Dumped & Done: The CEO Begs for Me

We're done. I'm bored. She slapped a limitless Amex Black Card and the keycard to a luxury Manhattan penthouse onto the heavy mahogany desk.

I gave a single nod. Fine.

Her manicured fingers froze over the polished wood, a flicker of stunned disbelief crossing her features at how easily I folded.

Much later, the deafening sound of fists hammering on my apartment door woke me in the dead of night.

"Can we can we just not do this? Please?"

I stared down at her bloodshot, tear-stained eyes, my expression deadpan. "Didn't you say you were bored?"

Chapter 1

When Aurora dumped me, I was in the middle of fixing her ridiculously expensive ergonomic desk chair. The damn thing had been squeaking lately, and heaven forbid a minor inconvenience ruined the CEO's mood. She stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, silhouetted against the Manhattan skyline. The price tag on her custom Tom Ford suit was probably worth my entire year's salary.

"Callum," she said, her voice carrying that same flat, business-casual tone she always used. "We're done. I'm bored."

I paused, the screwdriver still gripped firmly in my hand. I gave a single nod. "Fine."

Just that one word. I didn't waste my breath on anything else.

Her posture stiffened. She turned around, staring at me like I was a stranger who'd just wandered off the street. "Did you not hear me? I said, we're breaking up."

I dropped the screwdriver back into the toolbox and snapped the lid shut. "I heard you loud and clear. You're bored. I get it."

Her lips parted slightly, but whatever she was about to say died in her throat. Instead, she pointed a manicured finger toward the door. "Take the card. Consider it compensation."

I glanced at the sleek, pitch-black Amex card resting on the coffee table. Knowing her, there was enough money on that piece of plastic to let a deadbeat like me coast through life for years.

I didn't touch it. "Keep it," I said. "I'm heading back to my own place. I'll be out by tonight."

Packing didn't take long. Everything I owned fit neatly into a single duffel bag. I'd lived in this sprawling penthouse for nearly a year, yet the footprint I was leaving behind was pathetic. A half-squeezed tube of toothpaste by the bathroom sink.

An old, scuffed skillet sitting on the kitchen stove, the one I used specifically for cheap Mac & Cheese. A console tucked in the corner of the living room. Everything else belonged to Aurora.

She watched me pack. She sat rigid on the leather sofa, her index finger tapping a restless, impatient rhythm against her knee.

I zipped up the duffel bag and walked to the front door. Before walking out, I stopped and glanced over my shoulder. "The chair is fixed. Just don't rock back too hard, or it'll start squeaking again."

She bolted up from the sofa. "Callum! Do you seriously have nothing else to say to me?"

I met her glare. "Good luck finding someone better?"

A muscle feathered in her jaw as her expression darkened.

I pulled the heavy oak door open and stepped into the hallway. I left. I didn't look back.

As the elevator plummeted toward the lobby, I pressed a hand against my chest. Nothing. No phantom pain, no heartbreak. I guess I'd seen this coming from a mile away.

Aurora and I were never from the same universe anyway. She was a high-powered CEO. I was just some random IT guy on her payroll. We hooked up by total coincidence.

If I was being honest, it was just her acting on a passing whim, and I went along for the ride. Now the thrill was gone. She was bored. It made total sense.

The minute I stepped back into my cramped, dusty apartment, I booted up my Xbox console and redownloaded Call of Duty from my dusty library. Then I ordered a massive frozen pepperoni pizza, drowned it in six packets of Tabasco sauce, and let myself rot.

My phone stayed dead. No texts. No calls.

I slept in until noon the next day. I didn't bother filling out a formal time-off request; I just shot a quick text message to my supervisor.

[ Sick. Taking the day off. ]

The reply came back instantly.

[ Is everything okay, Callum? Rest up! Health comes first! The work can wait! ]

His overly enthusiastic, brown-nosing tone was a dead giveaway. He definitely knew something. I stayed buried under the covers and mindlessly scrolled through my phone.

Chapter 2

I refreshed my Instagram feed and saw a new post from Spencer, Aurora's assistant.

[ Touring the new project site with the boss. She's radiating absolute killer energy today. Do not approach! ]

The attached photo was a shot of Aurora from behind, wearing that same custom Tom Ford suit from yesterday, her stilettos clicking sharply against the pavement. I scrolled past it and went back to watching my gaming streams.

