Page 35 of That One Night


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“You think I don’t know that?”I muttered.“I do.”

“Then why the hell did you do it?”she snapped.

I didn’t have an answer that made any sense.

“I don’t know. I slipped. I was stupid. I let myself get pulled in.”

Avery scoffed. Hard.

“No. Not ‘slipped’.”She paused.“Ego. Your damn ego. It walked you right into the mess.”

I stayed silent because she was right.

“You ruined her, Adrian. Elena did nothing but love you, and you broke her.”

“I know,”I murmured.“She didn’t deserve any of it.”

Avery wasn’t finished.

“Tell me right now—are you still seeing that whore? If you are, I swear, I’ll deal with you both myself.”

Her tone had teeth in it. Avery didn’t threaten for sport, she meant every word.

“No,”I said immediately.“For God’s sake, no.I ended it. Completely. The only time I ever spoke to her again was about the debt.”

Avery groaned.“Jesus, Adrian... and even that was stupid. What are you, a charity organization? A bank?”

I rubbed my forehead.“Yeah. I know. I fucked up there too.”

Now we were sitting across from each other in the hospital café while Mom stayed upstairs with Elena and Haille. Avery tagged along to help me sort out the paperwork before they were cleared to go home.

The sun filtered through the window, and for a moment, the world looked calm. Too calm for a man who had blown his own life apart.

Avery spun her drink slowly, eyes still sharp but softer now.

“Don’t mess up your life again,” she said. “You’ve got another one to protect.”

“I won’t,” I replied.

She shot me a look. “Don’t just say ‘I won’t.’ I need you to mean it. Because if you hurt her again?” She leaned in. “Elena will leave you. And I won’t stop her, I’ll help her pack.”

I exhaled, long and heavy. “I know, Ave. Believe me... I know.”

I stared down at my coffee, jaw tight.

“I’m not losing her,” I said quietly. “Not ever.”

Special Chapter – A message from Elena

They think staying means I don’t know how to leave.

They think forgiveness is weakness, and endurance is submission.

But they don’t live in my body.

They don’t wake up with my memories.

They don’t carry a child while deciding whether to walk away or stay and rebuild something already broken.