“You crossed a line when you told those reporters how you felt about me. You told the world something they never should have heard. You brought my personal life into the limelight. You had no right to do that.”
“And I would do it again,” I said coldly. “Because I meant it, Conway.”
“And I wish you didn’t.” He let go of the desk and stood upright.
“Is that really all you care about?” I asked incredulously. “Work? Conway, there’s more to life than being the best at something. There’s more to life than money. Has your own family taught you nothing?”
“Don’t talk about my family,” he snapped. “They’re mine, not yours.”
That hurt as much as anything else he’d said. I’d developed a deep affection for his family, felt like they were my own. I’d never had a sister, and I’d never had parents who were so attentive and loving.
“And yes, work is the most important thing to me. It’s my identity, my legacy.”
“A legacy should be family, Conway. You should have a wife and children, people who will remember you when you’re gone—and not the money that you made. I’ve never cared about your success or your wealth. I fell in love with the man underneath the suit, all the good and the bad.”
“And I never asked you to.”
I was talking to a monster, a heartless monster. He wasn’t even Conway anymore. “If you really didn’t feel the same way in return, I would accept that. Because that’s not what love is about. It’s given freely without expecting anything in return. But to treat me this way…is disgusting. You’re lucky I’m still standing here.”
“Or seriously unlucky.”
The insults kept piling on, but with every new one, the bruise turned an even darker shade of purple. He was stabbing me with a knife, sinking the blade in deeper and deeper. He would keep going until I couldn’t handle it anymore. “I feel sorry for you for being that afraid of love.”
He remained focused, and his expression didn’t change.
“The thing you’re most afraid of is your parents’ disappointment. Well, they’d be seriously disappointed in you right now.” I turned away from his desk, prepared to retreat to my room and sob until my eyes were swollen shut.
“Get out.”
“I’m going, asshole.”
“No. Get the fuck out of my house.”
I turned around to see the new look of rage on his face. Now he was no longer silently calm. His face was tinted red, but not in a sexy way like when we were in bed together. He was furious, the vein in his forehead pulsing. He gripped the desk like he might flip it over and break down the window behind him.
He knew I didn’t have a cent to my name. He knew I had nothing but clothes and shoes. I was completely dependent on him, and without him, I was nothing. But that didn’t matter to him. Our beautiful relationship had been stripped away like it didn’t matter in the first place.
Like I never mattered.
I refused to believe Conway was really this cruel. My last comment about his parents obviously pushed him further than he was prepared to go. But just the fact that he said it told me he wasn’t afraid to cross all lines.
I’d never been so disappointed in him. “I’ll be gone in fifteen minutes.”
“Make it ten.”
I grabbed a bag and stuffed it with my essentials. I grabbed as many clothes as I could fit and one pair of shoes. I didn’t have a lot of room, so I had to leave most of the things I loved behind.
I stared at his top drawer, the place where he kept his t-shirts. It was the stuff he usually wore around the house on a lazy Sunday. It was the first place I went for a comfy shirt to wear to bed. Because the cotton smelled like him. Because the fabric reminded me of him. I slept in his shirt every single night while he was away because that was as close as I could get to him.
I wasted thirty seconds staring at that drawer when I should have been hauling ass.
But then I made my decision.
I yanked it open and took a handful of his t-shirts. I had to ditch one of my favorite dresses in order to make them fit in the bag, but I didn’t care. I left the dress on the floor in front of the dresser and finally walked out.
I wanted to be proud and pretend I didn’t need his clothes, but I knew once I was alone, I would regret not having them. I didn’t have a picture of him or anything else to remember our time. All I had was his scent, his touch.
So, I swallowed my pride and walked out.
I headed to the entryway, where some of the men were waiting for me.