Later that night, I was in the middle of a heavy raid with my squad when the doorbell rang. Figuring it was my takeout delivery, I clamped a cigarette between my lips and shuffled over to open the door.

Standing out in the hallway was Aurora.

She had changed out of her suit, but not into anything comfortable. She looked like she had just stepped off the red carpet of some high-end gala. Her sequined gown practically blinded me under the cheap fluorescent hallway lights. But her face was dead pale.

"Need something?" I leaned heavily against the doorframe, making zero move to let her in.

Her eyes locked onto the cigarette dangling from my mouth. A harsh crease formed between her brows. "Since when do you smoke?"

"Always have." I took a slow drag. "Just didn't do it at your place."

She went dead silent for a second. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"Not really a good time," I said. "Place is a mess. Wouldn't want to burn the CEO's retinas."

Her breath hitched, her chest rising sharply. "Callum. Do you really have to talk to me like this?"

"How else am I supposed to talk?" I flicked a chunk of ash onto the cracked tiles. "Awaiting your orders, Boss."

She stared right at me, the whites of her eyes threaded with jagged red lines. "Yesterday, when you left why didn't you take the card?"

"Oh. Forgot. You wanna hand it over now?"

Her jaw snapped shut. "I didn't bring it," she forced out through gritted teeth.

"Forget it then," I said flatly. "It's not like I'm desperate for it."

She didn't leave. She didn't say a word, either. She just stood there, locked in a silent standoff with me. The motion-sensor light in the hallway suddenly timed out, plunging us into total darkness.

I saw her shoulders flinch.

I let out a heavy exhale. I crushed the cigarette butt into the rusty wall-mounted ashtray and stepped sideways. "Come in. You look ridiculous standing out there."

She brushed past me instantly, her steps hurried, almost frantic.

My tiny apartment was barely six hundred square feet. It didn't even belong in the same ZIP code as her sprawling penthouse. She stood dead center in my cramped living room, looking out of place. My unmade blanket was crumpled on the cheap sofa.

The coffee table was piled high with half-eaten Domino's pizza boxes and empty Budweiser cans. The raid lobby of my game was still flashing aggressively on the TV screen.

"Sit," I said. "Grab a chair. It's not infectious."

She didn't sit. Her eyes stayed glued to me. "We broke up yesterday, and you're already just playing video games?"

"What did you expect?" I countered. "Cry my eyes out? Drink myself into a coma? Sounds exhausting."

She pressed her lips into a tight, bloodless line. "You don't seem upset at all."

"I'm surviving," I said. "I saw this day coming, so I'm handling the transition just fine."

"Saw it coming?" she repeated, her voice brittle. "Since when?"

"Since day one." I gave her the brutal truth.

The color drained from her face, leaving her paler than her expensive foundation. The air in the tiny room felt like cement. She stood frozen for a long moment before finally pulling out a scuffed dining chair and sitting down. Her spine was perfectly rigid, like she was leading a board meeting.

"I'm hungry," she said.

"What?" I blinked, thrown off.

"There's a corner 7-Eleven downstairs. They probably still have some microwaved Mexican tacos left," I offered.

"I want the butter-grilled cheese sandwich you make," she stared at me, a sudden desperation bleeding into her tone. "Just like before. The kind with the crispy burnt edges."

Chapter 3

I scratched the back of my neck. "Boss. We broke up. Remember? You pulled the trigger on that."

"So a breakup means I can't even get a sandwich?" she shot back, her tone sharp. "Are you really that petty?"

A harsh, humorless laugh escaped my throat. "Fine. Wait here."

I walked into the cramped kitchen. I dug out a loaf of cheap white bread, a pack of sliced cheddar cheese, and some butter. I threw it onto the skillet, letting it sizzle and pop loudly over the flames. She didn't follow me in, but I could feel the weight of her stare burning into my back from the living room.

It didn't take long. Two slices of toast, grilled to a perfectly crispy golden brown, with half-melted cheese stretching between them. I carried the grease-stained plate out and slapped it down on the table right in front of her. "Eat. Then get out."

She picked up the sandwich. She took agonizingly slow bites. One after another. Like she was counting every single crumb.

When she finally finished, she wiped her fingers with a napkin. "Too much cheese. It was too salty."

"Yeah," I said flatly. "I'll keep that in mind for next time. Even though there isn't going to be a next time."

