Page 243 of The Rebel Billionaire

Was I a crutch?

Someone who was there at her lowest point? We only got together after her sister had been admitted to hospital.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Enzo asks, walking into the room and placing a mug of coffee on the desk next to me.

I sit back and close my eyes, exhaling deeply.

“The one thing I probably shouldn’t be doing,” I admit, my voice dejected.

There’s a creak as he lowers himself into the large leather chair opposite me.

“You know that’s not who she is,” he says.

Opening my eyes, I stare at my brother.

“Of course, my heart breaks for what she’s been through. But she didn’t trust me, Enzo.”

I sigh.

“Is Mother right? Would I have judged her?”

The thought isn’t sitting well with me.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

“I should be fucking hard on myself! I’ve been in a relationship with her for four months… she trusted me with her body, but she didn’t feel she could trust me with the rest. And when the chips were down, I didn’t trust her enough either. I accused her of fucking stealing from me. I wouldn’t blame her if she never wants to see me again.”

I run a hand through my hair.

“Do you love her?”

“Yes,” I admit openly without thought. “More than I thought it possible to love another human being.”

“Have you told her?”

“No, I should have, but I didn’t want to pressure her, especially when she kept saying she wanted to keep our relationship a secret.” I rub my forehead. “Then there were the stolen designs. How the hell could I have imagined she would be involved in that?”

“Opening yourself up to someone is scary, especially when you’ve been burned before.”

I stare at him.

“Loretta hurt you when she left,” he adds.

“But can you blame her? I was a terrible husband,” I say, hating the reminder.

“None of us are perfect, Alex. You made a mistake, and you paid the price.”

“But that’s the crazy thing. I was in love with Loretta, but I didn’t feel a fraction of the intensity I feel for Brooke, and she doesn’t even exist.”

I look up to find Enzo watching me.

“You know Brooke and Harper are the same person, right?”

“Are they?”

“I’d say so. It’s almost impossible to wear a mask for nine months and be someone you’re not.”

“What are you talking about? She was Brooke Feldmann, not Harper Frazer. She clearly wasn’t herself.”