Page 20 of F*ckboys

"Actions speak louder than words," I say cautiously, testing the waters. The memory of Mia's warnings flits through my mind, a reminder that trust is not easily won or given, her words based on the countless times I cried on her shoulder because of Aksel's cruelty and ultimate betrayal.

"Then let me show you," he replies, determination burning in his eyes. "Let me prove that I'm worthy of your trust, your forgiveness..." He pauses and suddenly looks nervous. "And maybe even your love."

My heart stutters in my chest, the fire of hope fanned by his words. Yet, doubt still gnaws at the edges of my resolve, a persistent shadow that refuses to be banished. I'm supposed to be plotting revenge against this man, not debating whether we can reignite our affection of years ago.

"Fine," I concede, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat. He needs to be warned, and this also might be the perfect way to lure him into my trap, to find out something that can ultimately bring him down. "I'll give you a chance to prove you've changed. It won't undo the hurt you've caused me." I pause, my eyes narrowing at him. "But if you betray me again, Aksel... there'll be no coming back from that."

"Understood," he murmurs, his relief palpable as he reaches across the table, his fingertips brushing mine with a feather-light touch that sends shivers down my spine.

"Thank you, Fallon," he whispers, and it's as if the entire coffee shop holds its breath, waiting for the outcome of this fragile dance between us.

As we sit there, surrounded by the soothing aroma of coffee and the muted hum of conversations, I can't help but wonder what the future holds for us. Will this confrontation be the key to unraveling the knotted threads of our past, or will it simply draw them tighter, binding us together in a tangle of pain and betrayal?

Only time will tell, and as Aksel's fingers intertwine with mine, I find myself both terrified and hopeful, caught in the whirlwind of emotions that has become an all-too-familiar part of our story.

The waiter returns and I order a cold brew. Two double espressos would have me tap dancing on the table so I need to mix things up.

As we sit there, I find my anxiety growing. Perhaps I've already had one too many espressos, but I suddenly feel agitated. The conversation grows more heated and I pull my hand away from his, the air between us thick with unspoken words and tension.

Aksel's eyes darken as he tries to clarify just one of the past misunderstandings that have haunted our relationship for years.

"Fallon, I told you the truth. I never meant to hurt you back then," he says, his hands gesturing wildly in an attempt to convey the depth of his regret. "I was young and foolish, but I loved you more than anything."

His hands move erratically, emphasizing his words, but in my heightened state of distress, I misinterpret his actions as dismissive, as if he's trying to brush away the pain he caused me so carelessly. He's not giving me specifics, just vague apologies about his immaturity and allusions to some of the ways he hurt me. I know he doesn't know the full story, but he knows enough to give me more than this. And I deserve more.

The waiter returns with my cold brew and I take a sip while I figure out how to respond.

"Is that all you have to say?" I snap, anger and hurt boiling within me like a tempestuous storm. "You think a simple generalized apology will erase everything? That we can go on like nothing ever happened and there hasn't been a chasm of time and layers of hurt to drive us apart? That stuff doesn't just go away, you know."

Aksel opens his mouth to respond, but my fury gets the better of me. In a fit of frustration, I impulsively grab the cup of cold brew from the table, tossing it at him without a second thought. The icy liquid drenches him, shock registering on his face as it seeps through his fancy suit, darkening the fabric like ink spreading across parchment.

The coffee shop falls into a stunned silence, the only sound the steady drip of cold brew onto the floor. My heart pounds in my chest, a wild drumbeat echoing my shattered emotions.

"Fallon..." Aksel murmurs, reaching out for me, desperation etched into every line of his face.

But I've had enough. Betrayal and anguish claw at my insides, leaving me feeling hollowed out and raw. I can't bear to look at him any longer—the man who once held my heart in his hands, only to crush it mercilessly beneath his heel and then have the audacity to try to weasel his way into my heart once again. He deserves much more than cold brew to be tossed at him.

"Stay away from me." My voice trembles, a fierce growl edged with tears. "Don't you dare come near me again."

With that, I storm out of the coffee shop, leaving Aksel bewildered and dripping with cold brew amidst the hushed whispers of onlookers. The door slams shut behind me, a final punctuation to our disastrous meeting. I never should have agreed to come in the first place. Nothing good was ever going to come from this.

As I walk away, my thoughts race, a jumble of pain, anger, and confusion. The shattered remnants of our fragile connection lie scattered in my wake, the cold brew staining the table and his suit as a bitter testament to the misunderstandings that continue to haunt us.

"Fallon!" Aksel's voice calls out from behind me as he runs after me, but I don't stop. I can't. The ties that bound us togetherhave been severed, leaving only the raw, jagged edges of betrayal and regret.

And so I keep walking, away from the man who once held my heart, away from the ghosts of our past that refuse to let us go.

"Fallon," he cries out again, the sound echoing through the streets like a mournful lament, but I don't look back.

I won't allow myself to be ensnared by his lies and false promises any longer. It's time to forge my own path, free from the shadows that have haunted me for far too long. I never should have allowed myself to be drawn back in, and I'll cut it off now before he has the opportunity to disappoint me yet again.

As the physical distance between us grows, I find a small measure of solace in the knowledge that, despite everything, I am still standing—broken, but not defeated, ready to face whatever comes next. Now any conflicting feelings about future potential between us is well and truly gone, and I'm even more focused on revenge.

Chapter 11

Fallon

As I step into my office, an unexpected sight greets me. A tall, imposing figure clad in black and gray is comfortably seated in my chair, seemingly unfazed by my entrance. The man—Grave—is a walking enigma, and his presence immediately captures my attention.

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