Her jaw locked tight. "Do you really want me gone that badly?"

"What else?" I snatched the empty plate off the table. "You want to sleep over? I only have one cramped mattress. There's no room for royalty like you."

She abruptly stood up and grabbed her designer handbag off the sofa. "I'm leaving."

"Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

She walked to the door. Her manicured hand gripped the doorknob, but she paused and looked back over her shoulder. "The chair. It's squeaking again."

"Call customer service," I told her, carrying the plate to the sink. "The warranty card is in the coffee table drawer. Don't bother calling me. I quit."

Her head snapped up. "When?"

"This afternoon. I submitted an electronic resignation. HR's Workday system already auto-approved it. You're not my boss anymore."

That shut her up. She yanked the door open and stormed out. Her stilettos hammered against the hallway floor. Clack. Clack. Clack.

I slammed the door shut and went back to my screen. My character was dead. My squad was blowing up the voice chat, cursing me out.

I pulled my headset over my ears. "Had a minor pest problem. Keep pushing."

The next day, I was lying on the couch debating whether I should start job hunting or just rot for two months. The doorbell buzzed again.

This time, it wasn't Aurora. It was Spencer, her hyper-competent executive assistant. Spencer flashed me an overly eager, practiced smile. He was carrying several heavy luxury shopping bags.

"Mr. Callum," he greeted. "Ms. Aurora asked me to drop some things off for you."

I blocked the doorway with my body. "What things?"

"A few custom-tailored suits for the season. And a full case of your favorite top-shelf bourbon." He shifted the bags awkwardly. "Ms. Aurora said"

"Take it back." I cut him off dead. "I don't need it."

"Mr. Callum, please don't make this hard on me" Spencer's smile strained at the edges. "The boss strictly ordered me to"

"She can order whatever she wants," I said coldly. "And I can reject it. This isn't on you. Go back."

I shut the door in his face.

A few minutes later, my phone vibrated in my pocket. Unknown number. I swiped to answer. "Yeah?"

Dead silence hung on the line for three agonizing seconds before Aurora's voice came through. "Why did you refuse them?"

"I have zero use for them," I said. "Those designer labels? They'd look like cheap knockoffs on me anyway."

"Then what do you want? I'll have my assistant go buy it right now."

"Aurora." I threw her full name back at her. "What the hell is your game here?"

She went silent again. The only sound was the ragged, uneven static of her breathing over the line. After what felt like an eternity, her voice came out low and fragile.

"My stomach hurts."

Chapter 4

""

"I couldn't stomach anything yesterday," she murmured, her voice sounding dangerously thin. "Haven't eaten today, either."

"And?" I asked, my tone dead flat. "Why are you telling me? Go call your private doctor."

"The medication he prescribed isn't working."

"Then I'm definitely going to be useless to you," I said. "I'm just a guy who fixes IT networks. I know how to throw a grilled cheese onto a skillet. I can't cure your stomach issues."

"Callum!" A violent tremor ripped through her voice. "Do you really have to be like this?"

"You're the one who pulled the plug," I reminded her, stripping every ounce of warmth from my words. "You said you were bored. I agreed. What exactly is this performance for?"

She didn't answer. The line went dead with a harsh click.

I watched the phone screen fade to black in my palm. Digging the absolute last cigarette out of my crumpled pack, I lit it and took a long drag. Fuck. This was seriously annoying.

Things stayed dead quiet for the next two days. I fired off a few resumes online and managed to score two interviews. Both felt painfully mediocre. During that lull, my old college buddy Wyatt blew up my phone.

"Callum! Get your ass out here for drinks! Your boy just got promoted!"

Night. A cheap dive bar reeking of heavy metal and motor oil. Wyatt chugged his beer and slung a heavy arm around my shoulder.

"Look at you," he yelled over the screeching guitars. "You actually quit? That was a massive corporate gig!"

"Yeah." I clinked my sweaty pint glass against his. "It got boring."

"So what about" He wiggled his eyebrows, leaning in conspicuously close. "The boss lady? Aurora? You two done too?"

"Yeah."

"She pulled the plug."

"Holy shit!" Wyatt slapped his thigh so hard the smack echoed. "Didn't you take a massive loss on that? You walked away with absolutely nothing?"

"I walked away with my peace and quiet," I said.

