A second chance ?

Logan -

I slammed Isabelle's diary shut with a soft thud. My fingers rested on it for a moment, as if closing it would somehow shut out the memories too. But no, the memories were still there, swirling in my mind, sharp and jagged. I rubbed my forehead, trying to push back the headache that was starting to build.

Why did I do that? Why was I such a jerk?

The question felt like a punch to the gut every time I asked it, and I’d been asking it a lot lately. More than I wanted to admit.

I tossed the diary back onto the shelf. Every time I thought I had finally moved past that part of my life, something would pull me back. And now, seeing Isabelle again, it felt like the universe was rubbing my nose in the mistakes I’d made.

I hadn’t expected her to be my new stepsister. When my dad said he was remarrying, I figured it would just be another awkward family dinner, some uncomfortable, forced small talk with my father’s latest interest, and then back to my life. I never thought she’d walk through the door.

The look on her face when she saw me, the flash of recognition mixed with that same hurt and anger—I hadn’t seen it in years, but I knew it well. It was the same expression she had the last time we spoke in high school, the day I finally crossed a line that I couldn’t uncross.

I’d always told myself I was just a dumb kid back then. That it was just the way high school was. I had to maintain a certain image. Popular. Untouchable. But it was bullshit. All of it.

I remembered the way she looked at me, her green eyes wide and glassy, her lips trembling as she tried to hold back the tears. And me? I just stood there, laughing with my friends, enjoying the power I held over her for no reason other than the fact that I could. That I was bored. That making someone else feel small somehow made me feel bigger.

What the hell was wrong with me?

I groaned, running my hands through my hair, my fingers tugging at the roots in frustration. It was like I’d been possessed by someone else back then. And for what? A couple of cheap laughs? To impress a few people I didn’t even care about anymore?

I hated myself for it. Every single part of it. And now, seeing her again, that hatred was clawing its way back up my throat.

Isabelle had every right to hate me. Hell, if I were in her shoes, I would hate me too. She’d been minding her own business, trying to get through high school like everyone else, and I made it my mission to make her life miserable. I didn’t even remember how it started. One comment here, a joke there, and before I knew it, it had spiralled into something bigger, something uglier. Something I couldn’t take back.

I wasn’t that guy anymore. I had changed. Or at least, I was trying to. But how do you prove that to someone whose life you turned into a nightmare? How do you ask for forgiveness when you don’t even know if you deserve it?

I stood up, pacing my room, trying to shake off the feeling of guilt that clung to me like a second skin. It didn’t matter how much time had passed or how much I had changed. The fact remained that I had hurt her deeply, and there was no going back from that.

But I wanted to go back. God, if I could just talk to her and explain myself, maybe she’d understand. Maybe she’d see that I wasn’t the same guy who’d knocked her tray out of her hands or made snide comments about her clothes, her hair, her everything.

But would she even listen?

I knew the answer. I’d seen it in her eyes when she looked at me during the party. The way she stiffened when I was near. The way she brushed me off like I was nothing. I couldn’t blame her for that. Not after everything I’d done.

I let out a long breath and leant against the wall, staring at the ceiling like it held some sort of answer. Maybe it was too late. Maybe there was no fixing this.

But I had to try.

I wasn’t that guy anymore, and if she was going to hate me, I wanted her to hate me—the man I am now, not the stupid, selfish kid I used to be. I owed her that much, at least.

But how do you ask someone to see you differently when all they remember is the worst version of you?

With a sigh, I pushed myself off the wall and headed back to bed. Sleep was still far away, but at least I could try. Tomorrow was going to be hard enough as it was, with Isabelle working in the same office. As my secretary.

The irony wasn’t lost on me. The girl I had once treated like nothing was now going to be the one person I’d rely on every day.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the universe’s way of giving me a second chance.

If I didn’t screw it up.