Chapter 143 I'm sorry
Greyson
The elevator descended with that smooth, expensive silence that only high-end buildings managed. My reflection stared back at me from the mirrored walls my jaw clenched tight enough to ache, eyes hard and cold, posture aggressive. I looked like I was going into battle, not going to talk to my girlfriend.
Some distant, rational part of my brain registered that I should stop. Should take a breath. Should approach this conversation with care and consideration instead of wounded pride and self-righteous anger.
That voice was too quiet, too easily drowned out by the roaring in my ears.
The gym was exactly the kind of private facility you'd expect in a building like this—top of the line equipment, floor-to-ceiling mirrors, sound-proofed walls, and exclusive enough that it was almost always empty. Residents who could afford penthouses in Tribeca could also afford private trainers who came to their homes or memberships to exclusive clubs.
Cassie had always preferred to work out alone. Had always said she needed the solitude, the space to think without interruption.
She was there now, alone as I'd expected, pounding a heavy bag with a ferocity that would have told me everything I needed to know if I'd been capable of reading the signs. Each punch landed with a satisfying thump that echoed in the space. She was wearing black leggings and a sports bra, her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail that swung with each movement. Sweat gleamed on her skin, and her entire body was coiled with tension and controlled violence.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
She saw me in the mirror I watched her eyes flick toward my reflection—but she didn't stop. Didn't acknowledge me beyond that brief moment of recognition. Just kept punching, kept moving, kept pretending I wasn't there.
The dismissiveness of it, the way she refused to even look at me directly, ignited something even hotter in my chest.
"Cassie," I said. My voice came out tight, controlled, dangerous.
"Not now, Greyson."
Thump. Her right fist connected with the bag hard enough to make the chain rattle. "Go back to your coffee date." Thump. Left hook, precise and brutal.
The casual cruelty of it, the way she threw Ella in my face without even bothering to hear my explanation, snapped something inside me.
"It wasn't a date, and you know it. Why did you send that? Why are you always waiting for me to fail? Looking for reasons to push me away?"
She finally stopped, turning to face me directly. Her chest was heaving from exertion, that sheen of sweat making her skin glow in the harsh gym lighting. Her eyes were blazing with an emotion I couldn't quite read—hurt, anger, betrayal, all mixed together into something overwhelming.
"Waiting for you to fail?" She laughed, but there was no humor in it. The sound was bitter, harsh, nothing like her real laugh.
"You tripped and fell right into the arms of the one person who would hurt me the most. Again. It's like history is on repeat and you're all reading from the same goddamn script. Is there some manual you all get? 'How to Destroy Cassie Hunter in Three Easy Steps'?"
"That's not fair" I started, but she cut me off.
"Fair?" Her voice rose, echoing off the walls. "You want to lecture me about fair? You were with Ella, Greyson. Ella. Do you have any idea what that looks like to me? What it feels like? After everything that happened, after what she did, you chose to meet with her. You chose to sit there and laugh with her and let her touch you, and you didn't think for one second how that might affect me?"
The anger that had been building since Dante's phone call exploded. My voice came out as a low, dangerous growl.
"You want to talk about deception, Cassie? About lies and betrayal? Let's talk about your little promotion."
Her eyes widened, just for a fraction of a second. There was a flicker of something—fear? Guilt? The look of someone who'd been caught—and it only fed the fire inside me. It confirmed everything. She knew she'd been lying. She knew she'd been caught.
"The marketing position was a front?" I stepped closer, deliberately invading her space, using every inch of my six-foot-two frame to loom over her five-foot-six. Using my physical presence in a way I never had before, in a way I knew was wrong even as I did it. "You own the division? The entire Division? All those times I worried about the pressure you were under, all those times you let me sit there and offer you career advice like some patronizing asshole, all those times I thought I was supporting you through the corporate grind... and you were already sitting at the head of the table?"
"Greyson, it's not that simple." She tried to back away, but the heavy bag was directly behind her, limiting her options. She was trapped between the bag and me, and I saw the moment she realized it.
