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We’re something to each other whether he realises it or not. So even if the most likely outcome is that we kill each other, this is something I have to do.
Because in all of the realities where I’m better and I’m healed and I’m allowed to have the life I want, it’s him who’s there next to me. It’s Felix Taylor-Brooke holding my fucking hand and looking into my fucking eyes and telling me how I’m his and he’s mine. He’s not getting cream-pied by twinks he meets in Ibiza. He’s mine. And I fucking hate him for it. I hate that I’ll never get to fucking have it. But mostly, I hate myself—for being infatuated with my biggest fucking rival since I was fifteen years old. For being so embarrassingly and stupidly in love with him all these years.
When our eyes meet, he winks at me. Fucking winks. Then immediately transforms his face into a sexy scowl.
This is, in fact, the truth. I do hate people. I hate Felix, too, it just so happens that I’m in love with him at the same time. Which isn’t something I’d recommend to anyone who likes being sane.
I should hate him. And I’ve made a good fucking show of it over the years, but I don’t. I can’t. I’ve tried. I want him more than anything and I don’t understand why. I don’t have a single clue what it is about him that has me in knots like this. I’m not sure I’ll ever get to the bottom of it.
He can hate me all he wants. I’ll fuck him however he wants. Then, when his defences are low and he’s grown complacent, I’ll get him to fall in love with me.
“You’re not in love with me, Felix,” says Christian confidently. “And you’ve never asked for anything more from me because it’s not what you want. I’m not what you want, not for the rest of your life. Now you’re frightened because you think I’m going to disappear, like other things have in the past, but I’m not. I promise you that I’m not. I’m right here, your biggest supporter, for as long as you want me to be. It’s why I want this for you. I want you to be happy, darling. To experience what it’s like to be fully and completely in love. To be with someone who cherishes you and treats you how
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There’s a horrible crawling sensation at the base of my neck: had he… planned this? To divert my attention? To make me sloppy and lazy. Did he have that in him? He’d lied to his entire company for five years. He’d looked his colleagues—friends—in the face and made them believe he and Sofia were some kind of dancing power couple. He’d lied to her too. He lied. That’s what he did. He could quite easily be lying now.
He lied about meeting his father. He lied so he could meet his politician instead. I’m so stunned, so filled with rage and petty jealousy that I don’t trust myself to go toward him.

