Chapter 67
Alex's POV
I swallowed hard. My throat felt tight.
So what if you stopped trying to replace him? What if you just—added yourself to her life instead of trying to become her whole life?
That was insane. That was completely, totally insane.
But I couldn't stop thinking about it. Couldn't stop imagining what it would look like. Emily with Ethan's steadiness and my ambition. Emily with someone to come home to and someone to build an empire with. Emily not having to choose between love and success because both of us gave her different things she needed.
Emily as the center. The one we both—
Served? Loved? Worshiped?
My stomach did something complicated. This wasn't how I thought. This wasn't how I operated. I didn't share. I didn't collaborate. I definitely didn't structure my life around making sure someone else got everything they wanted.
But the image wouldn't go away. Emily happy instead of broken. Emily thriving instead of barely surviving. Emily looking at me with something other than desperate dependence because she actually had choices, actually had options, actually had people who cared about her wellbeing more than they cared about winning.
I thought about Ethan. About the way he'd looked tonight when Emily defended me. About the devastation on his face when he realized he'd lost. About how he'd probably spent the last year protecting her, supporting her, loving her the best way he knew how.
And I'd decided that wasn't convenient for me so I'd taken him out of the equation.
What did that make me?
An asshole. It makes you an asshole. But you could choose to be something else.
No. No, I couldn't. Because that would mean admitting I'd been wrong. That would mean undoing weeks of careful manipulation. That would mean walking back to that kid and saying—what? Sorry I tried to steal your girlfriend, want to team up instead?
He'd laugh in my face. Or punch me again. Probably both.
And even if he didn't—even if by some miracle he was willing to hear me out—there was no guarantee Emily would want that. No guarantee she wouldn't look at both of us like we were insane for even suggesting it.
But what if she didn't? What if she looked at us and saw possibility instead of possession? What if having both of us was actually what she needed, what she'd been trying to tell us all along by refusing to choose?
I closed my eyes. This was crazy. This whole line of thinking was crazy.
But the seed was planted. I could feel it taking root somewhere in my chest, spreading uncomfortable questions through all my careful rationalizations. Questions about what I actually wanted versus what I thought I was supposed to want. Questions about whether winning meant taking everything or whether it meant making sure everyone got what they needed.
Questions about whether I could actually pull this off even if I decided to try.
"Mr. Monroe?" A nurse appeared in the doorway. Clipboard in hand. "We're ready for you."
I stood up carefully. Emily pulled back, wiping at her face with the back of her hand. Her eyes were red and swollen. She looked completely destroyed.
"Wait here," I said quietly. "I'll be quick."
She nodded. Didn't argue. Just sank back into the plastic chair looking small and exhausted and very alone.
I followed the nurse through the doors. And I thought: You don't have to do this. You could leave things as they are. You could keep her isolated and dependent and eventually she'd stop crying and start accepting this as her new normal.
But I'd seen what that looked like. Had watched it happen to other people in other contexts. The way they stopped fighting and started just—existing. The way the light went out of them bit by bit until they were just going through the motions.
I didn't want that for Emily. I realized it with sudden, uncomfortable clarity. I didn't want her diminished. Didn't want her reduced to whatever version of herself could survive on what I alone was willing to give her.
I wanted her brilliant and fierce and fully herself. Wanted to see what she could become if she actually had everything she needed instead of just what I decided to provide. Wanted—
I wanted her happy.
The thought was so foreign it almost didn't register. I'd spent years not particularly caring whether people were happy as long as they were useful. Had built my entire professional life around maximizing efficiency and profit regardless of personal cost. Had looked at Emily and seen potential to be exploited rather than a person to be cared for.
But I wanted her happy. Wanted it enough that I was standing here seriously considering the most ridiculous plan I'd ever come up with. Wanted it enough that the thought of going back out there and finding Ethan didn't seem quite as insane as it should have.
A queen. Not a possession. Not a prize. A queen.
And queens didn't have to choose between the people who loved them. Queens got everything they wanted. Queens were adored and served and protected by everyone in their orbit.
Could I do that? Could I actually restructure my entire understanding of how relationships worked just because some girl cried on my shoulder and made me feel like an asshole?
I didn't know. But the seed was planted. And I had the sinking feeling it was going to grow whether I wanted it to or not.
The nurse gestured to the exam table. I sat down. Let her clean the split lip and start preparing the sutures.
And I thought about Emily. About Ethan. About what it would take to undo what I'd done.
About whether I was brave enough—or crazy enough—to actually try.