Chapter 66
Alex's POV
Emily was crying into my shoulder and I felt like shit.
That was the thing nobody tells you about manipulation. They don't tell you that watching someone break because you engineered their breaking doesn't actually feel as good as you thought it would. They don't mention the part where you're supposed to feel victorious but instead you just feel like an asshole watching someone you—someone you what? Care about? Want? Own?
I didn't know. I didn't fucking know and that was probably part of the problem.
Her whole body was shaking. These awful, desperate sobs that sounded like they were tearing her apart from the inside out. And I just sat there with my arm around her shoulders, rubbing circles on her back like that was somehow going to fix what I'd deliberately broken.
This was supposed to be the good part. The part where I got what I wanted. Where Emily finally had nowhere else to turn, no one else to run to, nothing left except me. I'd systematically removed every other option and now here we were—her crying in my arms because I'd made sure she had no one else.
Mission accomplished, right?
Except I felt sick.
The split lip throbbed but that wasn't why my chest felt tight. That wasn't why I couldn't quite catch my breath properly. That wasn't why I kept having these weird flashes of memory—Emily laughing at something I said about the financials, Emily staying late to fix a problem she didn't create, Emily looking at me with those sharp eyes like she was trying to figure out what made me tick.
I'd wanted to break her. Wanted to take this brilliant, ambitious girl and reshape her into something that needed me. And I'd done it. I'd actually fucking done it.
So why did I suddenly want to undo it?
The thought came out of nowhere. Just popped into my head fully formed like it had been waiting there the whole time. I should go get Ethan. I should go find that kid and bring him back because he's the one who can make her stop crying.
I blinked. Tried to figure out where that came from. Some kind of guilt? Temporary insanity? A stroke?
Because that was insane. That was completely insane. I didn't spend weeks setting this up just to hand her back to the boyfriend at the last second. That wasn't how this worked. That wasn't how any of this worked.
Emily's crying had quieted a little. Now it was just these occasional hitching breaths against my shoulder. I could feel the damp spot where her tears had soaked through my shirt. Could smell her shampoo mixed with the hospital antiseptic smell. Could feel how small she was, how fragile, how completely alone I'd made her.
And I thought it again. Go get Ethan.
No. Absolutely not. I wasn't that person. I wasn't the guy who did the noble thing and stepped aside. I was the guy who identified what he wanted and took it. And what I wanted was sitting right here crying into my shoulder because I'd made sure she had nowhere else to go.
She was mine now. My responsibility, my project, my—
What? My trophy? My prize? My proof that I could take something if I wanted it badly enough?
The words felt wrong. Tasted wrong. Made my stomach turn in a way that had nothing to do with the punch I'd taken earlier.
What if you shared?
The thought came from somewhere deeper. Quieter but more insistent. Like it had been waiting for me to stop arguing with myself long enough to actually hear it.
Shared? What did that even mean?
It means you don't have to take her away from him. It means you could give her what she needs instead of making her choose.
I almost laughed. That was—that was completely ridiculous. You didn't share people. You didn't split them down the middle like some kind of custody arrangement. That wasn't how relationships worked. That wasn't how anything worked.
But the voice kept going. Kept pushing at something I didn't want to examine.
You wanted her, right? You wanted Emily. So what if Emily needs both of you? What if trying to make her choose is what breaks her?
I shifted uncomfortably. Emily didn't seem to notice. She was still pressed against me, still breathing in those uneven hitches that suggested she was barely holding it together.
You're thinking about her like property. Like something you won. But what if you treated her like—
Like what?
Like a queen.
The word landed somewhere in my chest and stuck there. A queen. Not someone to be possessed or controlled or reshaped. Not a trophy or a prize or proof of my strategic superiority. A queen. Someone to be—what? Served? Adored? Given everything she needed regardless of whether that fit into my plans?
No. That was stupid. That was the kind of thinking that made you weak, that made you give up ground, that made you lose.
But I kept seeing her face. The way she looked when she was focused on a problem. The way she smiled when she figured something out. The way she'd looked tonight when Ethan said they were done, like something essential had been carved out of her chest.
I'd done that. I'd looked at that girl and decided the best use of her was to make her need me. And now she did need me and it felt like drowning.
So stop making her need you. Start giving her what she actually needs.
Which was what? Ethan? The boyfriend I'd just spent weeks systematically undermining? The kid who punched me in the face because I was trying to steal his girlfriend?
He loves her. You know he does. You've seen it. That's why you wanted him gone—because he was good for her in ways you weren't.