Chapter Sixty Six

Why am I here?

Give him back his money or see him.

No.

I hate him.

Standing outside, I looked up, and a few raindrops fell on my face. It was cold—not like my tears. It was eight o'clock. The night was covered with thick clouds, and the rain poured relentlessly, as if it refused to take a break. Why did the weather feel like my heart? Cold on the outside, but still warm inside for him.

Tonight, it would end. Everything would end.

After what Brooks did to his company, he was completely broken. And yet, I was here. To check on him? To see if he could survive without me? It was ridiculous. He kept helping me even when I didn't want him to. My mother had taken my money, and yet Theo had come back and placed it in my hands again.

I didn't need it.

Taking a deep breath, I took a few steps forward and entered the building. The receptionist smiled at me. I ignored her, turning left toward the elevator. The moment the doors slid shut, I felt the walls pressing in. Each floor brought me closer, and my heart pounded so hard that I thought it would break free from my chest.

It had been two weeks since I last saw him. Two weeks of unbearable silence. I bet he was fine. I bet he had already moved on. The last time Brooks destroyed him, it had been revenge, but I knew Theo—I knew how hard he worked for that company, how much of himself he had poured into it.

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. His office was the only one illuminated, casting a long golden path toward me. The rest of the floor was drenched in darkness. My throat tightened. Was he still working? Why hadn't he gone home?

I had thought I'd just leave the check on his desk and walk away. But what if he was here?

The thought sent a shiver down my spine. My feet felt frozen in place, my mind screaming at me to turn back. This was wrong. I should have called him instead of coming here. But that feeling—that stupid, persistent feeling—had pulled me here like a magnet.

I forced myself to move. My heart pounded, each step echoing in my ears. I stopped in front of his door, pressing my palm against it. My hand trembled. Don't knock, I begged myself.

The door creaked open.

Empty.

A sharp breath left my lips. He wasn't here. Thank God. Relief flooded me, but only for a moment. With careful steps, I entered his office. The air smelled of him—coffee, cedarwood, and something uniquely Ronald. It sent an ache through me.

I placed the check on his desk. But my fingers hesitated. I didn't want this money. I didn't want anything from him.

A sound.

My body stiffened.

No.

From my left. A shift, a breath, a presence.

Then I saw him.

Theo stepped out of the private bathroom, running a towel through his damp hair. His chest was bare, droplets of water tracing down the ridges of his sculpted torso. He stopped abruptly when his tired eyes met mine.

And for a moment, everything froze.

He looked different. His usual sharp features were softer, weaker. His body—once broad and powerful—seemed thinner. Had he lost weight? Had he suffered like I had?

No. He wasn't the kind of man to cry over a woman. He wasn't the kind of man to fall apart.

"Rose."

My name left his lips like a whisper, barely a sound, but it shattered something inside me. My legs threatened to give out, and I gripped the edge of the desk to steady myself.

"This is your money." My voice was stronger than I felt. "Take it back. I don't want anything that belongs to you."

I thrust the check toward him. He took it, his fingers brushing mine for the briefest second. The touch burned.

"It's yours," he said simply.

I clenched my fists. "It's the price of the nights I spent with you."

His jaw tightened.

"You're a perfect businessman, Ronald. You never go back on a deal, never step away from a contract." I forced myself to meet his gaze, drowning in the storm brewing within them. "But you know what? My moments with you are worth more than money. More than anything you could ever buy."

Silence. A long, suffocating silence.

Then his expression hardened.

"Now you understand the pain I felt all those years," he said, his voice low, bitter.

I laughed—a broken, hollow sound. "You think you're the only one who suffered?"

His laughter matched mine. Dark. Sharp. Painful.

"Wow, Rose." He shook his head. "You're the one who left me. You're the one who pushed me away. And now you want to talk about suffering?"

His voice dropped, but his words cut deeper. "You never loved me, did you? Not when I had nothing."

I recoiled. "No—"

"You looked at me and saw a man who couldn't give you the life you wanted. You always wanted more." He stepped forward, and I stepped back. "You always wanted a life where you were treated like a princess."

His grip caught my arms before I could move further. His hands were rough, firm, pulling me closer.

"No.."

"When you thought it wasn't coming from my side, you refused my love and, in a blink, I was out of your life. But you know what?" My back touched the cold glass as he pushed me.

"I think the way you suffered all these years is better for you. Now I know—you never lived a single day in happiness. This is karma, Rose."

How dare he? It happened so suddenly, a blur of movement, and before I could stop myself, my palm struck his face. The sharp sound of the slap echoed through the office. For a moment, everything was still. My hand remained in the air, trembling.

"You think it's karma?" My voice shook with rage. "Well, news flash, Mr. Ronald, I was forced to do that to you. It wasn't my choice. Someone told me to do it. Someone made me play with you in exchange for saving my sister."

I gasped. My own words horrified me. What had I done? How could I have let that slip?

His eyes darkened. "No... It's..."

"What?" His voice was sharp now, demanding. "Your sister? Who—"

I panicked. I shoved him and turned to run, but his grip was relentless. He caught me before I reached the door.

"Who told you? Who's your sister? Where is she? Tell me right now!"

We were pushing and pulling, a battle of strength, but I was no match for him. Then I remembered.

My child.

I raised my hands in surrender. But the moment I did, he shoved me back—too hard. I fell against him, and we tumbled to the floor.

"Fuck!"

Pain shot through me. My baby.

Ronald's breathing was ragged as he turned to me, his panic replacing his anger. He helped me sit up, his hands trembling against my shoulders.

I took the chance to move, but he caught my wrist again.

"Not today, Rose."

With unexpected force, he lifted me into his arms.

"No!" I struggled. "Stop it!"

Ignoring me, he carried me toward the bed.

"Ronald!"

He smirked darkly. "Let's play a game again."