Page 88 of Of Vows and Betrayal

“J—”

She raises her hand. “My father probably deserved what happened to him. Lucchese explained, in great detail while we waited, all the reasons my father was on death row. I’ve explained, but you’re not listening. This is what you did before. This is manipulation. Giving me this dream, saying all the right words, doing all the right things when I know you want to shout, you want to break things. You are still manipulating me, and how on earth can I forgive you? Howcan I trust you? Words are just words… and your actions? They are all manipulating, playing into the fantasy. I have no faith in you.”

I deflate, feeling like I’m fighting against the wind.

“Fine.” I move from my post in front of the door. “Let’s go.”

She frowns but moves past me and walks down the street as I lock up the store. I catch up with her in a couple of steps.

We walk in silence back to the car, the weight of her words pressing heavily on me. I realize I need to change tactics. She’s not wrong, even if I refused to see it. I forced her to stay in my life, thinking that I could bring about a resolution, but it seems to be hurting her far more than it is doing any good. Maybe I just need to give her space and time and perhaps a chance to see things differently, no matter how much it scares me.

When we reach the car, I unlock it, and we both get in. I start the engine and begin the drive back to the penthouse. The silence is oppressive, but I use the time to gather my thoughts.

As we pull into the parking garage, I finally speak. “I need to leave for a few weeks.” I hate the idea of leaving her here… unprotected.

She looks at me, surprised. “What?”

“I’m going to the board meeting in Europe. I need to take care of some things there,” I add. I need to call Evans and my assistant so I can get everything ready before the end of the night.

She narrows her eyes. “Finally had enough?”

“No,”I say firmly. “I will never have enough of you, Ophelia. Show me the ugly side as much as you like; it won’t change how I feel for you. But I’m listening now. I’m hearing you, so I’m giving you space. Time to think. And when I get back, I’ll talk with Lucchese and find a solution. One that doesn’t involve manipulation or control.”

She doesn’t respond, just looks away, her expression unreadable. She exits the car and walks to the elevator, her back stiff.

I don’t understand her. I’m giving her exactly what she’s been demanding for weeks now, yet the tension radiating from her makes it seem like she’s angry.

I sigh and shake my head. “It’s what you want, isn’t it?”

She still doesn’t say anything, but there’s a flicker of something in her eyes—maybe hurt, maybe skepticism. I can’t tell, and frankly, the rejection and despair I feel are enough to stop me from asking.

“When are you leaving?” she asks as we walk into the penthouse.

I remove my suit jacket, making sure to retrieve my wallet from the inside pocket this time. “Eager?” I mean to sound snarky, but it comes out pathetically hurt.

She doesn’t answer. She rarely does anymore. I’m not sure if it’s better or worse than her sarcastic replies.

“Probably tonight.” I take off my shoes and start undoing my cuff links. “I’ll send you a text when I know.” I head to my bedroom, already texting Doris to make the arrangements.

I give Evans a quick call and inform him about the change of plan. He doesn’t argue; he knows better. I may bea wealthy CEO, but I’m still the boy from the streets more often than not, and my tone on the call says it all.

I place my suitcase at the foot of the bed and, when I come out of the walk-in closet carrying my suits, I stop dead in my tracks. She’s just there, standing in the doorway of my room.

I look at her for a few seconds, but when she doesn’t say anything, I resume my packing. It’s hard for me not to talk, but I wait. Somehow, the weight of her gaze on me feels good in a way. My packing takes thirty minutes, and she just stays there, watching.

About twenty minutes into packing, I get a text from Doris telling me everything is ready and the company plane is waiting to take me to London.

I falter and throw Ophelia a look. She wants to see the world; she told me so herself. I can imagine how amazing it would be to see the awe on her face when I show her London, Zurich, and Vienna. But it’s not in the cards for her. Not now, and maybe never.

I walk into my bathroom and collect my toiletries. I am tired of her constant rejection. Every attempt is met by anger and venom, and I don’t have more to give. Except that she’s here now, in my bedroom, waiting. Waiting for what? I’m not sure, but—I look at myself in the mirror and see the resolution there.

Maybe I can try one more time.

Except that when I walk back into the bedroom, she’s gone. There’s just my key card on top of my clothes with a Post-it on it.

“Have a nice trip.”

I stare at the key card and the note, the finality of her words hitting me harder than I expected. With a heavy heart, I slip the card into my pocket and finish packing.

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