Chapter 169
Grace's POV
For a moment, his resolve cracked. I could see the desperate longing he was trying so hard to hide, saw his thumb unconsciously stroke my cheek.
But then his walls slammed back up.
"Because I can't guarantee I won't hurt you again."
I stared at him, seeing past his words to the fear beneath. The self-loathing. The absolute terror of becoming the monster he believed himself to be.
"You're not pushing me away to protect me," I said slowly, the pieces clicking into place. "You're doing it to protect yourself. You're so afraid of me rejecting you that you'd rather reject me first."
His hand dropped from my face like I'd burned him.
"That's what this is really about, isn't it?" I continued, my voice gaining strength. "You're terrified that I'll see who you really are and decide I can't handle it. So you're making that choice for me. You're being a coward, Alex."
"I'm trying to—"
"You're being selfish," I cut him off, stepping closer until we were almost chest to chest. "You're so wrapped up in your own guilt and fear that you can't see what you're doing to me. You're making decisions about our marriage without even asking what I want."
The words seemed to hit him like physical blows. I could see him flinching with each accusation, his face growing paler.
"You want to know what I think?" I stepped even closer, my voice rising. "I think you're scared. I think you've been hurt so many times that you'd rather destroy something beautiful than risk having it destroyed for you."
"Grace, please—"
"No!" I was beyond reason now, beyond caring about his pain. "You don't get to 'please' me. You don't get to make this decision for both of us and then act like you're doing me a favor."
The fury was consuming me now, burning away every rational thought. Without thinking, I stepped forward and bit down on his shoulder, hard enough to leave marks. Hard enough to make him gasp.
But he didn't push me away. Instead, he stood there, taking it, his hands hovering near my shoulders like he wanted to comfort me but didn't dare touch.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice broken. "Grace, I'm sorry."
"Sorry doesn't fix this," I said against his skin, tasting salt—his sweat or my tears, I couldn't tell. "You don't even know what I'm really angry about."
"Tell me," he said desperately, his voice cracking. "Tell me what you need. Tell me how to fix this."
I pulled back to look at him, seeing the genuine confusion and desperation in his eyes. This powerful man who commanded boardrooms and bent entire industries to his will was completely lost when it came to this.
"I'm not just angry that you hid things from me, Alex. I'm angry that you have so little faith in me. In us."
His face crumpled like I'd struck him. "That's not—"
"It is," I said firmly. "You think I'm so weak, so fragile, that I can't handle the truth about who you are. You think I'll run at the first sign of trouble."
"I don't want you to be afraid of me," he said, his voice breaking completely now. "I don't want you to look at me and see a monster."
The vulnerability in his voice nearly destroyed me. This wasn't the cold, controlled Alex Morgan the world knew. This was a man stripped bare, showing me his deepest fears.
"How could I ever be afraid of you?" I asked, my anger finally giving way to something softer, something that ached in my chest. "Alex, when that knife was coming at me, I didn't let go of your hand. Even when I knew you might hurt me, I didn't let go."
I saw the moment the words hit him, saw him remember that night in vivid, painful detail. His face went white, his breathing shallow.
"I've never been afraid of you," I continued, reaching up to touch his face. "Not once. The only thing I'm afraid of is losing you to your own fear."
He stared at me for a long moment, and I could see the war raging behind his eyes. Fear battling hope. Self-hatred wrestling with love.
Finally, his shoulders sagged in defeat.
"I don't know how to do this," he whispered, his voice so quiet I had to strain to hear it. "Every time I think about hurting you, I feel like I'm drowning. I can't think straight. I can't—" He stopped, his breathing ragged. "Tell me what to do, Grace. Tell me how to love you without destroying you."
The raw vulnerability in his voice nearly broke me. This strong, powerful man was falling apart in front of me, and all because he loved me too much to trust himself with me.
"Love isn't about protection, Alex," I said softly, my hands framing his face. "It's not about keeping someone safe from every possible harm."
"Then what is it?"
"It's about being brave enough to be vulnerable. It's about trusting that the person you love will choose to stay, even when things get difficult." I smiled through my tears. "It's about having faith in something bigger than your fear."
He leaned into my touch like a man dying of thirst, his eyes closing as if my words were too much to bear.
"You think love means never causing pain," I whispered. "But real love means being willing to work through the pain together. It means trusting me enough to let me make my own choices about what I can handle."
"And if I hurt you again?"
"Then we'll deal with it. Together." I pressed closer, until there was no space between us. "Even if the road ahead leads to hell, Alex, I'd rather walk it with you than walk anywhere else alone."
For a moment, we just stood there, breathing the same air, sharing the same space. I could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, could see the tears he was trying so hard not to shed.
Then, slowly, carefully, like he was afraid I might disappear, he leaned down and kissed me.
It was soft and desperate and full of promises neither of us knew if we could keep. But it was ours, and for now, that was enough.