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If you want her so fucking much, then she’s yours.
The words came out of nowhere, and she jerked, realizing that she was the one who didn’t get it.
If you want her so fucking much, then she’s yours—-
He might be the only man she wanted, but it wasn’t the same for him.
If you want her so fucking much, then she’s yours—-
She squeezed her eyes shut, knowing that she could never utter the same words to him.
If you want her so fucking much, then she’s yours—-
Because she loved Christian.
If you want her so fucking much, then she’s yours—-
And Christian didn’t love her.
Christian swore when he saw the tears that started to fall silently down Jane’s face. “Oh for fuck’s sake, don’t cry.” He watched Jane’s eyes open, watched her visibly struggle to control her tears and silently try to understand him—-
And something in him snapped.
“Don’t fucking cry.”
Because it was making him want to listen to his heart rather than his head.
“Don’t fucking make this about you.”
Because it was making him think what they had could still be salvaged.
She started hyperventilating, breaking into pieces before his very eyes, and yet she still gazed—-
Ah fuck, she still looked at Christian like she loved him.
Jane watched Christian turn away with stunned, pained eyes, and she couldn’t help whispering, “That’s it? You’re walking away, just like that?”
Christian stopped moving, and her heart paused its frantic beating.
Please look at me, Jane pleaded feverishly in her mind. Please let’s fix this. Please.
“I have no choice,” Christian said tonelessly. “This isn’t going anywhere.”
What was he saying? They had a choice. He had a choice to stay. A choice to fix this, a choice to love her back—-
If you want her so fucking much, then she’s yours—-
Jane whitened as everything suddenly became clear and she realized she had gotten something wrong again. It wasn’t that he had no choice. It was that he had already made up his mind, and he had chosen to leave her.
He had chosen not to love her.
He had chosen to break her.
“But we were so happy,” she heard herself whisper unsteadily. “We were so happy, Christian.” A sob once again tried to claw out of her throat, and she ended up gasping, “Weren’t we?”
His fists clenched at the sound of her voice, everything in him wanting to turn around and just pull her in his arms.
It’s going to be okay. I’m sorry. I fucked up.
But he couldn’t say that. He mustn’t say that.
Because Jane was right: they had been happy, too much so, and that was the fucking problem.
He had never taken a day off work before Jane. He had never made a mistake about work before Jane. He had never put anyone or anything above work before Jane—-
And look where he fucking was now.
“Christian—-”
“No.” He didn’t need to hear anything more. It wouldn’t change anything.
Jane’s tears fell faster at the finality of his voice, and her shoulders began to shake at the strength of her sobs. “Christian, please.”
And he was starting to walk away again.
“Christian, I love you.”
She hadn’t meant to say the words, but the moment they slipped out, she knew—-
She knew she had wanted him to hear it, knew she was being desperate, knew that after this –
There was nothing else she could say or do if he still didn’t choose to stay with her.
Christian closed his eyes.
Christian, I love you.
He heard Jane gasp, and it was only then he realized that his body had moved involuntarily, and his fist had struck the wall with a hard blow. He opened his eyes, and he found himself numb to the sight of his bleeding fist.
He swung around to face her, asking hoarsely, “Did you really think saying those words would be enough to stop me?”
Yes. Oh God, yes. But she couldn’t make herself speak, could only cry harder at the bleak way Christian gazed at her.
“I’ve only had you for over a month in my life, Jane, and look – just take a goddamn second to look, to think about what’s happening. If I don’t find a way to make things right, the information of 20 million H players that I was responsible for keeping confidential would be sold to the highest bidder. If I don’t find a way to fix this, my company could close, and the people who depend on me for their livelihoods would lose their jobs—-”
“A-are you saying,” she asked brokenly, “it’s my fault?”
He shook his head tiredly. “No. Of course not. This was my fault, and I never thought any differently—-”
“Then what are you saying,” Jane demanded painfully.
But Christian only looked at her with eyes that grew bleaker with every moment that passed, and her desperation grew.
“I love you, Christian.” She knew she was being pathetic, but what else was there to say? “Please.” She reached for him—-
Christian stepped back.
