Page 44 of If He Hadn't Cheated
“I almost?—”
“But you didn’t.”
He studies me for a long time. “You can’t keep fighting this alone.”
“I don’t know how to do anything else.”
His voice lowers. “Then let me help you.”
“I’m not your responsibility.”
“No,” he says quietly. “You’re my choice.”
The words break something open inside me. My eyes sting, but I don’t cry. I can’t. Instead, I step closer until I can feel the heat of him. “Why do you keep saving me? If at the end of the day, you don’t want me.”
He reaches up, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Because no one saved me when I needed it and I do want you. I just can’t have you when every time he walks into your life you want to break.”
The space between us disappears. His forehead touches mine, his breath warm in the cold air. For a moment, I forget everything else. The noise. The fear. The past.
It’s just us.
He’s right. How could I have anything good if all I do is break every time Sebastian shows up.
He doesn’t kiss me, and I think that’s what hurts most. He just holds me there, steady and silent, like he’s trying to convince me I’m still real.
When he finally speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper. “Let’s get you home.”
I nod, too tired to argue, too scared to refuse. And for the first time, I let someone walk beside me instead of ahead.
20
The city glows beneath us like a map of another world. Knox’s penthouse feels nothing like the offices below. It’s quieter, darker, and somehow lonelier.
He opens the door and steps aside to let me in. “It’s not much,” he says, his tone calm, careful.
I glance around. Everything is clean and deliberate. Dark wood floors. Glass walls that stretch from one end of the room to the other. Minimal furniture. No clutter. No color.
“It’s beautiful,” I say softly.
“It’s empty,” he replies.
I move toward the large window, the city lights spilling across the floor. “You live above everything you built. Doesn’t that feel strange?”
He stands a few feet behind me. “It feels necessary.”
When I turn, he’s watching me. Not like a man looking at a woman. Like someone memorizing a truth he isn’t ready to admit.
“You said you wanted to show me something,” I remind him.
He nods once, walking toward a door on the far side of the penthouse. “This way.”
The room we enter is colder, quieter. A wall of mirrors faces the opposite side of the space, reflecting the light from a single lamp. The air smells faintly of leather and cedar.
“This is where I come to think,” he says.
I look at the room. It’s empty except for a single chair and a stand that holds a glass of water. “You just sit here and stare at yourself?”
“Every morning before work. Every night before I sleep.”
