When he finished, he pulled back, the gun falling silent. I turned slightly, looking over my shoulder to see the raw emotion etched into his face. His jaw was tight, his eyes stormyand wild, and his hands trembled slightly as he set the gun down.
“I didn’t ask for this,” I whispered, my voice breaking as the tears started again. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”
His expression softened, the rage melting into something else—something broken. He sank to his knees in front of me, his head bowing as his hands rested on the edge of the bed.
“I know,” he said, his voice barely audible. “I know, Dove.”
For the first time, I saw him crumble. The weight of everything—the guilt, the anger, the regret—broke him right in front of me. And despite everything, despite the pain and the confusion and the anger I still felt, I couldn’t push him away.
I reached out, my hand finding his hair, threading through it gently as he leaned into my touch. He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He just stayed there, his head resting against me like he needed the connection, like it was the only thing holding him together.
When he finally lifted his head, his eyes met mine, and the vulnerability there stole the breath from my lungs. “Stay,” he whispered. It wasn’t a demand. It wasn’t a command. It was a plea.
I nodded, pulling him up onto the bed beside me. He lay down, his body pressed close to mine, his arms wrapping around me like he was afraid I might disappear. And as we lay there, the silence between us filled with all the words we couldn’t say, I realized something that terrified me.
I wasn’t sure I could ever let him go.
not emotionally, but he had broken this fucked up dynamic we had built and I was too tired to fight him today, but I would leave come morning. Everything he had said had put a stain on what we had built.
The morning lightfiltered through the heavy curtains, casting faint streaks of gold across the dark wood of the bedroom. It was the kind of light that should have felt warm, comforting, but all it did was to highlight the weight in my chest. Ashton lay beside me, his face softened in sleep, his usually brooding features at peace for once. His dark hair fell messily over his forehead, and his lips were slightly parted, his breathing slow and even. He looked almost… human. Almost mine.
But he wasn’t mine. He never had been.
I watched him, my chest tightening with emotions I didn’t want to name. I hated him for what he’d done—for the way he’d stolen me, shattered me, and somehow still made me crave him. But more than that, I hated myself for loving him despite it all. Because that’s what this was, wasn’t it? Love. Stupid, reckless, impossible love.
A single tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it, followed by another and another. I wiped them away quickly, as if that would somehow erase the truth of them, but the ache in my chest only grew.
He didn’t love me. I was just a game to him—a toy to play with, to possess. And yet, every time he touched me, every time he looked at me like I was the only thing in his world, I let myself believe it was real. That I was real to him. But I wasn’t.
I couldn’t do this anymore.
Silently, I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake him. The cool air hit my skin as I moved across the room, pulling on a pair of jeans and a sweater, my hands trembling as I dressed. Igrabbed my phone, my heart pounding as I opened the app and called for an Uber. My throat tightened as I stared at the screen, the little car icon inching closer and closer to the estate. I didn’t even know where I was going—I just knew I had to get out of here.
I cast one last glance at Ashton, his hand resting lightly on the spot where I’d been just moments ago. My chest ached so fiercely it felt like I might break, but I pushed it down, burying it deep.
I didn’t make a sound as I stepped toward the door, the handle cold beneath my fingers. But as I opened it, the faint creak of the hinges betrayed me.
“Dove?” His voice was thick with sleep, groggy and soft, but it froze me in place. I turned slowly to see him sitting up in bed, his dark eyes wide with confusion, his hair messy and disheveled. “What are you doing?”
I swallowed hard, my heart hammering in my chest. “I’m leaving, Ashton.”
“What?” He was on his feet in an instant, the sheets falling away as he crossed the room toward me. “You can’t just—Dove, wait.”
“No.” My voice cracked, but I held my ground, stepping back as he reached for me. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to ask me to stay.”
“Dove, please,” he said, his voice softer now, almost desperate. “Don’t go. We can?—”
“We can what, Ashton?” I cut him off, my voice rising. “You kidnapped me! You held me hostage! You made me feel something for you, and then you ripped my heart out like it meant nothing.”
His face twisted, his hands clenching at his sides. “It wasn’t nothing?—”
“Bullshit!” The word burst out of me, raw andangry. “You treated me like I was a toy. Something you could pick up and throw away whenever you felt like it. You made me think… you made me think there was something real between us.”
“There is something real,” he said, his voice fierce, but I shook my head, cutting him off again.
“Fuck you,” I spat, my voice trembling with rage and pain. “Fuck you for making me believe that. For making me think I could be anything to you.”
His jaw clenched, his eyes darkening with something I couldn’t name. He reached for me, but I stepped back, holding up a hand to stop him. “No, Ashton. Don’t. You don’t get to touch me. Not anymore.”
