38. Strike Me
Alexander
The door closes behind me.
And the weight of what I’ve just done crashes down on me all at once. Brutal. Crushing.
I slam the back of my head against the wood. Once. Twice. As if physical pain could smother the other kind.
What came over me?
Sam’s cufflinks and card burn in my hands.
Her shattered expression, when I compared her to her sister and accused her of cheating, will haunt me until my last breath. That look: that mix of betrayal, disbelief, and raw pain, etched into my memory with a red-hot brand.
How could I have said those things, knowing exactly how deeply every word would cut her?
What kind of asshole does that?
Why didn’t I listen to her before speaking words that can never be taken back?
Why did I let rage destroy everything?
I hurt a woman who has been nothing but gentleness and light. So honest, so generous, so pure in the way she loves.
A woman I love with all my soul, I realize that now.
What an idiot. I was so busy trying to protect myself that I couldn’t even read my own heart.
I love Sam. And that’s why I’ve been suffocating these past few days without her.
And I lost her through my own stupidity. Through my baseless accusations, my jealousy. Her—who had already given me so many second chances.
I remember the emptiness in her eyes before she disappeared into the crowd.
It was over. She was drawing a final line through me.
I set Sam’s gifts down on the coffee table and collapse into an armchair. I stare at my phone for what feels like an eternity before making a decision. My fingers tremble as I dial. I need to talk to someone. To untangle the emotions threatening to drown me.
Oliver answers on the second ring.
“Alexander! I was just about to call you,” he says warmly. “Congratulations on the IPO. The numbers are impressive. You must be incredibly proud!”
I don’t answer. The words lodge in my throat, blocked by a knot I can’t swallow.
The silence stretches.
“Alexander?” he asks, his tone changing instantly. “What’s going on?”
“I… I screwed up.”
My voice breaks on the last word. I have to try twice before I can go on.
“I… I accused Sam of cheating on me. Damn it, Oliver… I ruined everything.”
“Don’t move. I’m calling Marion and I’m on my way. Do you hear me? Fifteen minutes and I’ll be there. Don’t do anything stupid.”
He hangs up before I can respond.
Fifteen minutes later, the doorbell rings. When I open the door, Oliver studies me with that sharp, assessing look, the one of an older brother who knows a disaster when he sees one. He doesn’t say a word, just pulls me into a protective embrace.
I cling to that moment, to that presence that reminds me I’m not alone in this wreckage.
“Tell me,” he says simply once we’re seated in the living room, a glass in hand.
So I tell him everything. The words spill out in no particular order, broken by silences and labored breaths. The exhaustion and stress that have piled up over the past few weeks. The phone calls I didn’t answer when Sam needed me. The promise to make it up to her. My lack of availability.
I tell him about Sam’s destroyed works, about her going back to school, about the looming IPO, about the distance that crept in between us. The messages growing shorter, farther apart. My mounting frustration turning into resentment. This gnawing feeling of being abandoned when I needed her most.
And then the package that arrived too late. The gift I discovered only afterward. The misunderstandings. My explosion of jealousy outside her school, in front of everyone. My venomous accusations. The breakup.
The truth that came too late. Sam’s departure.
When I finish, Oliver stays silent for a long time. He swirls his glass in his hands, his gaze lost in the amber of the whiskey.
“Fuck,” he finally says. “When you screw up, you really go all in.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
My voice is sharper than I mean it to be. Oliver doesn’t flinch.
“Sam isn’t Kristel,” he says calmly. “But your ex’s betrayal left raw wounds, whether you admit it or not. You never took the time to process that. Circumstances brought you and Sam together, but you moved too fast. You built something on foundations that weren’t solid yet.”
I want to protest, but he raises a hand.
“I hear what you’re saying about fatigue, about stress.
I get it. But Alexander… that’s not an excuse.
Yes, over time, those things can dehumanize you.
They can turn you into someone you no longer recognize.
But no matter what, the one thing you must protect above all else—and even from yourself—is the person you love. ”
He looks straight at me, and in his eyes I see something I’ve never seen there before: disappointment.
“You have a bad day? You never take it out on the other person. Never. The harder things get, the more the other person should become your refuge. And the reverse is true. If that’s not the case, then your relationship isn’t worth living. It’s that simple.”
His words cut straight through me. Because he’s right. Because I did the exact opposite. I turned Sam into the scapegoat for my frustrations.
“I lost her,” I whisper.
“That’s possible,” Oliver agrees bluntly. “But more than that, you lost yourself. The real question isn’t whether Sam will forgive you. The real question is: are you ready to become the man who deserves her forgiveness?”
I stare at him, lost.
“You need to find a way to offer the best version of yourself, Alexander. The one who communicates instead of assuming. The one who gives trust before suspicion. The one who listens before condemning. The one who, when he’s afraid, says ‘I’m afraid’ instead of attacking.”
“I don’t know how to do that,” I admit—and it may be the first time I’ve ever been that honest with myself.
“You’re going to have to learn,” Oliver says simply. “And it won’t happen in a day. It’s going to be long, hard, humiliating at times. You’re going to have to face parts of yourself you’d rather ignore. But if Sam truly matters to you, you don’t have a choice.”
