My thumb hovered over it, brushing the edge of her name as if somehow, through the glass, she’d feel it.
I wanted to text her so badly I could taste it: an apology, something, anything.
But what the fuck would I even say?
Sorry I hit you? Sorry I broke your arm? Sorry I’m everything you thought I wasn’t?
No message fixes that.
No amount of money, no gesture, no words.
The damage was done.
She probably hates me now.
And she should.
She should never look at me again, never trust me again, never stand close enough for me to breathe her in again.
I clenched my jaw, phone shaking in my palm.
Her last message sat right there—
“I’ll be up for the partner work in a bit! I’m sorry!”
Last Friday.
When smiling at me was easy, easier.
When she made an effort to leave a damn lollipop every time she came up as a thank you for putting up with her.
Now she’s sitting somewhere with her arm in a cast because of me.
I dropped the phone on the floor and buried my face in my hands, pressing until my vision blurred.
I wanted to tell her I didn’t mean it. That I didn’t aim for her. That it was supposed to scare her, not hurt her. But every version of that sounds the same—pathetic.
And what if she doesn’t even care anymore?
What if she’s already decided I’m just like the rest of them… the men who make her flinch, the ones who make her small.
I swallowed hard, voice cracking in the empty room.
“Fuck,” I whispered to no one.
Because if I texted her now, it’d make it worse.
If I stayed quiet, I’d lose her anyway.
I couldn’t win. Not anymore.
…I’m so sorry.
Chapter Thirty
Aurora
The air felt heavier the second I stepped through the gates.
