Married to Mr. Laurent
Chapter Twenty: Like a Wound That Chose to Heal
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The morning after felt different.
It wasn't just the way Kairo looked at him now—softer, unguarded—it was something in the walls of the house itself. The silence had lost its bite. The tension, though still there, no longer threatened to choke them.
Something had shifted.
But Elián was afraid to breathe it in too deeply.
Because peace, to him, always felt like the calm before a storm.
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The day began with a knock.
A firm, authoritative one that rang through the house like a warning bell.
Elián glanced at Kairo, who had frozen mid-pour over his coffee. The two exchanged a glance, something instinctual sparking in Kairo's eyes.
He stood.
"Stay here."
Elián watched him go, heart hammering. Something felt off.
The voice he heard next confirmed it.
"I have a right to see him. He's my son."
Elián's blood ran cold.
That voice.
No. It couldn't be—
He stood up sharply, the chair scraping behind him. He moved toward the hallway, drawn by the pull of old fear, old bruises that still lived under his skin like whispers.
And there he was.
His father.
Tall. Stern-faced. Wearing a cheap suit and the same sneer Elián remembered from too many nightmares. He looked like the ghost of a life Elián had buried long ago.
The man's eyes landed on him instantly.
"There you are."
Kairo was already in front of him, shielding Elián with a hand that gently, instinctively, went behind him. "You weren't invited," Kairo said coldly.
"I don't need an invitation. That's my blood standing behind you."
Elián found his voice, shaky but sharp. "What do you want?"
His father smiled. "You married rich. Smart boy. Figured I'd come see how you're doing. Maybe talk about what you owe me for raising you."
"I don't owe you anything."
"You owe me your life. That roof I put over your head? The food you ate? You think that was free?"
"I paid in bruises."
The man's face twisted.
Kairo stepped forward.
"One more word out of your mouth and I'll have security drag you out."
"You think I'm scared of you, Laurent? Your money doesn't scare me. You're just some suit. Some fake alpha hiding behind lawyers and—"
Kairo's fist connected before the man could finish.
One clean hit.
He crumpled to the ground.
Silence followed.
Elián stood frozen, staring at the scene, breathing hard. His heart was racing, his past clawing its way up his throat like bile.
But Kairo turned to him—not with anger, not with pride—but with worry.
"Are you okay?"
Elián didn't know what to say.
He looked down at the man groaning on the floor—his father, his abuser, his past—and then at Kairo.
Kairo, who didn't wait for permission to protect him.
Who didn't ask Elián to be strong.
Who was strong for him, just this once.
"I don't want him here," Elián whispered.
Kairo nodded. "He's gone."
---
The house felt heavier after that.
Like a door that had been locked for years had creaked open—and all the ghosts had spilled out.
Kairo sat on the couch, holding an ice pack to his knuckles. He hadn't said much since the man was removed.
Elián sat across from him, watching the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw still ticked.
"You didn't have to hit him," Elián said quietly.
Kairo looked at him. "Did it scare you?"
"No."
"Good."
They sat in silence again.
Then, Kairo asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"
Elián looked down at his hands.
"I used to sleep with my back to the wall. That way I'd see him coming. I memorized the creaks in the hallway floor. The nights he came home angry… those were the worst. It wasn't always fists. Sometimes it was words. Cold, sharp, and meant to slice."
Kairo's eyes burned.
Elián went on, "He told me once I was born wrong. That no man should love men. That I was weak. That I'd die alone."
"You won't," Kairo said instantly.
Elián looked at him. "What makes you so sure?"
"Because I'm not letting you."
The words settled like warmth in his chest. Like salve on old wounds.
Elián stood and crossed the room, sitting beside him. He gently took the ice pack from Kairo's hand and replaced it with his own.
Warm fingers threading together.
"I've never had anyone defend me like that before," he said.
"I didn't even think. I just… saw red."
"Thank you."
Kairo looked at him—truly looked—and whispered, "I should have done it sooner."
Elián leaned into him slightly, resting his head on Kairo's shoulder.
And for once, Kairo didn't freeze or flinch.
He let him.
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That night, they shared a bed again.
But it wasn't lust or obligation that drew them close. It was something quieter. Something more sacred.
Elián curled up beside him under the covers, head tucked beneath Kairo's chin, hands lightly gripping the edge of his shirt like an anchor.
"You know," Elián murmured, voice half-asleep, "this is what I imagined it would be like to be safe."
Kairo kissed the top of his head. "You are."
"And… loved?"
The pause was long.
But then, a breath. A confession.
"I'm getting there," Kairo said. "Faster than I thought possible."
Elián's eyes fluttered shut, and for the first time since this forced marriage began, he felt like maybe—just maybe—he had stopped surviving and started living.
Even if it hurt sometimes.
Even if it was still messy.
It was something real.
And he wasn't alone in it anymore.
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End of Chapter 20