Page 227 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

“This is your money. Your work. Yours. You don’t owe me anything, honey.”

Her words slapped me across the face.

I was offering her the ranch of her dreams, and she was too fucking selfless to accept it.

When I was growing up, my mom would make it a point to tell me how parents should have no expectations from their kids. They could have hopes, sure, but never expectations.

I later found out that my grandparents were the type to go around making her feel like she was indebted to them for putting a roof over her head.

They’d tell her, “I feed you, I buy you clothes. You have no idea everything I do for you. You should be grateful.”

And of course, she was, but it also made her feel guilty for existing. Almost like they expected her to bow down for simply taking care of the human being they’d chosen to bring into the world.

I showed her around, and I could tell she was in love with the property, but all she said was, “Being a good parent isn’t about what your kids can give you. It’s about what you can give them.”

Her worst fear was becoming like her parents, and so, she refused to move into her dream house, telling me to back out of the sale.

Spoiler alert: I didn’t.

I bought the house and moved all her furniture into it while she was out of her apartment one day.

It took me a solid week to convince her that I wasn’t doing it because I felt like I had to but because I wanted to. Same thing happened with the beach house.

I passed it off like I was buying it for me but told her she could come and visit whenever she wanted—even though everybody knows the house is really hers.

My chauffeur pulls into my mom’s driveway an hour later than expected. My flight to Colorado was delayed, and then we had to circle around the block a couple dozen times to lose the paps.

I’m honestly surprised my management allowed me to go. Especially since the last time I flew to another state, photos of my trip wound up on every tabloid’s front page.

My stomach twists into a knot when Hadley’s face flashes in front of my eyes.

I see her smile.

Hear her laugh.

See myself driving my fingers through her red hair.

I miss her.

I miss her so fucking much.

A week has gone by since she made me believe there was hope for us and then walked out of my life, taking my goddam sanity with her.

It didn’t make sense at first.

She was right there.

Riding my cock like it was her life’s purpose.

Meeting me thrust for thrust and letting me kiss her until she was gasping for air.

And then…

She was gone.

Just like that, she grabbed her clothes off the floor and snuck out while I was asleep.

Suddenly, breaking the fancy art all over the penthouse seemed like a damn good way to channel my anger.

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