Chapter 147: Chapter 147- hot cocoa
Lilian had no plans to open that door. Not after what happened in the rain. But the knocking just wouldn’t stop—over and over, a relentless drumming that crawled under her skin. She couldn’t focus on anything, not with that sound echoing through the apartment. Eventually, with a frustrated sigh, she went to open it.
The moment she cracked it open, Morrison was there, standing tall with a towel slung low around his waist and a steaming cup in his hands.
"I made this just now," he said, holding it out as though it could solve everything. "Hot cocoa. Drink it while it’s warm—it’ll keep the chill away, stop you from catching a cold."
Lilian’s gaze fell on the cup. It was made perfectly—sweetened with brown sugar, simmered to the right thickness, rich enough to comfort anyone else. But to her, it wasn’t touching. Not after he had dragged her into the rain and kissed her without asking, not after he’d forced her into a situation she didn’t want.
So, she didn’t even try to be polite.
"Thanks," she said coolly, "but I don’t like it."
She moved to close the door, planning to fetch her own cold medicine, but his arm shot out, blocking her way. His brows drew together, his voice firm.
"Like it or not, you’re drinking it. If you really get sick, it’ll be worse."
Lilian’s lips curved in a bitter sneer. "Oh, so now you care? Then tell me, Morrison—why did you pull me out there in the rain, huh? Why did you have to kiss me like that? Force me like that?"
"This is your idea of love?"
"Loving someone means forcing your way into her home? Forcing her to accept you?"
Her words were sharp, each one striking like a lash. Morrison’s face twisted, a bitter, self-mocking smile replacing the usual arrogance. His dark, fathomless eyes stayed fixed on her.
"Then tell me," he murmured, his voice low and rough, "what should I do?"
"What should I do, Lilian, to make you come back to me?"
"If I didn’t chase you like this—if I didn’t throw my pride away—would you even look at me?"
Lilian froze, his words catching her off guard. For a heartbeat, she faltered. Then she spoke, steady and cold.
"I’m sorry, Morrison. I’m not coming back to you. So stop forcing it."
"Because the kind of love I want... you can’t give me."
Her words landed with a clean cut. And in that moment, she saw it—clear as day—the pain that flashed across his eyes.
She turned, meaning to leave, but he caught her wrist, his voice rough with regret.
"I was a fool back then. I was reckless. Give me one more chance, Lilian, and I swear I won’t let you down again."
Lilian gave a soft, humorless laugh.
"You said you’d marry me, remember? You said you loved me. But what did I get in the end?"
Morrison’s chest tightened, guilt flooding every corner of his being. Regret weighed heavy in his eyes, but he didn’t argue, didn’t defend himself. He only let out a low sigh after her words faded into the air.
"Lilian," he said quietly, "even the worst mistakes can be mended. Don’t throw me into the abyss with one sentence."
His voice was rough, heavy with remorse. His gaze wavered between pleading and despair.
Lilian turned her eyes away, her tone flat.
"I don’t want to dig up the past."
Empty promises, sweet words—they all sounded the same when the damage was already done. And here he was, standing half-naked in nothing but a towel, tossing those same words at her again.
Morrison noticed her resistance and let the subject drop. Instead, his lips curled slightly as he shifted the focus.
"Fine. Let’s not talk about the past." His voice softened. "Let’s talk about now."
He held the hot cocoa out to her once more.
"Now’s not the time to sulk. Drink this before you really get sick."
Lilian frowned, still unwilling. Morrison tilted the cup toward his own lips in mock threat.
"What then? Should I drink it first and feed it to you, mouth to mouth?"
"You—!"
Lilian’s anger flared. She glared at him for a long moment, her cheeks burning in both fury and embarrassment. Finally, with an exasperated huff, she snatched the cup from his hands and downed it in one go.
After draining the cup, Lilian handed it back to him, turned on her heel, and retreated into her room. The soft click of the lock sliding into place followed a moment later.
Morrison stood there in the hallway, staring at the closed door for a long while. A faint, self-mocking smile tugged at his lips as he shook his head, then carried the empty cup downstairs.
He made himself a cup of hot cocoa as well, letting the warmth chase away the chill that still lingered on his skin. Afterward, he gathered his scattered clothes, changed into something dry, and headed back to the kitchen. His stomach was beginning to growl, and the rain outside showed no signs of letting up. He decided to cook.
Since their schedules had been identical ever since they left Burg Eltz, he knew one thing for certain: if he was hungry, she probably was too. He remembered how little she’d eaten on the plane earlier.
Morrison opened the fridge, pulled out a few simple ingredients, and began to cook. In between stirring and chopping, he checked the weather forecast on his phone. A selfish wish slipped through his mind: Let it rain just a little longer.
If the rain kept falling, she wouldn’t drive him out—not tonight, at least. Deep down, she still had some trace of feeling for him, no matter how cold she acted. As long as the rain stayed, he would have more time—more chances to make her stay.
But the forecast said the rain would last only until dawn.
He frowned slightly as he plated the food, already thinking of ways to extend his stay beyond tomorrow morning.
When the dishes were finally ready, Morrison wiped his hands, went upstairs, and knocked gently on her door.
"I made something to eat," he said. "Come have some."
Her voice came through the door, distant and cold.
"No need. I’ll order takeout."
Morrison smirked faintly, seizing on her nature.
"It’s pouring out there. Would you really make some poor delivery guy ride through that storm just for you?"
It was a deliberate line, aimed straight at her soft heart.
And it worked. Lilian was, in fact, starving—phone in hand, she had been about to order food when guilt pricked at her. The rain was heavy, and the thought of some stranger soaked to the bone for her dinner made her hesitate.
Now, with his words nudging her, she sighed. Her stomach growled again. Fine, she told herself, why make my own body suffer? It wasn’t like she was eating his food for free. She was giving him a roof over his head in this storm. The least he could do was feed her.
So, with her head held high, she opened the door and walked out.
This meal, she thought as she descended the stairs, will count as his way of saying thank you.