Chapter 112 112
Xavier's pov
The city lights blurred through the windshield of my car, and my hands tightened on the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity. I wasn't thinking about the roads or the cars or the pedestrians. I was thinking about Maisie and what she'd said to me.
"I've moved on."
Those words pierced me more sharply than any blade and now they were lodged in my chest, twisting with every beat of my heart.
I slammed the car door open when I reached my apartment building, ignoring the biting cold night air.
My apartment, what a joke it had become. It smelled stale, like months of neglect and disappointment. The walls were bare, the furniture a collection of mismatched broken pieces. This wasn't home. It was a tomb for the life I'd squandered, the empire I'd lost, because I had been arrogant, because I had made the wrong choices, because I had let her go.
I kicked the door shut behind me, the sound bouncing off the walls like a drumbeat in my skull. I didn't bother turning on the lights; why illuminate a place that was a reflection of my failure? I stumbled toward the fridge, yanked it open, and grabbed the first beer I could find. The cold metal was a small comfort in my shaking hands.
I tore the can open and took a long, burning sip. The alcohol seared down my throat, numbing, then hot. I staggered toward the couch and collapsed onto it, a defeated man who had finally admitted he'd lost everything. My reflection in the darkened window mocked me-long, unkempt hair, a rough, unkempt beard, and hollow, vacant eyes. This... This was me now. Not the Xavier they had feared, not the Alpha they had followed. Just a shadow, a husk, a broken man defeated by the woman he had loved and the choices he had made.
I buried my face in my hands, the weight of my loss crushing me. The image of her in that boutique, turning her back on me, rejecting me outright, was fresh and raw. "I've moved on." I whispered it over and over, the bitterness a familiar taste in my mouth. How dare she move on? How could she thrive when I was reduced to this pitiful, broken shell?
I slammed my fist against the coffee table, sending the empty cans and papers skittering across it. "Damn her! Damn her to hell!" I growled, my voice rough and hoarse, my anger and frustration bubbling over, reckless and uncontrollable. I punched again, pouring every ounce of my rage into the blow, imagining it shattering her perfect life instead of my pathetic apartment.
I fell back onto the couch, panting, chest heaving, tears welling in my eyes. I had been blind. I had been foolish. I had let her go, thinking I could have it all and I had lost everything. Everything I'd built, pawned, or claimed was gone, lost to my recklessness, to my belief that I was invincible. But she… Maisie had rebuilt it. She had everything now.
My fingers trembled as I reached for another beer. I drank greedily, burning away the sorrow and shame with the alcohol, letting the bitterness coat my tongue. The more I drank, the more my mind twisted, plotting, scheming, feeding the fire that had been smoldering inside me for months.
She thought she had won. She thought I was finished. But she was wrong. I would claw my way back. I would drag her back into my world, whether she liked it or not. She had left me, yes, but she had never truly owned me. I wasn't finished. I couldn't be finished.
The TV flickered on in the corner, the fifth one I'd broken in two months, but I didn't care. Images of her flashed on the screen, laughing with Roman, glowing with life and power. Roman, that smug man who had stepped into my shoes, who now held the role I had vacated, smiling at her, holding her hand as if he owned her world. I gritted my teeth, my muscles tensing with rage.
They showed clips of Roman giving her flowers, taking her on dates, holding her as she cried at Aria's memorial. My stomach twisted, bile rising at the sight. He had been there when I hadn't. He had done the things I had promised her, but never done. He had filled the void I had left, and now... Now I was nothing.
I slammed the beer can against the wall, crushing it with a satisfying hiss, and swore under my breath, my voice low and venomous.
"I'll get her back. I'll make her remember me. I'll-" I choked off, tears sliding down my cheeks, shame and rage tangled together. "I'll destroy him first."
The thought of Roman, smug and protective, holding what was rightfully mine, ignited a fire in my chest. I couldn't let him have her. I wouldn't allow anyone else to control her life. She had been mine once, and if I had to claw, bleed, and fight to reclaim her, I would. I swore it on everything I had left-the pack, the empire, the ashes of my pride.
The apartment felt smaller and smaller with every second, suffocating me, pressing down on me, mocking me for my failures. I grabbed another beer and paced the room, my mind spinning with plans, regrets, and fantasies of revenge. Every scenario played out in my head: confronting Roman, reminding Maisie of who I had been to her, forcing her to remember the passion she had once felt for me.
I stumbled toward the window, gripping the cold glass, staring out at the city lights as if they held the answers. They didn't but I did.
I couldn't sit here. I couldn't wallow. I had to move. I had to strike. I had to remind the world and her that Xavier was still Xavier.
Tears stung my eyes again, not just from despair, but from the sheer, raw intensity of my determination. I had failed. I had lost. I had let my arrogance, my pride, and my foolishness ruin everything but failure was temporary. I was eternal.
I picked up another bottle of beer and tilted it back, swallowing greedily, my hands shaking. The liquid burned down my throat, fueling the fire in my heart, the obsession that had always driven me, the ambition that had once made me unstoppable. Maisie had everything now but I had something else. I had a memory. I had an obsession. I had the will to rise, to fight, to reclaim what should have been mine.
I sank back onto the couch, staring at the ceiling, my mind racing. She'll remember me. She has to. I'll make her remember me. The thought made my fists clench again. I would watch, I would plan, I would manipulate. I would be everywhere she was, shadowing her life, infiltrating her world, proving to her that she couldn't escape me.
I slammed the beer can against the floor, the metallic clang echoing in the empty apartment.
"Mark my words, Maisie," I muttered, my voice a low, furious promise soaked in rage and obsession. "You will see me again. And when you do... You'll remember what you lost. You'll remember who you abandoned. And you will... Pay."
I sank deeper into the couch, the fire in me barely contained, simmering, relentless. The world outside continued its indifferent hum, unaware of the storm brewing in this small, decrepit apartment. I had nothing left-no mansion, no company, no pack. But I had one thing they couldn't take from me: the obsession that would drive me to reclaim her, no matter what it took.
I closed my eyes, picturing her perfect life, picturing Roman at her side, and felt the familiar heat of envy, fury, and desire. It mingled with the sharp sting of humiliation and the ache of loss, transforming into a singular, consuming thought: I will have her back. And if I have to burn the world to do it... I will.
And in the darkness of that broken apartment, with beer-stained hands and a heart on fire, I swore it.
No one, not even Roman and the entire fucking city could keep her from me.
I would rise. I would conquer and I would take back everything, including Maisie.