest my chin on top of her head, whispering soft, meaningless comforts—just gentle shushing sounds, the kind you make when trying to soothe a child from a nightmare.

She gasps for breath between sobs, her voice breaking as she finally speaks. “I— I don’t— I don’t know how to—” She doesn’t finish. Maybe she doesn’t even know how to put the depth of her pain into words.

“You don’t have to say anything,” I murmur, my voice low, steady. “I’m right here.”

And I mean it. I’ll be here as long as she needs me to be.