Chapter 71

Chapter 71

Max point of view 

Nathan was still watching us, his gaze cool and calculating. I could see the satisfaction in his eyes, the way he was enjoying watching me squirm. But Eva wasn’t looking at him anymore. She had turned her back to me, her eyes now fixed on the door, her expression hard.

“This is over, Max,” she said quietly, her words like a death sentence. “Don’t come back here again. Don’t come near me again.”

I stood there, rooted to the spot, staring at her retreating figure. Every inch of me wanted to reach out, to stop her, to beg for another chance. But I knew it was useless. I had let her slip through my fingers once, and now, there was nothing left but the bitter taste of regret.

Nathan moved to stand beside her, his arm slipping around her waist possessively as he guided her toward the exit. I wanted to do something anything to stop it. But I couldn’t. I wasn’t her hero anymore. I wasn’t even her husband.

I was just the man who ruined everything.

“Get out of here, Max,” Nathan said, his voice low, almost mocking. “And don’t come back.”

I didn’t respond. What was there to say? Instead, I turned and walked out the door, my heart heavy with the weight of my mistakes.

But as I walked away everything was crashing down on me with each step I took. My hands were still clenched into fists, the anger burning deep inside me like an inferno I couldn’t control.

I shoved my way through the back entrance of the bar, ignoring the sounds of laughter and chatter behind me. My mind was too clouded, too full of memories, too full of rage to care. My heart thudded in my chest, the pulse echoing in my ears as I stepped into the alleyway, the darkness wrapping around me like a heavy cloak.

It was so damn quiet out here, but that only made the noise inside my head louder.

Eva.

Her face. Her voice. The way she looked at me tonight, like I didn’t matter. Like I wasn’t even in the same league as Nathan.

I didn’t even know why it pissed me off so much. It shouldn’t. I hated her. I hated what she had done to me. What she had done to my family.

She killed my grandfather. She killed him. I saw her. I watched her stand there, the knife in her hand, the blood on her face. I heard the lies she told, and I could feel her betrayal eating away at my soul. She had bought the court, had manipulated the system to get away with murder. She had made me look like the villain.

But standing there tonight, watching her laugh with him Nathan, whoever the hell he was something in me broke. Something twisted inside me, like I had lost control of my own emotions.

I couldn’t let it go. I had to get away from her. From the mess she had made of my life.

I rounded the corner and came to a stop in front of my car. The sleek black vehicle sat there like a reminder of everything I had worked for, everything I had lost.

I should be furious at her. After all she’d done, after all the damage she’d caused, I should be burning with rage. I should be plotting her downfall, figuring out how to make her pay for what she did to my grandfather, for what she did to me.

But all I felt was this damn gnawing emptiness, this burning frustration that I couldn’t push down. I didn’t understand it.

I raised my fist, the pain in my chest only intensifying as I brought my fist down on the hood of the car.

Bang!

The sound of metal smashing under my fist was satisfying. But only for a moment.

I felt the sharp sting in my knuckles, the blood welling up where my skin had split. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. I wanted to hurt. I wanted to feel something. Anything other than this suffocating anger.

I stood there, panting, my breath coming in short bursts, my mind a mess of conflicting emotions.

Why wasn’t I angrier? Why wasn’t I more furious at her?

I should have been.

I should have been plotting how to ruin her, how to make her regret every single moment of the freedom she had bought with my grandfather’s life. I should have been hating her so much that nothing else mattered.

But it was like I couldn’t find it within myself to hate her. I should have hated her. I still did, didn’t I?

I hated what she did to me. I hated how she made me feel weak, made me question everything I thought I knew about myself.

She killed my grandfather. She did. And yet here I was, standing in front of my car, angry at the wrong things. Angry at the fact that I couldn’t stop thinking about her. About how she looked tonight. How easily she had dismissed me. How little she cared.

Max, what’s wrong with you?

The question echoed in my head, louder than any of the noise in the street, louder than the blood rushing in my ears. I could almost hear it like a voice, telling me I was broken. Telling me I was weak for still caring.

But I couldn’t stop myself. I couldn’t stop the thoughts, the memories, the need to make things right.

And then I remembered: She killed him.

No matter how confused I was. No matter how messed up this all was. She had murdered my grandfather. She had betrayed me.

I couldn’t forget that. I wouldn’t.

I slammed my fist into the car once more, the pain shooting up my arm, but this time, I didn’t flinch. The anger inside me was alive, burning hotter than before, and I welcomed it. It was the only thing that made sense anymore. The only thing that kept me from losing myself completely.

Max, what’s wrong with you?

I wanted to scream, to curse at myself. But I didn’t. Instead, I stood there, my chest heaving, my fist pressed against the dent I had made in the car.

I wasn’t ready to face what I felt.

I wasn’t ready to face how deep this hate ran.

But I would.

Eventually.

I just needed to keep telling myself that.