Page 44 of The Greek Billionaire's Rejected Secretary

It didn't make sense then. But it does now. Painfully and terrifyingly so.

Because the longer I watch her, the more I see the way she interacts so joyfully with the people around her, and how they dote on her in return—

I get it now, God.

While driving here, I had convinced myself that she had to forgive me. And that she needed me to rescue her from a place like Dellbrook. But now, it's just so damn clear.

I'm the poor one here, I realize numbly.Not her.

And if I truly loved Shayla, wouldn't it be better for her to be without—

"You're that famous lawyer, ain't you?"

I turn to find an elderly woman beside me, cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth.

"I've been known to practice law."

"Hmph." She takes a long drag. "Seen you on the TV. That pharmaceutical case. Good work." Her gaze turns cunning. "You here for Shayla?"

"You know her?"

She looks at me disdainfully. "Everyone here knows her." The woman gestures toward the building. "Place is run by volunteers. Offers free legal help to folks who can't afford fancy lawyers." She eyes me appraisingly. "She started volunteering after leaving some hotshot firm in the city. Said she needed to remember why she loved the law in the first place."

This woman clearly isn't the type to pull punches. Good for her. Hell for me. Because now I'm even more convinced that I just have to let her go—

God, is there truly no other way?

—if I truly love her.

"She's studying for the bar, too," the woman continues. "Gonna be a fine lawyer. Better than you, probably."

"There's no 'probably' about it," I say quietly. Shayla is better than me in every way. I just...I just wasn't as smart as Pietro. I didn't know I had a good one when I had it.

Across the street, the small crowd around Shayla has dispersed. She turns to my direction, and her body jerks, her face paling as soon as our gazes finally collide.

I'm sorry.

Because me just being here—it's discomfort that she doesn't deserve. She's already moved on, deservingly so, but here I am, ruining things for her again.

I'll just apologize,I tell myself doggedly, and then that's it.

Her face crumbles as I start to cross the street, and my heart does the same. I give her every chance to turn and walk away if that's what she wants, but Shayla remains perfectly still. She only watches me approach, eyes wide, hands clutching her bag like a shield.

People around us step back, creating a small circle of privacy in the public space. Their protective stance tells me everything—they care about her. They know she's good.

While I, the idiot who've known her for nearly a decade, was so swift to condemn her.

"I'm sorry," I say hoarsely when I reach her. "For being the biggest idiot in the world. I'm sorry for—"

"Being traumatized?" she cuts me off, eyes brimming with tears.

What was she talking about?

"I won't deny how much you've hurt me," she whispers. "I won't deny I've been praying for God to help me stop loving you—"

Please don't answer her prayer, God.

"But do you know how He answered me?"

---