Page 59 of His to Possess
Yet here I was, considering meeting him. The decision didn't come easily. For hours, I paced my room, debating whether to make the call. The rational part of me screamed to ignore it, to put Paris and Alain firmly in the past where they belonged. But a nagging voice whispered that I needed answers, closure maybe.
In the end, curiosity won out. With shaking hands, I dialed the number, half-hoping it would be disconnected.
"I figured you'd call. Sooner or later," he murmured the moment I answered the phone.
Every muscle in my body tensed. This already felt like a mistake, and I hadn't even said a full sentence yet. "What the hell is wrong with you? You came to my apartment, broke my door—are you insane? Are you—"
"I did what was necessary, mon chéri," he said smoothly. "If you had behaved a little more civilly, there wouldn't have been a need for any of that."
A wave of anger surged up through me, hot and fast. I clenched my jaw, trying to keep it under control. The nerve of this man—his arrogance—was unbelievable. That part of him hadn't changed at all. It made me want to end the call right then and there, forget I'd ever dialed his number. But I knew better. With Alain, nothing was ever that easy. He had a way of crawling back into my life and turning everything upside down. This time wouldn't be any different.
"What do you want?" I asked, forcing the words through gritted teeth.
"Let's meet," he said, calm and confident.
"Why?"
"There's only one way to find out."
I rolled my eyes, my body still tight with tension. I stayed quiet, debating what to do. A part of me wanted to ignore him and walk away. But another part, the smarter part, knew that facing him head-on might be the only way to deal with this.
After a long pause, I gave in.
"I'll send you the location of a café nearby. We'll meet there."
"I'd prefer something a little more private."
"Well, I'd prefer you to go to hell, but we don't always get what we want, do we?"
Without waiting for a response, I ended the call. My hand was shaking slightly as I lowered the phone. My chest rose and fell quickly, heart pounding hard in my ears.
Now, the time had come. As I walked through the bustling streets, I couldn't help but second-guess my decision. What if this was just another of Alain's games? What if he was here to cause more trouble? The memory of how easily he had manipulated me before made my stomach churn.
I arrived at the café twenty minutes early, my nerves frayed and my senses on high alert. Choosing a table near the center of the room, I positioned myself with my back to the wall, giving me a clear view of the entrance. The bustling atmosphere provided a sense of security, but it did little to calm the storm brewing inside me. Surprisingly, I found myself wishing Rex was there.
What's wrong with me? The thought struck me, hard, but the fact remained. With him by my side, I would've undoubtedly felt much safer, but it was probably for the best that he didn't know any of this.
As I waited, I tapped my fingers nervously on the table, my eyes darting to the door every few seconds. When Alain finallywalked in, my breath caught in my throat. He looked exactly as I remembered—impeccably dressed, hair perfectly styled, and that infuriatingly charming smile plastered on his face.
Alain spotted me and made his way over, weaving through the crowded café with ease. "Mon chéri," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "It's been too long."
I didn't stand to greet him, keeping my hands firmly on the table. "Stop calling me that. Let's skip the pleasantries. Why did you want to meet?"
He chuckled, sliding into the seat across from me. "Always straight to the point. I've missed that about you."
"I haven't missed anything about you," I snapped, my words sharp enough to cut.
His smile didn't falter, but I noticed a tightening around his eyes. "Come now. We had some good times, didn't we?"
"Before you betrayed me and ruined my career? Sure, great times."
He leaned back, studying me for a moment. "You're different now. Harder. Chicago's changed you."
I ignored his attempt at small talk. I was harder now because I didn't have another choice—and he was the one to blame for it. "What do you want, Alain?"
"Right to business then," he said, reaching into his jacket. He pulled out a manila folder and slid it across the table to me. "I think you'll find this interesting."
I opened the folder. My eyes widened as I scanned the contents—documents, photographs, and what appeared to be bank statements. "What is this?" I asked.
