POV Bella
The first three days pass in a haze of medication and misery.
My body betrays me completely—the stress of Ajax's deception triggering chest pains severe enough to keep me bedridden, my heart literally breaking from emotional trauma.
Each pill I swallow tastes like defeat, each breath a reminder that even my most vital organ can't handle the truth about love.
I block him everywhere. Phone, social media, email—every digital connection severed with surgical precision.
I delete our messages without reading them, trying to erase every trace of him from my life like he's a virus that needs purging. But Ajax Spencer doesn't give up easily.
He shows up at the estate on day three.
I watch from my bedroom window as Zane physically escorts him off the property, their voices carrying across the manicured lawns in heated argument. Ajax's motorcycle sits abandoned by the gate while my brother's hands shove against his chest, pushing him backward with each word.
"She doesn't want to see you!" Zane's voice cracks with fury. "Get that through your thick skull!"
My parents observe from the front steps with bewildered concern, clearly confused by this drama unfolding on their pristine grounds.
When they press for explanations later, Zane and I claim everything's fine—just a misunderstanding between friends. They see my fragile state, the way I wince with each breath, and choose not to push further.
But by the fourth day, the fog of hurt transforms into something sharper, more dangerous: rage.
Pure, crystalline fury that makes me feel more alive than I have in days. The hurt was passive, something that happened to me. But this anger—this belongs to me, burns through my veins like rocket fuel, demanding action.
I need answers. I need to look into his lying eyes and demand explanations for how he could kiss me like I mattered while laughing about destroying me with his friends.
The treacherous part of my heart whispers another truth—I just need to see him, period. Despite everything, I'm still catastrophically in love with the bastard who bet on my heart.
Finding his address takes one call to my father’s assistant—my father keeps files on anyone who matters to the business.
The apartment building is modern and expensive, the kind of place trust fund boys live when playing at independence from family expectations.
I stand outside his door on Friday evening, hand raised to knock, praying he won't answer even as my traitorous heart races at the possibility.
He opens immediately, like he's been waiting by the door.
The shock on his face would be satisfying if I wasn't so angry. His hair is disheveled, his eyes bloodshot, and he looks like he hasn't slept in days. Good. He should suffer.
"Bella—"
I push past him without invitation, the words spilling out like poison. "Don't you dare say my name. Don't you dare pretend you have the right to speak to me after what you've done."
His apartment is exactly what I expected—minimalist, expensive, cold. Like him, apparently. I wheel around to face him, all the fury of the past four days erupting at once.
"You sick bastard!" The words tear from my throat with violent satisfaction. "You calculated, manipulative piece of shit! Did you laugh every time you kissed me? Did you count down the days until you'd won your disgusting bet?"
"Bella, please—"
"Every touch, every word, every moment I thought was real—it was all a game to you! You made me believe in something beautiful when it was calculated cruelty from the very beginning!"
I'm screaming now, months of suppressed anger pouring out in a torrent. "I trusted you! I opened my heart to you when I swore I never would again! And you—you were planning my destruction like it was entertainment!"
Then Ajax does something completely unexpected.
He drops to his knees.
The sight is so shocking that my tirade falters mid-sentence. Ajax Spencer—proud, arrogant, never-bow-to-anyone Ajax Spencer—is on his knees before me, tears threatening to spill from his bloodshot eyes.
"The last thing I ever wanted was to hurt you," he says desperately, his voice cracking with raw emotion. "Everything changed, Bella. What started as revenge became real, became everything to me—"
My palm connects with his cheek in a sharp crack that echoes through his apartment. The sting shoots up my arm, but it's nothing compared to the satisfaction of seeing his face bloom red.
He doesn't move from his knees. Doesn't even flinch.
"I deserved that," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "I deserve worse. But you need to know—tonight was supposed to be different."
"What are you talking about?"
"I told my family about you, about us." His words come out in a desperate rush. "For the first time in my life, I told them I was in love. My father actually smiled, Bella. My mother paid attention to me for more than five minutes. They wanted to meet the girl who'd finally given their disappointment of a son something to be proud of."
Something breaks inside my chest—not my defective heart, but something deeper and more fundamental. The rage mixes with adrenaline, with grief, with the horrible, undeniable truth that I love him despite everything he's done.
He's destroyed me and elevated me, broken my trust and made me feel alive. The contradiction is unbearable, like trying to hold fire and ice in the same hand.
"Don't." The word comes out strangled. "Don't you dare try to make this romantic."
He rises slowly, approaching me with his hands raised like I'm a wild animal that might bolt. "I know I have no right to ask, but please—"
The second slap is harder than the first, fueled by the injustice of still wanting him after everything. His head snaps to the side, but he doesn't step back.
"I'm sorry," he says, the apology falling from his lips like a prayer. "I'm so fucking sorry, Bella. I know it doesn't fix anything, but I need you to know—"
Before he can speak again, before he can apologize one more time, I grab his shirt and crash my mouth against his.
This was supposed to be the end. It feels terrifyingly like a beginning.