Chapter 173: Monica’s Heartfelt Confession

By the time Owen dropped Monica off at her place, it was close to midnight. On the way, he had received a call from his mother.

She had noticed that he had taken some clothes for changing and had guessed that he had moved out. She called specifically to confirm.

As the car came to a stop, Monica's eyes were glowing with excitement.

"Thank you. I had a great time tonight."

"Even after swallowing your gum?"

"…So you did notice?"

"Of course. Hahaha~~~"

Monica playfully punched Owen's back, the soft thuds ringing out as they messed around. Owen grabbed her hands, but his mind drifted to the morning when he had felt that soft, elastic sensation.

His gaze instinctively dropped to Monica's firm, round hips.

She noticed, of course. Instead of shying away, she deliberately arched her back a little, teasing him.

Owen licked his lips. "I'm exhausted. Can I come in for a cup of coffee?"

Looking into his eyes, Monica's smile grew wider. "Of course. I hope you like the taste of this coffee…"

Owen's heart leaped. Wasting no time, he parked the Camaro and followed closely behind Monica into the house.

Before the door even closed behind them, Owen's hands were already on her, attacking from behind.

Catching her off guard, he pinned her against the wall, sealing her lips with his.

His scent filled her senses, making her body heat up uncontrollably.

The door clicked shut.

Behind the curtains, their silhouettes entwined, and soon, muffled gasps filled the air…

—

The Next Morning

A newspaper boy rode past on his bicycle, expertly tossing the morning paper onto the front lawn.

Across the street, old Mrs. Lucy from next door raised an eyebrow in surprise—someone new had come out to collect Monica's newspaper.

A warm smile spread across her face. It seemed the young Weiss girl had finally found herself a boyfriend.

Dressed in nothing but a pair of pajama pants, Owen picked up the paper, shook off some dust, and gave the elderly woman a polite nod before heading back inside.

For breakfast, Monica made a simple meal—milk, toast, and eggs. Nothing complicated.

But what caught Owen's attention wasn't the food.

It was Monica.

Wearing nothing but his dress shirt, she stood at the counter, cooking for him.

The sight made Owen's fingers itch with desire.

Did she not realize she was practically inviting him to commit a crime?

As a former LAPD officer, it was his duty to stop such reckless behavior.

So before she could finish making breakfast, he swept her up and carried her back to the bedroom, where he properly educated her for another half an hour.

And because of that, breakfast took them a full hour and a half to finish.

By the time they were ready, they set out for their destination.

Today, they had made plans to visit the cemetery and pay their respects to their fallen comrades.

Owen stopped by his place first to pick up some offerings, then drove straight to the cemetery with Monica.

In the parking lot, they ran into ASH and Reche.

Campbell had insisted on coming as well, but ASH had talked him out of it. The guy's neck wound hadn't fully healed yet—if he got too emotional, he might not make it back home.

Shortly after, Heartbeat arrived.

Everyone was dressed in black, their expressions solemn.

Buried here were their brothers. Their teammates.

Morris, Coulson, and Nicholas's graves were side by side.

It had been a joke they used to make—"If we die, we'll at least be neighbors."

That joke had now become reality.

Each of them had brought a fine bottle of liquor, placing one in front of each grave.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then, ASH finally broke the silence.

"Brothers, we got your revenge. This is our gift to you."

As soon as he said it, everyone reached into their pockets, pulling out small objects wrapped in gauze.

Dark stains had seeped through the fabric.

One by one, they placed them in front of the graves.

Fingers.

Severed, bloody fingers.

Each one belonged to Blanco Montel.

After they had taken him down, they had all personally cut off a finger to bring back as proof for their fallen comrades.

Now, their brothers could finally rest in peace.

Dressed in black, they stood quietly, unscrewing the liquor bottles and pouring drinks over the tombstones.

"Morris, you always bragged about how Texans could outdrink everyone. Here's to you."

"Nicholas, your quick draw was never that great. Keep practicing down there. In our next life, we'll be brothers again."

"Coulson, you bastard. You still owe me money from our last bet. I'll let it go—just drink this with me."

Reche choked up, unable to hold back his tears.

One by one, they toasted to the dead.

Before long, Reche was tipsy, his emotions getting the better of him. Owen caught him as he started to slump, letting him rest.

Neither ASH nor Monica were talkative people.

Especially Monica—she had probably never even spoken much to the fallen SWAT officers.

But that didn't mean she didn't care.

They had fought side by side. Risked their lives for each other.

You didn't need words to understand that kind of bond.

Owen didn't say anything sentimental, either.

He simply raised his drink, saluting the graves, letting his emotions speak for themselves.

Heartbeat went last.

He poured a drink for all three, then poured an extra one for Morris alone.

Unlike the others, he hadn't known them for long.

Their first mission together had also been their last.

But before Morris died, he had shielded Heartbeat from a bullet.

That was why Heartbeat had volunteered for the Colombia operation—to repay that debt.

After leaving the cemetery, everyone was in a heavy mood.

Slowly, they each went their separate ways.

Owen parked the car near a quiet park.

He and Monica sat on a bench, staring into the distance.

She leaned into his chest, silent for a long time.

Then, in a soft voice, she asked, "Owen, do you think they died for a good reason?"

Owen gazed up at the sky. "I don't know."

His eyes drifted to a group of children feeding pigeons nearby.

Their innocent laughter was so pure.

After a moment, he added, "Maybe… for this. Maybe it was worth it, for this kind of peace."

Monica seemed lost in thought for a moment.

Then, suddenly, she burrowed deeper into his chest.

Her voice wavered. "Owen… I want to cry."

He stroked her hair gently, comforting her like a child. "Then cry. Let it out."

A soft sob broke the silence.

Then another.

Her shoulders trembled as she finally let herself cry freely.

Owen said nothing. He simply held her close, his fingers running through her hair.

Monica had always been a lonely person.

She hid behind a mask of indifference, pushing people away.

She barely even had friends.

She had built walls around herself, forcing herself to be strong, bottling up everything inside.

If not for today, she might have gone her entire life without ever letting herself be vulnerable.

Minutes passed before she finally spoke again, her voice unsteady.

"I was an orphan in Germany. My adoptive parents brought me to the U.S. when I was little.

They raised me as their own, sent me to school, watched me grow up.

They once told me their greatest wish was to see me become the best version of myself.

I worked hard, trying to be everything they hoped for… but they're gone now.

But I know they're watching me from above.

So I keep pushing forward, trying to make them proud.

I have to be excellent. I have to fulfill their wish…"

Her voice wavered again.

Owen had never known she carried such a heavy burden.

No wonder she always strove to be the best.

No wonder she had earned the nickname "IQ."

It wasn't because she was naturally gifted.

It was because she had made a promise—and she was determined to keep it.

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