Page 71 of Royal Deception
“I fucked up, Kellan,” I finally say, my voice hoarse. “It’s all my fault. Our relationship was messed up from day one because I wanted it to be all on my terms.”
“What kind of terms?” he asks, his voice calm.
“It was this whole D/S thing. You know what I mean. We’ve been to the same clubs before.”
Kellan nods, letting me continue.
“We were just fooling around, but it turned into a situationship, then things got out of hand, and the next thing I knew, she was living with me and I was all but fuckin’ proposing to her. Fuck!”
I throw the drink back, savoring the burn as it goes down. “I just wanted things to be easy between us. Uncomplicated. I thought I could keep things under control if she were just a sub, you know? But it wasn’t enough for her and I knew it. And maybe…” I take a deep breath, the words I’m afraid of sitting on the tip of my tongue.And maybe it wasn’t enough for me, either.
Kellan exhales deeply, then slaps me on the shoulder, a little too hard. “You’ve got to stop thinking you can control everything, Rory. You can’t expect to always be in control. If I’ve learned anything from being with Darcy and the kids, it’s that life is completely unpredictable. It’s messy. It’s complicated.”
“What do I do?” I ask, misery in my tone.
“You bend a little,” Kellan says, sitting back against the cushions with a shrug. “You gotta bend or you’ll totally break. You’ve already broken things, but it can still be fixed.”
There’s a long pause, then Kellan leans forward, looking me in the eyes. “You need to decide what you want. What’s important to you? And if it’s Clary, then you need to go after her. You need to figure out how to make it right. No more games.”
After Kellan leaves, the emptiness of the room feels suffocating. I know I should move, do something, but I can’t. It’s like my whole body is frozen in place, wrapped in a blanket of self-loathing. My thoughts are spinning in circles, too tangled to untangle.
I take another drink, feeling the burn slide down my throat, and then another. The ice clinks as it melts, but the ache in my chest won’t go away. The silence is deafening, and all I can hear is the hum of my own misery.
I grab my phone, fingers shaking as I dial her number.
“Clary,” I begin, my voice unsteady, too raw for a man like me. “I know I fucked up. I don’t even know if you’ll listen to this. But please… please come back. You’ve been more than just my assistant. You’ve been everything. I can’t do this without you.Please, Clary… please just come back, put everything behind us. We can fix this, I swear.”
The next morning,I wake up with a headache pounding through my skull. I squint at the clock. It’s past noon. I didn’t even hear the night go by, my body having decided to skip over time as it shut down from exhaustion and alcohol.
I groggily reach for my phone, rubbing my eyes, when I see the text notification from Clary.
My stomach twists as I open it.
Clary: I’m quitting. Effective immediately. I won’t be coming back to work. Please consider this my resignation.
I stare at the screen, frozen, as the weight of her words sinks in.
She’s really gone.
30
CLARY
The next day, Miranda is gone to work and I’m alone. The silence here feels almost too loud. It's like a vacuum, sucking up everything—thoughts, plans, expectations—and leaving nothing but emptiness behind.
But a smile creeps up on my face as I realize that for the first time in forever, I have nothing to do. No Rory to please, no deadline to meet, no boss to impress. It’s like I’ve stepped off a cliff and into an endless stretch of nothingness.
I take a deep breath and focus on the sketchbook in front of me. I can do this. I can focus on something that’s just mine, something I’ve wanted for so long but never had the chance to pursue. I begin to sketch a few designs, not really thinking about anything but the strokes of the pencil, the rhythm of my hand. I try to forget about Rory, about the mess I left behind, about the tears that still feel fresh in my chest.
But one thing that I can’t ignore, the thing that has been getting harder to ignore lately, is the tiny fluttering sensation in my belly.
My baby.
The thought still makes my stomach twist with uncertainty, but it's real. It’s happening. I put the pencil down for a second, staring at the soft curve of a dress I just sketched. Then, without much thought, I begin jotting down plans—things to do, things to buy, things I need to make sure are ready. It’s a small attempt at controlling the uncontrollable, but it helps calm my mind.
Before I can stop myself, I grab my phone, hesitating for a second before typing out a message.
Clary: Hey, Ana, you free for a chat? I could really use some tea and advice.
