The house was quiet again, too quiet. After everything, the silence felt like a wound that refused to close.
My father spent the next few days trying to patch things up, hovering around me like a man afraid of ghosts.
My mother barely spoke to Lusi or my brother; she couldn't even look them in the eye.
When they were finally discharged from the hospital, they came home different, pale, restless, whispering to themselves. The drugs were out of their system, but paranoia still clung to them like smoke.
I avoided them. I didn't need revenge anymore, I'd already seen what guilt and fear could do to a person.
Instead, I focused on my daughter.
We took long walks in the garden every morning. She'd talk about school, about her dolls, about how she wanted pancakes every day. And I'd listen, smiling like everything was normal.
But every night, after she slept, I'd stand by her door and wonder what kind of world they brought her into, one filled with betrayal, blood, and lies.
Zhan called once. He didn't say much, just, "Are you okay?" And that was enough.
The next morning, I packed a small bag. I didn't tell anyone where I was going. I just left a note on the kitchen counter:
Taking some time to breathe. Don't look for me. Then I walked out of that house, the lies, the noise, the ghosts, and drove into the sunrise.
When I got to St. Tropez, Dre and Ezra seemed... lighter. Different. They laughed a little more, drank a little less, and for the first time in a long while, I saw peace in their eyes.
Zhan was on the balcony, the sea wind brushing his hair, a glass in his hand, his face calm but unreadable. I stood there for a while, unsure how to begin.
"Zhan," I finally said.
He didn't turn immediately. "You're back," he murmured, his tone flat, neutral, but it carried weight.
I took a deep breath and walked closer. "I owe you an apology," I said quietly. "For everything. For what I did. For what my family did. For what I allowed to happen."
He set the glass down, still not looking at me.
"I thought revenge would fix things," I continued, my voice cracking. "But it didn't. It just broke me more. My brother... he's not the man I thought he was. I paused, forcing the words through the tightness in my throat, "You were the one person I shouldn't have hurt."
Zhan turned then. His eyes were tired, but there was no anger left in them, just a quiet kind of pain.
"You didn't just hurt me, Wang," he said softly. "You hurt yourself too."
"I know," I whispered. "And I'm sorry. For every bruise. Every scar. Every silence."
For a long time, we stood there, the sound of the waves filling the space between us. Then Zhan sighed, rubbing his temples.
"Maybe one day," he said, "we'll both find a way to breathe again, without ghosts."
"I hope so," I replied. "Because for the first time in years, I just want peace. No more pain. No more running."
Zhan nodded, his expression softening. "Then start by forgiving yourself, Wang. The rest will follow."
And for the first time in a long time, I believed him.
A few days later, I heard the familiar sound of my mother's voice echoing down the marble hallway of the villa in St. Tropez. It was firm, elegant, and impossible to ignore.
"Wang!" she called. "You didn't think you could hide from me forever, did you?"
I froze. She was here, with my father trailing behind, tired but clearly unwilling to be left behind.
Before I could speak, she brushed past me, eyes scanning the room until they landed on Zhan, who had just stepped out of the kitchen.
"Ah," she said, her voice softening. "Zhan."
Zhan, ever calm and respectful, nodded slightly. "Good afternoon, ma'am."
She smiled, and for a moment, the tension in the air melted. "My dear boy," she said gently, walking up to him, "I came all this way because I needed to say something to you, not as Wang's mother, but as a woman who knows what it's like to be wrong about people."
Zhan blinked, caught off guard. "You don't need to—"
"Yes, I do," she cut in softly. "I was cruel. I judged you based on things I didn't understand, and in doing so, I hurt my son too. For that, I am deeply sorry."
The room went quiet. Even my father, who rarely agreed with her theatrics, nodded in agreement.
"Let me make it up to you," she continued, smiling faintly. "Have dinner with me tonight, just you and me. No Wang, no family drama. I want to know the man who stood beside my son through everything, even when he didn't deserve it."
