“No,” she says softly. “I just . . . it has to be this way, Christian.”
Why are you doing this to us?
It has to be this way, Mila.
“Mila, whatever it is, we can fix it together.”
“We can’t. We can’t fix this. Just . . . please. Let me go . . .”
Fuck.
FUCK.
Let her go? Are you fucking serious? After everything?
My hands shake when I run my fingers through my hair. I feel like my skin is too tight. Like all the air was sucked out of the vehicle.
First, Sebastian fucking us over, and now my wife is on the run again.
Something isn’t adding up.
“Mila, I’m coming home. Just wait for me.”
“I just don’t want to be with you anymore,” she snaps, and I think I’d rather take a bullet than hear her repeat those words.
A dark chuckle slides up my throat, and burning, bitter rage slips through me.
“You’re just going to go? Just like that? Sebastian is still out there looking for you.”
“I’m-I’m going home, Christian,” she says, her voice cracking with emotions I know all too fucking well.
Home. She’s going back to LA.
What about me? Sheismy fucking home.
My heartbeat is in my throat, and tension radiates through me that I can’t break. Like the night I’d found out she was attacked.
How the fuck can she expect me to go on and pretend like none of this happened? Like my goddamned heart doesn’t belong to her, no matter where she’s at in the world?
“Fuck . . .Mila . . .”
“I’m sorry, Christian . . . I’ll,” her voice catches, and I hear the pain in her voice—the pain I caused over two years of this pathetic excuse for a marriage.
Things have been so good lately I’d forgotten how bad I actually fucked up. Even if I’d chosen her, she never really got the chance to choose me. Not without some kind of curse over her head.
“I’ll always love you,” she whispers, and a cold clarity slips over me, numbing every nerve ending in my body.
This is really the fucking end.
Who the fuck am I kidding?
I told her I’d always find her. I’m a man of my word.
“Can Trilliam hear me?”
“Yes,” she exhales.
“Give her the money.”