"Bullshit." Wyatt scoffed, taking another massive gulp. "A woman of that caliber? You're telling me you can just drop her like she's nothing?"

I took a slow swallow of the bitter draft beer and kept my mouth shut. Getting over her, not getting over herdid it even matter? When someone throws you out, you don't go crawling back to scrape at their front door. That's just pathetic.

I was mid-drink when Wyatt suddenly jabbed his elbow hard into my ribs. "Hey, hey, hey! Look at that!"

I followed his line of sight.

Under the flickering, busted neon sign outside the dive bar, Aurora stood next to a pitch-black bulletproof Maybach. Her eyes were locked dead onto me. She wasn't wearing her usual boardroom armor tonight. She had on a sleek, skin-tight designer dress layered under a sharp trench coat.

Against the grime and grit of the cracked sidewalk, she looked like an alien royalty dropped straight into the slums.

"Holy fuck" Wyatt's jaw practically hit the sticky floor. "How the hell did she track you down here?"

I slammed my pint glass down onto the scarred wooden table. "Keep drinking. Let me go deal with this."

I pushed through the heavy metal doors and walked straight up to her. The subtle, obscenely expensive scent of her custom perfume immediately hit my senses, slicing right through the suffocating stench of motor oil and cheap beer. It was a violently jarring contrast.

"Stalking me now?" I asked.

She ignored the jab. Her gaze remained rigidly fixed on my eyes. "I called you. You didn't answer."

"My phone's on silent," I replied. "What do you want?"

"I haven't eaten dinner yet."

"And?"

"I want to eat that." She pointed a perfectly manicured finger toward the grease-stained taco truck parked outside the bar.

""

I stared at her, genuinely baffled. "Aurora. You don't belong anywhere near this place."

"You eat it," she challenged smoothly. "Why can't I?"

"Because I've got an iron stomach, and you're used to eating Michelin-star wagyu," I countered. "When you get food poisoning, I can't afford the medical bill."

She stepped forward, obliterating the physical distance between us. The sharp tip of her designer heel nearly grazed my worn-out sneaker. My gaze involuntarily dropped to the frantic pulse jumping at the base of her pale throat. I could feel the erratic, shallow heat of her breath ghosting against my collarbone.

"I don't need you to take responsibility," she said softly.

Under the violent red glare of the busted neon sign, her pupils were dilated, feral, and terrifyingly bright. "Just answer the question. Are you going to buy me food from that truck, or not?"

In the end, I paid for the damn tacos.

Chapter 5

I dragged over a grease-stained metal folding chair next to the taco truck. I wiped it down repeatedly with a fistful of cheap napkins. She sat down cautiously, the hem of her designer trench coat dragging against the dirty concrete. Wyatt had already taken the hint and bailed.

I handed her the menu. "Order whatever. Just don't go crazy. I hate wasting food."

She stared at the greasy, laminated sheet, at a loss.

"Never been to a place like this?" I asked.

"No."

"I'll handle it, then." I snatched the menu back and ordered a few standard items from the guy at the window. Mild on the spice.

While we waited for the food, neither of us said a word. Her gaze stayed fixed on a loud group of guys slamming back cheap beers at the next table over, her expression laced with genuine curiosity.

"Did you" she started abruptly. "Did you used to come to places like this a lot?"

"Yeah," I said. "When I was broke. It's cheap, and it fills you up."

She went quiet for a second. "Was being with me really that boring?"

I gave her a sideways glance. "Where is this coming from?"

"I just want to know."

The food came up. I handed her a crispy cheese taco with zero hot sauce on it. "It was what it was. Different worlds, different ways of living."

She took the taco and bit off a tiny corner. A slight frown crossed her face. "It's hard."

"That's the point of the crisp." I grabbed a ground beef taco loaded heavily with jalape?os. "Try this one."

She took the beef taco. She hesitated before taking a real bite. Immediately, she sucked in a sharp breath. Her eyes watered instantly.

"Water" She clutched at her throat.

I shoved my freezing cold bottle of beer into her hand. She took a massive gulp, coughing slightly before finally catching her breath. Her lips were flushed red, her eyes glassy and wet.

"Why is it so spicy" she rasped, complaining softly.

"Forgot to tell him to hold the heat. I honestly expected you to throw this garbage straight into the trash and have your bodyguards beat the hell out of me." Watching her utterly disheveled state, I couldn't stop the dark, sarcastic comment from slipping out.