He sets his glass down and stands.
“Start by forgiving yourself for being human and imperfect. Not to excuse what you did—that’s inexcusable. But to accept that you fucked up and that you can do better. Then, and only then, you might be able to ask Sam for a chance to prove it.”
After he leaves, I sit in the dark for a long time, his words echoing in my mind like a relentless refrain.
Become the man who deserves her forgiveness.
I don’t know if I’m capable of it, but I have to try.
*
I thought I’d hit rock bottom.
I was wrong.
My phone vibrates. Pathetically, I hope it’s her.
It’s Emelyne. She’s never called me directly before.
My heart tightens.
Something has happened to Sam.
I answer before the second ring.
“You’re an asshole.”
Her voice is a blade. Sharp. Cold. Final.
“She’s been working night and day for weeks just to earn a chance to present for her diploma. And you couldn’t think of anything better than tearing her apart in front of her entire school. The day before she faces the academic committee.”
The words hit me full force.
The day before.
She presents tomorrow!
“I didn’t know,” I whisper.
A bitter laugh.
“Of course you didn’t. Because you never asked.”
Silence. Then her voice changes. Drops. Becomes worried.
“She’s been home for two hour. She hasn’t said a word. She’s not even crying. If Dorian hadn’t called me to explain everything, I still wouldn’t know what happened. And now I don’t know what to do. If she stays like this, she won’t be able to defend her project tomorrow.”
“I’m coming.”
“What? No, you’re not—”
“You said it yourself. You don’t know what to do. I do.”
I hang up.
Twenty minutes later, I’m ringing their doorbell.
Emelyne opens, her face closed off.
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“So do I.”
Sam’s bedroom door is ajar. I push it open gently.
She’s curled up on her bed, back turned, completely still.
“Sam… I’m so sorry.”
No response. I don’t even know if she heard me.
I take off my shoes. Move closer to the bed.
Suddenly she moves, turns around, and shoves me hard.
“What are you doing here? Get out. I don’t want you.”
Her eyes are red. Dry. That’s worse than tears.
“I’m asking for your forgiveness. I know I acted like an asshole. Just let me be here for you tonight.”
“No. Get out! I don’t need you!”
There’s so much rage in her gaze it steals my breath.
“Hit me.”
She frowns.
“What?”
“I destroyed you today. You’re angry. So hit me. Show me how badly I hurt you.”
“You think I won’t?” she asks.
“I know you will.”
She jumps to her feet. Steps closer and hits me. Right in the stomach.
Fuck.
The air leaves my lungs all at once. I stagger, but I stay upright.
“That all you’ve got?” I provoke her.
Something flashes in her eyes. Wild. Unleashed.
She hits me again. And again. Just hard enough to hurt. Never hard enough to truly injure. She knows exactly where to strike and when to stop. Two inches inside the body. Just enough to leave a mark.
I back up until I hit the wall. She follows, pouring out all her anger, and I let her. I absorb every blow like a deserved penance.
Then her movements slow, losing strength. Her hands finally come to rest against my chest. And the tears finally come.
She collapses against me, shaken by silent sobs.
I pull her close. Very gently. She struggles to break free, but without conviction. When she stops resisting, I wrap my arms around her.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur into her hair. “So sorry.”
My voice breaks and tears slide down my cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat. “None of what I said to you is true.”
Her body trembles against mine. She cries.
And my heart cracks a little more. I tighten my hold. It’s all I can do. Hold her while she breaks, because I’m the one who did this to her.
“You never trusted me,” she sobs against my chest.
“I know.”
“You punished me for her mistakes.”
The words tear into me.
“I know.”
“Tomorrow… tomorrow I have to…”
Her voice breaks.
“I know. Emelyne told me.”
I hold her tighter.
“And you’re going to nail it. Do you hear me? You’re going to walk into that room and show them how extraordinary you are.”
“I can’t. I don’t have it in me anymore—”
“Yes, you do. Because your worth has nothing to do with me. Or with us. Or with that jealous asshole who humiliated you today.”
I frame her face between my hands.
“You’re Sam. The one who sees the world in colors I don’t even notice. The one who turns pain into beauty. And no arrogant asshole can ever take that away from you.”
She stares at me, eyes shining.
“You are an arrogant asshole.”
“I know.”
“I hate you.”
“I know.”
“Then why… why are you the only person I want to see right now?”
Her voice breaks.
I don’t have an answer. So I stay silent.
I just hold her.
When her sobs finally ease, I lift her and carry her back to the bed.
We lie down. She faces the wall. I’m behind her, wrapping my body around hers.
“What are you doing?” she murmurs. “I still hate you.”
“I know. But tonight, we call a truce. Tonight, everything is okay between us.”
Her body relaxes against mine.
“Just for tonight,” she repeats.
And I know what she doesn’t say. Tomorrow, I’ll have to let her go.
I stay awake long after she falls asleep, memorizing the warmth of her body against mine.
Because this might be the last time she lets me hold her in my arms.