Zhan hesitated, but she looked at him with such sincerity that he couldn't refuse. "Alright," he said quietly. "Dinner it is."
That evening, she took him to one of the most private seaside restaurants in St. Tropez. The staff treated him like royalty, of course, her doing.
Later, she told me what happened over dinner.
"He didn't say much," she said, smiling as she took off her earrings. "But he listens. Really listens. And he forgives easily, which means you're luckier than you think."
I looked at her, confused. "What do you mean?"
She turned to me and said softly, "I told him I want to do something special, a proper wedding. No secrets, no shame. I want to welcome him into our family the right way. Publicly. Officially."
I stared at her, speechless.
She smiled and touched my shoulder. "You've both been through hell. Maybe it's time you found heaven in each other again."
That night, I stood by the balcony, watching Zhan walk back from the beach, the moonlight catching his face. For the first time in years, it didn't feel like an ending, it felt like a beginning.
The next morning, the sea was calm again, as if nothing had happened on that cursed yacht. The waves rolled softly against the St. Tropez shore, and for the first time in a long while, there was no tension in the air.
Zhan stood beside me, coffee in hand, his eyes fixed on the horizon. Neither of us spoke for a while.
When he finally did, his voice was steady. "You know, I thought I'd wake up feeling guilty."
"And?" I asked, turning to look at him.
"I don't," he said. "Not a single bit."
I smiled faintly. "Good. Because neither do I."
We shared a look, a quiet, unspoken understanding. After everything that happened, after all the blood, betrayal, and lies, there was no room for regret. Only survival.
Later that afternoon, I heard a soft knock on my door. Zhan opened it, a little girl stood there, holding a sketchbook almost half her size. Her eyes were wide, curious, and very much like mine.
"You're Zhan," she said matter-of-factly, tilting her head.
Zhan smiled a little. "Yeah, I am. How did you know?"
She grinned, missing a front tooth. "My dad has a picture of you in his wallet. And you're his screensaver on his laptop at home." She is talking too much and I need to stop her, I stand up from the bed and walk toward the door.
Zhan froze for a moment, the words caught him completely off guard. "He does?"
She nodded proudly, flipping open her sketchbook. "He says you're his best friend. And that you saved him from bad dreams."
Something in my chest shifted, the kind of ache that wasn't pain, just... real.
"Did he now?" Zhan said softly, crouching to her level. "Well, your dad's been saving people for a while now. He just doesn't talk about it much."
She smiled, then pointed to her drawing, a small boat under the moon, two stick figures standing on it, hand in hand.
"That's you and Dad," she said shyly. "You look happy."
He looked at it, then back at her. "We are," he said after a pause. "We really are."
From behind, my voice came, low, warm. "Hey, what are you two plotting there?"
She ran to him immediately, wrapping her arms around his leg. "I told him about the picture in your wallet!"
I pretend to freeze for a second, then look at him, his expression unreadable before he broke into a small, helpless smile.
"Of course you did," I said, ruffling her hair. "I told you that was our secret."
She giggled and ran off toward the living room, leaving the two of us in silence.
"Screensaver, huh?" he teased.
I smirked. "You deserved better than memories, Zhan. So I kept you close."
He smiles and we walk to the balcony. I looked out at the sea again the same sea that had swallowed our demons.
"Then maybe it's time," he said quietly, "we start making new ones."
And for the first time since the yacht, since everything, I smile without the weight of guilt behind it.
Neither of us felt guilt, not an ounce of it. What happened was necessary, and somehow, it washed away everything that chained us to the past. That calm between us wasn't silence; it was peace. The kind that comes when vengeance is done and the slate is finally clean. This wasn't an ending anymore, it was the start of something new.
We're getting married again, this time officially, in front of both our families. No secrets. No ghosts. No pain hiding behind our smiles.
It feels different now, calmer, truer. Like this time, it's not about proving anything. It's about finally living.