"I regret it, Callum." She slammed the beer bottle down. The thick glass bottom struck the greasy plastic table with a heavy, aggressive thud. She locked eyes with me, her gaze burning with an undeniable, borderline desperate stubbornness.

"That day, when I said we were done I was just pissed." Her voice was razor-thin. "I never actually thought you'd agree."

I tossed my taco back onto the paper tray and wiped the grease off my hands. "Aurora. You're not the type of person who just 'says things' when they're mad."

"I am!" she fired back, a sudden spike of volatile energy hitting her voice. "I am! That day I was having a miserable day. A massive project was falling apart."

"And you were just focused on fixing that damn broken chair! You didn't even look at me!"

I paused, letting the words sink in. "So you dumped me?"

"Yeah."

A dry, hollow laugh escaped my chest. "Look at that. Right there. That's the whole problem with us."

"What problem?"

"You get in a bad mood, and you use a breakup as a punching bag to vent your anger. Because you know perfectly well that even if I disagreed, I couldn't do a damn thing about it. But what if I was in a bad mood? Could I smash things around the penthouse?"

"Could I throw a temper tantrum at you? No. I couldn't."

"Because you're Aurora. And I'm just Callum. We were never on the same level to begin with."

Chapter 6

Her lips parted. She tried to say something, but the words died in her throat. The feral brightness in her eyes slowly burned out, leaving behind a dull, hollow stare.

"So" Her voice was dry, scraping like sandpaper. "You never actually cared about me? Was it just because because I'm Aurora?"

"No." I shook my head. "I cared. Genuinely. But what does that even change?"

"Did you care about me? Or were you just used to having someone cater to your every whim?"

"I" She choked on the word.

"See?" I said flatly. "You don't even know."

I stood up and walked over to the truck window to pay the tab. When I turned back, she was still sitting frozen in that greasy folding metal chair. Her eyes were glued to the half-eaten tacos, unblinking.

"Let's go," I said. "I'll walk you to your car."

She stood up mechanically. She followed me to the curb. The chauffeur immediately stepped out to hold the heavy, bulletproof Maybach door open.

Before stepping inside, she stopped and looked back over her shoulder. "What if what if I change?"

I stared at her. The harsh night wind whipped her long hair around her face. The busted neon sign caught the wet, fractured light pooling in her eyes.

"Don't," I said. "Then you wouldn't be you."

Her eyes instantly flushed a violent red. "Callum. You're an absolute bastard."

"Yeah." I gave a single nod. "Takes one to know one."

She slid into the backseat. The Maybach pulled away, disappearing into the dark city streets. I stood on the cracked sidewalk and lit a cigarette. Wyatt suddenly materialized out of nowhere.

"You guys done?" He peered down the street. "Her eyes looked pretty red. Did you make the billionaire cry?"

"Do I look like the kind of guy who can bully a CEO?"

"Yeah." Wyatt nodded emphatically. "Hundred percent."

I shoved him hard in the shoulder.

"Seriously though." Wyatt leaned in, dropping his voice. "What the hell is going through your head? A woman of that caliber drops her pride to come looking for you, and you don't feel anything?"

"I did," I said. "Now I know better."

"Why?"

"I'd like to live past thirty."

Wyatt barked out a laugh. "Keep telling yourself that, man!"

I kept my mouth shut. It wasn't me being stubborn. It was the brutal truth. Being with Aurora was exhausting.

I had to stay constantly guarded, constantly analyzing her shifting moods, bending backward to cater to her elite tastes. I was just a regular guy who wanted to clock out and coast through life. Forcing myself to play the part of some high-society elite was suffocating. Things were better this way.

Back to reality.

A few quiet days drifted by. I landed a new IT gig. Small startup. The pay was garbage, but there was zero stress.

Nine to six. Clock out, load up my Xbox. Sleep in until noon on the weekends.

Sometimes Aurora flashed through my mind, but that was it. Just a passing thought.

Until that one night. I had just stepped out of the shower when the doorbell started buzzing frantically, like someone was trying to break the button. I frowned, tightening a towel around my waist, and yanked the door open. Aurora was standing in the hallway.

She was wasted. She couldn't even stand straight, her weight leaning heavily against the cheap doorframe. Her eyes were bloodshot.

