Page 104 of The Rival's Obsession
Not this part.
He has to be the one to come the rest of the way.
To face what happened.
To face me.
To stop hiding behind fury and fatherhood and grief and finally admit what he’s done.
Because until then, this will stay unfinished.
And I’ll keep walking around with my chest split open, pretending I don’t care when I’m dying for him to look me in the eye and say it.
Notsorry.
NotI love you.
Just the truth.
And if he does—if he finally fucking does—then maybe we stop fighting.
Maybe we stop bleeding each other out just to prove we’re still alive.
Maybe we begin.
But if he doesn’t?
Then I was wrong.
And we were never going to survive this anyway.
The elevator rises like a slow climb toward a fall I can’t stop bracing for.
I check my phone again.
For the hundredth time since Saturday night—but still nothing.
No call. No text.
Not that we’ve ever been a phone call kind of… whatever this is.
But a text? That would’ve made sense.
An olive branch. A simple,“We need to talk.”
But all I get is silence.
Maybe I pushed him too far.
Maybe sending that video—stroking my cock under a million-dollar table while the city’s elite clapped for auction bids—was a line too far.
But God, the way he looked at me.
The way he walked out of that bathroom like his spine was made of glass and I was the one who cracked it.
The way I know he got off to it.
I run a hand through my hair and exhale through my nose, fingers twitching near the pack of cigarettes inside my inner jacket pocket. I’m not going to smoke one, but fuck—I might.
