Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94678 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94678 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
She was the one who had a change of heart.
I can’t say I blame her, but I’d be a liar if I said it didn’t hurt like a bitch to be dumped by the only woman you’ve ever loved.
My mother was stripped from my life when I was too young to grant me a ton of memories, and although she’s back now, her fragile mental health makes it seem as if she isn’t.
With Emerson’s items gathered and my heart in tatters, I watch her walk toward a car at the back of the lot. It isn’t as flashy as its numerous counterparts, but it will get her from A to B, which is all Emerson ever cared about. She isn’t about wealth and influence. She loves fiercely enough to see through anyone’s flaws.
When she slips behind the steering wheel, I want to run after her and beg her to stay, to tell her to speak the fuck up and prove she isn’t the coward she made out when she hid behind a wall of nameless faces, but I can’t.
I must act unaffected, like seeing her again isn’t ripping me apart, because it isn’t her heart I’m protecting. It’s mine.
My pulse thumps in my ears when Emerson looks up for the quickest second, and our eyes meet. Something flickers in her gaze, something that doubles the roiling of my stomach, but it disappears again too fast to decipher.
Andrik squeezes my shoulder in silent support when Emerson cranks the ignition of her old ride, and I force a weak smile.
“I’m fine,” I lie.
I’m nowhere close to fine.
Seeing Emerson again has stirred up old feelings I’ve fought to keep buried for ten years, memories of what we had, what we lost, and what we could have been if we had fought harder.
We were young, so fucking young, but madly, deeply in love.
I thought nothing could tear us apart.
When she left me, I should have tracked her down and forced her to give me answers. I shouldn’t have backed down without a fight or acted like I did when I sensed her presence seconds before Zoya entered the meeting under the disdainful glares of the men Andrik will end the instant I pass on their hatred to the man responsible for his wife’s happiness.
The hollow emptiness in my chest when Emerson veers her car past the window and toward the lot’s exit should make my legs the heaviness of iron. I shouldn’t be able to move. But before my head can shut down the demands of my heart, I sprint for the exit she bolted through only moments ago, unwilling to let another ten years pass before seeking answers.
Complicated is an understatement to describe our relationship, but it is the truth. Our lives have taken different paths, but my heart stubbornly refuses to let go.
“Continue without us,” Andrik demands when the lawyer shouts my name like he did Emerson’s.
Despite running at the speed of sound, I burst into the parking lot two seconds too late. Emerson is gone. Again.
Chapter 3
Emerson
As Mikhail’s slumped form becomes a blip in the rearview mirror, I wring the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white. My heart aches with deep, relentless pain. I wish I could turn around and force him to speak the words he was too cowardly to say years ago, but I can’t.
Mikhail left me on the day we were meant to wed.
He broke my heart.
There’s no coming back from that.
As I make the two-hundred-mile trip home, memories flood my head, each one more painful than the last. I smile while recalling how Mikhail used to look at me as if I were a precious gem, and the promises we made to always be true to one another. Then I fight back a sob when I remember how it all came tumbling down with three painful words.
He isn’t coming.
We had planned a future together, marriages, babies, and worldwide travels that were shattered in an instant. Nothing made sense. We were madly in love and had the world at our feet. Then, bam. It was over. No explanation. No sorrow. Nothing.
Tears well in my eyes, but I blink them away, determined not to let them fall.
I’ve shed so many tears over this man that there should be none left to give.
My time with Mikhail proves that not even the most stringently planned event will occur without a hiccup, but I force myself to focus on the present. I can’t afford to let old emotions take over. Mikhail is my past. I am in charge of my future. This is how it must be.
When I finally pull into the driveway of my home, the gas tank almost empty, I take a deep breath and try to compose myself. I put on a brave face, masking the turmoil inside, hopeful no one will see through my façade.