“I wouldn’t have to berate them if they’d just do their fucking jobs.”
“Mistakes happen. They happen all the time. Tearing a person down isn’t going to help in the slightest. Rina looked like she was two seconds away from crying!”
“Then maybe she’s not tough enough to be in my kitchen.”
“Why does anybody have to be tough? I didn’t realize that being tough was a requirement to work in a fucking kitchen. But I guess that’s what the mighty Alexander Chen needs to feel like a man, or whatever the fuck grumpy asshole persona you decide to use when you wake up in the morning.”
“Don’t fucking go there, Eden.”
“No, I’d better not. Lord knows it won’t do me a bit of good.”
“I told you already. I’m not fucking ready to talk about it!”
“Yes, you’ve made that perfectly clear!”
“What the fuck are we even fighting about?”
“I don’t fucking know—”
He cuts her off with a bruising kiss, pressing her up against the nearest storage shelves. Her hands fly up to his chest, clinging to his jacket as a gasp bubbles past her lips. He isn’t sure what compels him to do it. Alexander hates seeing her upset; would do just about anything to make her feel okay. Eden sounds like she’s going to cry, and it breaks his heart in two. She’s like this because of him. God, he couldn’t possibly hate himself more.
She shoves him away, their lips ripping apart.
It’s more painful than a slap.
There’s a ringing in his ears, but it’s almost inaudible over the hard rush of blood pumping through his skull. The lights of the kitchen are too fucking bright. His skin is feverish and sore. He has never experienced exhaustion quite like this before. He feels like he’s witnessing everything happen from two inches left of his actual body. No matter what he does, he can’t get a grip.
It’s too loud and it’s too quiet. His body feels too heavy, but he also feels untethered and about to float away.
He wants to scream. He wants to cry. He wants to put his fucking head through the dishwasher.
Then something occurs to him. It’s a sudden moment of clarity.
Staring down at Eden, he wonders how the fuck he got here. He thought she was the last person in the world he’d ever raise his voice to. He hates it. He doesn’t mean to, nor does he want to continue. And yet here they are, at each other’s throats, screaming like there’s no tomorrow.
And for what?
He can’t remember when being angry became his default setting. He can’t remember how La Rougebecame more important to him than the people in his life. He can’t remember where Shang stopped and Alexander began. This job, this place, has chipped away at him for years. The constant grind, the never-ending orders, the relentless scrutiny of his every move.
He’s alive, but he’s dead. Hollow on the inside with nothing left to give. The demands of the job have drained him of all he has. He’s in so much pain and under so much stress that he can’t remember what life was like before Sebastian dug his claws into him.
He can’t do this anymore. He won’t.
Especially not if it means going up against Eden.
For once in his life, he’s found something too important to him to let La Rouge and Sebastian destroy.
He might have done that all by himself. Something inside of him finally breaks.
“I’m done.”
Eden blinks. “W-what? What do you mean?”
He doesn’t mean to shut down, but he does. It’s like his brain has ceased all functions for the sake of self-preservation. He processes nothing, the next few minutes a blur. He doesn’t register sound or time or movement. All he knows is that he can’t stay a moment longer.
He doesn’t remember getting in his car.
He doesn’t remember Eden calling after him.
