Page 40 of Her Possessive Dominant Fake Husband

The bag was heavy in my hands, a tangible weight that anchored me to this place, to this choice, to this unbearable, inescapable reality.

I’d thought he might try. I’d thought he might care. For one stupid, hopeful second, I’d thought he might actually—

“No.” My voice was sharp, decisive, cutting off what he’d never say, what I couldn’t let myself believe anymore. “I let myself believe for one stupid second that this was real. That you actually—”

I stopped, biting back the words that would hurt too much to say.

Alexander breathed sharply, his fingers twitching at his side—like he was about to move, about to reach for me, about to say something that changed everything.

I saw it. Saw the hesitation. Saw the internal war he was trying so hard not to lose. Saw the way his jaw tightened, the way his breath dragged, the way his hand almost lifted—like he was about to grab my wrist, stop me, fix this before it was too late.

I held my breath. For one aching, stretched-out second, it was like the world paused. Like he was going to give in. Like he was going to change everything.

But then—

Then his fingers curled into a fist, and he didn’t. He didn’t stop me. He didn’t do the thing that would have undone everything.

And that—that was worse than if he’d done nothing at all.

I swallowed, pushing past the heaviness tightening in my throat. “I’ll figure it out.” I said it more to myself than to him. Because I had to. Because there was no other choice now.

I exhaled, steeled myself, and walked out. And Alexander—

Alexander let me go.

Chapter Twelve

Alexander

Three days later.

It was foolish, how often I found myself lingering in the places she'd been, touching things she’d touched.

Foolish how my hands remembered the curve of her waist, the softness of her skin, and ached to feel it again. I wasn’t going to call her. I had told myself a dozen times. I couldn’t give in. She needed space, and I needed to find my goddamn control.

Yet there I stood, in my office, staring at the phone like it held all the answers. I could fix this. I could make it better with a single call, a single word.

“Where are you?” “I shouldn’t have let you go.” “Tell me you’re okay.”

I nearly broke then. Nearly called. Nearly revealed how fucking miserable I was without her. My jaw clenched as I threw the phone back on the desk. This was better. This was right. This was killing me.

I had to let her go. She wasn’t made for my world, and I couldn’t keep pretending I was the man who could give her what she needed. Still, every goddamn moment without her felt like breathing white-hot fire into my lungs.

I dragged a hand through my hair, hating myself. Every room in the house was silent, too silent, and I swore I could still hear her voice echoing against the walls. The way she laughed, the way she filled the space with a warmth I hadn't realized was missing. She was a drug, and I was the addict too far gone to save.

I stood there, drowning in it, fighting the urge to hear her voice, to take back everything I’d said and more. My own words haunted me. “You knew what this was.” The cold bastard I had to be, the asshole who pretended letting her go was just a business decision, when it was tearing me apart.

She had looked at me, those eyes burning with the kind of hurt that gutted a man, and all I did was stand there like the coward I was, convincing myself it was the right thing.

But was it? Was it really? I didn’t know anymore. All I knew was that without her, the house felt like a damn tomb.

The day she left replayed in my mind like a broken record. Her things packed, her eyes searching mine for a sign that this meant more, that I was more than a man hiding behind a contract and a fear of anything real. And all I did was watch her walk out, thinking she’d be better off without me. Now, I wasn’t sure I’d survive the mess I’d made.

The memory of our first days together in the house played cruel tricks on my mind. She’d been nervous, but determined, bringing her bright spirit into a space that had known only shadows and silence.

I’d told myself she was here to serve a purpose. A strategic decision. But watching her settle into my life, watching her change everything just by being there—it had scared the hell out of me. More than losing her. More than anything.

I picked up the phone again, hands shaking with the conflict raging inside. I wanted to call. I wanted to hold out. I wanted her to be here without having to ask. The man I used to be wouldn’t have hesitated. The man I was with her didn’t know how to do anything but hesitate. I was breaking every rule I’d set for myself, and for what? For someone I shouldn’t want, yet couldn’t imagine not having.

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