Chapter 13 - The Shriveled Orange
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Alexander flinched as Emily’s words struck him. He stood in the center of his own empire, looking entirely defeated.
“You’re right,” he said quietly.
Emily gestured wildly around the opulent executive floor. “Everybody up here knew exactly how to behave around you. Everybody knew the rules. Everybody except me.”
“That was exactly what I was afraid of,” Alexander confessed, his voice raw.
The moment the words left his mouth, he wanted to swallow them back. Emily let out a bitter, echoing laugh.
“So you lied to me to make sure I behaved the way you preferred? You wanted the version of me that didn't know you had all the power. You took away my choice, Alexander.”
Hearing his real name in her voice felt like a knife twisting in his gut.
“You didn't trust me enough to let me decide who you were,” she said, bending down to snatch her legal folder off the floor. She hugged it tightly against her chest like armor.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his hands balled into fists at his sides to stop himself from reaching for her.
“I believe you,” Emily said, a single tear slipping down her cheek. “I believe you are sorry right now. But being sorry after you get caught is not the same thing as telling the truth.”
She turned on her heel and walked toward the elevators. Alexander took one desperate step after her. “Please.”
Emily spun around, her eyes blazing. “Noah does not see you until I decide what to tell him. No calls. No gifts. And do not use this hospital, or my job, or my lawyer to make me owe you forgiveness. Do you understand me?”
Alexander went deathly pale. He nodded once. “I won't.”
The elevator doors chimed and opened. Emily stepped inside. As the heavy steel doors began to slide shut, she looked at him one last time.
“I could have handled you being rich,” she said, her voice breaking. “It was being fooled that broke me.”
The doors shut.
That night, Alexander sat alone in his cavernous, silent penthouse. He walked into his pristine kitchen and stared at the marble counter. Sitting there was a shriveled, hardening orange. Emily had given it to him weeks ago at the farmer's market. He hadn't been able to throw it away.
For the first time in his life, he realized that his billions offered him absolutely nothing. He could buy her a mansion; she would burn it down. He could hire an army of lawyers; she had forbidden him from helping.
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So he did the hardest thing a man of action could do. He pulled out his phone and sent one single text message.
You were right. I will not defend what I did. I will respect every boundary you set.