"Callum" Her voice cracked, a thick sob wedged in her throat. "My stomach is killing me"

The sharp, sour stench of top-shelf liquor hit me like a wall. "You've been drinking?"

"Client dinner" Her manicured fingers dug desperately into my bare forearm. "Had to drink so much"

I let out a heavy exhale. I grabbed her arm and hauled her inside. Her entire body weight collapsed against me. She was terrifyingly limp.

Her long hair brushed against my damp neck, sending an uncomfortable itch across my skin. I dragged her over to the scuffed sofa and forced her to sit down. I went to the kitchen and poured a glass of warm tap water.

She reached for the glass. Her hands were shaking, spilling warm water all over her designer dress and my cracked floorboards.

Chapter 7

"Careful." I pried the glass from her shaking hands and tilted it against her lips.

She managed two pathetic swallows before shoving it away. "It hurts"

"You deserve it," I said flatly. "If you can't handle the liquor, don't down it."

Her bloodshot eyes snapped up to mine, brimming with an agonizingly raw vulnerability. "No one was there to take the drinks for me"

"Go find your new assistant."

"There is no new assistant" She shook her head, her messy hair clinging to her damp cheeks. "I fired all of them"

A heavy silence stretched between us. "How many people did you fire?"

"Three" She held up unsteady fingers. "None of them compare to you"

I stared down at her utterly wrecked, intoxicated state. Trying to reason with her right now was like talking to a brick wall. "Lie down," I instructed. "I'm going to mix you a packet of electrolyte powder for the hangover."

I barely shifted my weight to stand. Her fingers clamped around my wrist like a vice.

"Don't go" Her skin was ice-cold. She was trembling.

"Callum" She tilted her head back to look at me. Her eyes were pooling with wet, fractured light. "I messed up"

"Where did you mess up?" The question slipped past my defenses before I could stop it.

"I shouldn't have pulled the plug" She buried her face directly into the palm of my hand. Her breath was hot and ragged against my skin. "I shouldn't have thrown a tantrum I shouldn't have let my ego dictate everything"

Her voice was muffled, choked with thick, ugly sobs. "I won't do it again Just come back. Please?"

I didn't say a single word. She waited. The silence stretched until it became suffocating. When the response never came, she slowly lifted her head.

"You still won't forgive me?" A hot tear spilled over her lashes, carving a wet track down her pale cheek. "I'm begging you"

"Aurora." I forcefully ripped my hand away from her grip. "You're wasted."

"I am not wasted!" A sudden, volatile spike of energy hit her voice. "I am sober! I know exactly what I'm saying!"

"Sober people don't talk like this."

"Then you tell me what I'm supposed to say!" She bolted upright, her balance swaying dangerously. "Should I say that I'm actually losing my mind missing you? That I can't sleep a single damn wink without you there?"

"That every single day I stare at your empty Herman Miller ergonomic chair, and it makes every massive, empty corner of that penthouse feel like a silent tomb?!"

She lunged forward, her fists twisting violently into the fabric of my t-shirt. "Callum! Teach me! Tell me what the hell I'm supposed to say and do to make you come back!"

I stared down into her feral eyes. This was the first time I had ever seen her lose control. Aurora, the untouchable, high-society elite who always looked down on everyone from her pedestal. Right now, she was practically vibrating with a desperate, pathetic panic.

"Sit down," I ordered, my voice steady. "Before you break your neck."

"I'm not sitting!" Her grip was insanely stubborn. "You are going to give me an answer right now!"

"What answer?"

"Do you still want me or not." She locked onto my gaze, grinding out every single syllable.

Those words dropped like a physical weight. The cramped apartment went so dead silent that the harsh buzzing of my cheap refrigerator sounded like an engine. I looked down. The knuckles of the hands gripping my collar were white from the sheer force of her desperation.

"You're wasted," I repeated firmly, reaching up to pry her rigid fingers off my shirt.

"I am not wasted!" She doubled down, essentially hanging her entire body weight off my frame to stop me from detaching her.

"You do this every single time! Deflecting! Refusing to give me a straight answer!"

A heavy exhale pushed past my lips. "Fine. Then you tell me."

"Let's say I take you back. What happens then?"

"Then" The violent energy suddenly stalled in her chest. "Then we go back to how things were before"

"How things were before?" A dry, humorless laugh scraped out of my throat. "Are you sure that's what you want?"

Chapter 8