Page 69 of Fake To Forever

"I’m so sorry," he murmurs, his voice low and soothing, but the words don’t make it any better. Nothing can.

We sit like that for what feels like hours, the grief washing over me in waves, and Christian never lets go. He’s my anchor, keeping me steady even as everything around me crumbles. Eventually, my sobs quiet, but the ache remains. I pull back slightly, wiping my face with the back of my hand, embarrassed by how much I’ve fallen apart.

"I don’t know how to do this," I admit, my voice shaky. "I don’t know how to move on without her."

Christian watches me, his expression full of empathy, and I can tell he’s struggling to find the right words.

"You don’t have to move on right away," he says softly. "Grief isn’t something you just fix. It’s messy. It takes time."

I nod, though I’m not sure how much time could ever make this better. The thought of life without her feels like trying to breathe underwater.

"I don’t know who I am without her," I whisper. "Everything feels so… empty."

Christian’s eyes soften, and he reaches out, taking my hand in his. "You’re still you, Haven, and you’re not alone in this. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere."

His words are sincere, but they hit me in a way I don’t expect. Suddenly, all the doubts I’ve been trying to suppress bubble to the surface. I pull my hand from his, my heart pounding in my chest.

"I don’t even know what this is anymore," I say, my voice cracking. "This… marriage, this arrangement. I don’t know what’s real and what’s just for show."

Christian looks taken aback, and I instantly feel a pang of guilt for saying it, but it’s been sitting in the back of my mind ever since we left the hospital. With Mom gone, everything feels different. The reasons I had for staying, for playing the part, they’re slipping away.

"What do you mean?" Christian asks, his voice cautious, like he’s afraid of what I’m going to say next.

I stand up, pacing the room, running my hands through my hair. "I don’t know who I am without her, and I don’t know who I am in this marriage anymore. It started as a way to make things easier—for you, for me—but I don’t know if I can keep pretending that’s all it is."

Christian stands too, his face full of confusion and pain. "Pretending? Haven, I’m not pretending. This has become real for me. You’re not just some part of an arrangement. I care about you, more than you know."

His words hit me hard, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m losing myself, that this was never supposed to happen like this.

"I don’t know, Christian," I whisper, shaking my head. "Maybe we were just fooling ourselves, trying to make something out of nothing."

Christian takes a step toward me, and when he speaks, his voice is full of quiet desperation. "Don’t do this, Haven. Don’t pull away from me now. We’ve been through too much together."

Tears well up in my eyes again, and I look away, my heart breaking all over again. "I just… I need space. I need time to figure out what’s real and what’s just convenient."

He doesn’t say anything, and the silence between us feels deafening. Finally, Christian exhales slowly, his voice pained but understanding. "If that’s what you need, I’ll give it to you. But please, Haven… don’t push me away for good."

I can’t even respond. I just nod, tears streaming down my face, as he steps back, giving me the space I asked for. When he leaves the room, I collapse back onto the couch, feeling like I’ve just made the biggest mistake of my life, but I don’t know how to fix it. Not now.

All I know is that everything feels broken, and I don’t know how to put it back together again.

Chapter Twenty-Six: The Bargain

Christian

Oliver’s giggles fill the air and act like a balm of sorts on my bruised and busted heart. It’s a small relief and I’m clinging to it like a lifeline. I’m playing with Oliver in the living room, building block towers that he knocks down with an infectious laugh. His happiness is the only thing I’ve been clinging to lately, especially with everything that’s happened with Haven.

She’s been distant since her mom died. I know she’s occupied with planning Leila’s funeral and dealing with everything that comes with the passing of a loved one, but it’s more than that. Her concern that our marriage has lost meaning now that her mom’s gone makes me anxious. She hasn’t asked for an annulment yet, but what if she does? What do I do then? I can’t force her to stay married to me, but I don’t want to let her go.

For now, I’m giving her space and praying that she decides to come back to me. At least Theresa has been lying low since the wedding. Hopefully, she’s overwhelmed with guilt for what happened, but that might be asking too much of someone like her.

When I hear that familiar, grating voice, I realize I’m right in that regard.

"Christian, I didn’t expect your house to look so… domesticated. You don’t even have security guards to keep unwanted visitors away. That’s a little careless, don’t you think?"

I turn and there she is—Theresa, standing in the doorway with her mother behind her, both of them oozing the kind of artificial grace they’ve perfected. Theresa with her bleached-blonde hair, perfectly applied makeup, and clothes so perfectly put together it’s like she’s walked out of a magazine shoot.

Agnes, on the other hand, has always reminded me of a statue—cold, tall, and unyielding. She’s aged gracefully, if you can call it that, with short silver hair that’s always perfectly styled with not a strand out of place. Her face is lightly wrinkled, just enough to show her years, but it doesn’t soften her. Nothing about her is soft. Even her pale blue eyes, the same color as Theresa’s, are sharp and calculating, as though they’re constantly measuring everything around her, sizing up the world to see how it can be bent to her will.

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