Chapter 10
581words
He clutched a massive bouquet of roses—my favorite shade of pink.
I was carrying Stephen's jacket over my arm.
Stephen had knocked back one too many at dinner and could barely walk straight.
"Who the hell is he?"
Marcus blocked our path, his face drained of color.
Stephen's glazed eyes suddenly sharpened, ready for confrontation.
I squeezed his arm, silently telling him to back off.
Marcus grabbed my wrist and dragged me toward his car.
I fought back, sinking my teeth into his hand.
He didn't even flinch—just tightened his grip and bundled me into the backseat.
After miles of tense silence, he ordered the driver to pull over by the river.
He chain-smoked three cigarettes before speaking, his voice cutting through the night air.
"I never told you about my childhood. My father was a drunk who beat me bloody whenever the mood struck. Mom ran off with another man when I was eight. After that, Dad took all his hatred for her out on me. Between beatings, I did every chore in that hellhole. When I was starving, barely conscious, a neighbor girl would sneak me food. I survived to fourteen because of what she stole from her own kitchen."
"So you see, I can't just cut her off."
Melanie Sinclair—the only light in his dark childhood.
And the catalyst for my own descent into hell.
The three of us, bound by fate's cruelest joke.
I stepped out into the night. River wind caressed my face as I gazed at him, something like pity stirring in my chest.
"The wind was this strong the day my mother died. But it couldn't dry her tears."
"We were doomed from the start, Marcus. You have your debt of gratitude. I have my mother's dying wish."
I turned to leave.
"But I've fallen in love with you anyway."
My feet froze mid-step.
He wrapped his arms around me from behind, crushing me against his chest like he wanted to absorb me into himself.
"Natalie, I was wrong," he whispered fiercely. "These weeks without you… I can't breathe. I can't sleep. I do love you."
I tore myself from his arms and put distance between us.
His eyes shimmered with regret and something that looked like love.
I met his gaze with a smile that felt like broken glass.
"You targeted me. Seduced me. Made me trust you with my life. Then stole my kidney and used my money to follow your precious Melanie overseas for two years—all while pretending you were studying."
"And I was such a fool—writing you love letters, counting the days until you'd return."
"I was always your backup plan. You never once claimed me publicly. Is that what passes for love in your world?"
His eyes reddened, swimming with shame and desperation.
"Yes, I lied about everything," he admitted hoarsely. "But I was lying to myself too. I told myself I was just making things up to you. I couldn't face what I really felt. I took everything you did for granted."
"Natalie, I'll change. I'll set proper boundaries with Melanie. Just give me one more chance. Let's start fresh."
He reached for my hand, but I stepped back.
"Marcus, it's over. This twisted triangle between us runs too deep. It would never end."
Some things, once broken, can never be fixed.
Even if love remains, the wounds cut too deep.
A shattered heart, once surrendered, is impossible to reclaim.
