Page 51 of ’Til You Break

“I’m just happy someone fought for me at all.” Without thinking, I brush my hand against his shoulder. His eyes immediately drop to where my fingers touched.

I pull away with a sheepish smile. Andrew chuckles and leans against the concrete barrier overlooking the drop-off zone.

“If you ever need anything, give me a call, Hannah. I’ll help however I can.”

My mind immediately starts racing. This is wrong. I know it is.

But maybe...

...this is exactly what I need.

Maybe it won’t get me away from Vik completely. But it could remind him what it feels like to be hurt. While he’s busy playing the perfect house husband and expecting one home-cooked meal to fix everything...

I can show him the same indifference he showed me. This is my chance to make him feel what I felt.

“How about dinner, sometime?” I ask as my taxi pulls into the hospital driveway.

“Sure. Just tell me when.”

“What about tonight?”

He hesitates. For one awful second, I wonder if I’ve misread everything.

Then a slow smile spreads across his face.

“It’s a date.”

Chapter Eighteen

Vik

Ihate how Hannah makes me feel.

I hate the yearning that comes with watching my messages being read and ignored. The sting of knocking on her door only to be met with silence. Most of all, I hate how desperately I want things to go back to the way they were.

This isn’t who I am. I built an empire from nothing. I’ve hunted men for years without hesitation. I’ve waited and stalked targets for weeks before making a calculated move.

Yet somehow... cooking this meal is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Because deep down, I know there’s so much riding on it. We’re not simply sharing dinner. This is my attempt to show Hannah I want...

More.

I’m in the kitchen, dicing peppers and cucumber for the salad that’ll accompany our roast beef. My phone sits beside the chopping board, taunting me. Every notification sparks a flicker of hope... only to be dashed by another message from work or an update from one of my men.

I knocked on Hannah’s door earlier. Like every other attempt, she gave me nothing. Still... I suppose that wasn’t the worst outcome. Had she answered, I wouldn’t have known what to say. Or what to do. So, I tell myself she’s asleep. Curled up in bed, drifting through dreams, unable to hear me. Resting. Gathering her strength for our dinner together.

I know better.

She simply doesn’t want anything to do with me. It’s not a reality I can accept lightly. My power and influence have always drawn people toward me, eager for the things only I can provide.

Hannah does the opposite. She pushes me away.

And for the first time in years... I don’t know what to do. Apologizing won’t change anything. Words can’t undo what I’ve done. But maybe this dinner can show her how badly I want to make things right.

I carve the meat and add the finishing touches to the salad. It looks good. Smells even better. I carry both dishes into the dining room and set them on the table.

“Dinner’s ready,” I call down the hallway before taking my seat.

Soft music drifts through the house. Old classics. The Beatles. The Beach Boys. A few others. They are doing their best to fill the silence that’s bound to come with our first real interaction in over a week.