"Not that simple?"
I barked out a laugh, harsh and ugly.
"What's complicated about honesty? What's complicated about telling your boyfriend the truth about your career? Or were you enjoying it? Was it funny, listening to me explain business strategy to someone who owns a multi-million dollar division? Did you laugh about it later? Tell your father what an idiot I was?"
"It wasn't like that." She tried again, but I wasn't listening anymore.
"Then what was it like?" I demanded, and I was too close now, way too close, violating all the normal boundaries of personal space. I could smell the clean scent of her clean sweat , I could see the rapid pulse at her throat, could count each individual eyelash.
"What else are you lying about, Cassie? What other parts of your life are just a front for me? Is any of this real? Were you ever actually with me, or was I just some toy you were playing with?"
My hand shot out before I'd consciously decided to do it. One moment my arms were at my sides, and the next my fingers were wrapped around her bicep, closing with all the force of eight months of frustration and wounded pride and masculine ego.
I didn't mean to grip her so hard. I swear I didn't. I just meant to... what? Stop her from backing away? Make her listen to me? Force her to acknowledge what she'd done?
The adrenaline was screaming in my veins, and the betrayal felt so visceral, so consuming, that I'd lost all sense of measure. My fingers dug into the lean muscle of her arm, pressing hard enough that I could feel her bone beneath the flesh.
"What else?" I demanded again, my voice dropping to something barely above a whisper but no less intense.
"What else are you hiding?"
"Greyson," she said, and her voice had changed completely. It had gone quiet. Steady. Calm in a way that was absolutely terrifying.
"You're hurting me."
The three words sliced through my rage like a blade through silk. Clean. Devastating. Final.
I looked down at my own hand, wrapped around her slender arm. Looked at my knuckles, white with the force of my grip. Looked at the way my fingers were pressed into her skin hard enough to leave marks.
And I saw her face. Really saw it. Not through the filter of my anger and hurt, but clearly. Objectively.
There were no tears.Cassie Hunter didn't cry, I'd learned that about her early on—but there was something in her eyes that was worse than tears. There was a cold, shattered disappointment. A look that said I'd confirmed every fear she'd ever had about men, about trust, about love.
A look that said I'd broken something that could never be fixed.
I recoiled as if I'd been burned, as if her skin had suddenly become flame. My hand fell away and I stumbled backward, words completely failing me. The shock of what I'd done hit me like a physical blow, nauseating and immediate.
I had never, ever laid a hand on a woman in anger. Never. My father had raised me better than that. Had taught me that a man who couldn't control his temper around women wasn't a man at all.
She pulled her arm back, cradling it against her chest like it was injured. I could see the red marks my fingers had left on her skin, angry welts that stood out in stark contrast to her olive complexion. Evidence. Proof. The kind of marks that would photograph well if she decided to press charges.
The thought made my stomach turn over.
"Get out," she said. Her voice was barely above a whisper but it carried more force than if she'd screamed it. More finality than any courtroom judgment I'd ever heard.
"Cassie, I" I tried to find words, any words that might undo what I'd just done. My hands were shaking. My whole body was shaking. "I didn't mean to."
"Get. Out."
Each word was deliberate, spoken with the kind of control that only came from someone who was holding themselves together by the thinnest thread. She wasn't yelling. Wasn't crying. Wasn't giving me any emotional reaction at all.
That was somehow worse than anything else could have been.
I stumbled toward the door, my legs feeling disconnected from my body, like I was moving through water. At the threshold, I turned back one more time, needing to... what? See her? Apologize again? Make sure she was okay?
She was still standing by the heavy bag, still cradling her arm, looking at me with those devastated eyes. Looking at me like I was a stranger. Like I was a threat.
"I'm sorry,"
I whispered, but the words felt hollow, inadequate, laughable in the face of what I'd done.
She didn't respond. Just turned away, presenting me with her back. Dismissing me. Erasing me. Ending whatever we'd had with that single gesture.
I left.