Chapter 17 Chapter 17

Chapter 17 Chapter 17
Anna POV

I sent him the meeting spot and every detail via email, which I also forwarded to Dylan and my security guy. Everything was set. Mind you, I wasn't going to kill him, but I was about to confront him and speak my mind. He replied to my email exactly an hour after I sent it. He agreed to the meetup, but I knew his plan was to harm me or do something truly bad to me.

I met up with him at the spot we'd already planned. Dylan and my security guy were there with me as backup. Lewis walked toward me, all clean and neat—not at all what I'd expected his appearance to be.

"So you came?" he said as I walked closer to him.

I was wearing baggy jeans and a cropped top that showed my midriff, wanting him to see what he'd lost. He wore shorts and a t-shirt. I smiled at him, though the smile was fake, masking the anger and hate that filled me. He came closer. Our bodies were almost touching. I maintained that sleek smile, even as anger and hatred churned inside me. Then I adjusted my position, putting my hand up as a barrier to keep him from getting any closer. I didn't need to touch him. I didn't need his body anywhere near mine. It felt like an abomination, like a forbidden sin at this moment. I hated him. I hated the air he breathed. I hated every single thing about him—his footsteps, his clothes, his facial appearance. He looked far uglier than I'd ever imagined at this moment.

"I sent the memo, you bastard."

He laughed at my words, then looked left and right as if he was watching for something or maybe feeling scared.

"Oh sorry, I don't take insults in open places."

He laughed as he said the words. It felt more annoying than mocking, both at the same time. It diminished who I was and what I am, but I ignored it because I had one mission here: to confront him, tell him everything that lay deep in my mind, and give him the threats that had been building inside me. Threatening him would definitely make him fear me, because this kind of person responds to power, not empty words. He had that fame and strong attitude that needed to be challenged.

For close to thirty minutes, we just went back and forth, sending sarcastic words to each other. He didn't even flinch. He just kept giving me the same energy I gave to him. Then the threats suddenly started pouring out of my mouth. I knew he was definitely recording this entire conversation, but I didn't care. I made sure I said everything I was angry about. My mind was filled and crowded with anger. I needed to voice it out as soon as possible, to release all these feelings so I could feel like myself again, so I could feel better.

As I was screaming, ranting out all my anger and frustration, he leaned in to steal a kiss. I pushed him with all the force and anger within me. He hit the ground, and his teeth snapped shut with the impact. I didn't care at first. I waited for a few minutes, but he didn't stand up. He just lay there. It all felt strange to me. His chest looked as if it had stopped moving already. Everything felt like a time lapse.

Was he dead, or did he just faint? I couldn't afford this.

My mind raced almost immediately. My heart stopped at the same pace because I couldn't handle this. I checked his nose, trying to see if he was breathing, and luckily no one was there to witness the whole scene.

I knelt down immediately and placed both hands on his chest for quick CPR. I couldn't let him die. I hated him, but I couldn't let him die. He needed to pay for what he'd done, but not with his blood on my hands. It should be on someone else's hands, not mine. As I did the CPR—one, two, three—he jumped up and laughed hard.

I felt like such a fool immediately. I stopped, stood up, and was about to walk away when he grabbed my hand and said, "Sandra, I love you. No other woman can be like you."

I rolled my eyes. I knew exactly why he was saying those words to me. His comfort and his whole world were going down the drain. He needed me back in his life to recover everything he was about to lose. But no, I was smarter than that now. I was living the life I wanted already. I'd reconciled with my whole family. I was the heiress to a big fortune. He wasn't going to just walk back into my life as if nothing had happened in the past. No.

I yanked my hand from his and gave a very loud hiss. I walked a few steps, then turned back to face him and said, "Lewis, don't you ever take me for a fool. Besides, I know what I want now. And I know who I am already."

I rolled my eyes and walked away in a very sassy manner, channeling the strong female alpha energy that I should have always possessed from the very beginning. I knew that deep down, he would be crying and groaning about why he'd acted so foolishly before. But this was just the beginning of everything I had in store for him. Him losing his wealth and property wasn't even the major part of my plan. He would cry and crumble down, begging at my knees for food and a single penny.

And yes, it would happen. It was actually a promise I'd made to myself already. I wouldn't turn back on my words. Turning back would make me a coward, and I wasn't one.

I walked back to where I'd left Dylan. He wasn't alone—he was pacing, and from his physical expression, I could tell he was worried. He asked as I came closer to him, "Did he die?"

I laughed. "No, he didn't."

My security guy was just standing there, observing and watching, doing exactly what he was supposed to do. But Dylan had been panicking. I calmed him down and explained everything to him. Then we walked back to my house.

My heart raced as I thought about it. I had definitely loved Lewis once. I hadn't loved any person the way I'd loved Lewis. But now, I couldn't return to my vomit, to my past mistakes. It was my past, and it should remain in my past—not unless it could somehow bring me closer to my future. He'd played me once, and I knew he would play me again and again if I let him get close to me. So there was no point in going back. I tried everything in my power to snap away from old thoughts of him and everything connected to him. At first, it didn't work. But after some time and conversation with myself, I snapped my brain out of it.

But then, another text appeared on my phone. I looked at it. It was a text from his mistress—or his new wife, I should call her. It read: Sandra, each breath you take gets you closer to your end.

It was definitely a threat. And I actually enjoyed getting threat messages. This one wasn't even enough to faze me. I would go down fighting to my very last breath before I let them win.