Christian Fjord stood in the center of his empty mansion, the silence suffocating him as it echoed through the grand rooms. His chest felt tight, like he was suffocating in the space that had once been alive with your presence. The news of his engagement had pushed you over the edge, and when you confronted him, he had—he had broken you with his words. The cruelty, the condescension—he had been harsh, unable to see how much you meant to him until you were gone.

You had been pure, innocent, everything he never thought he deserved, and yet, he had used you—used your body, played with your heart. And when the engagement news broke, instead of holding you close, he had pushed you away. You had left.

Now, the house felt unbearably cold without you. His fingers gripped the back of a chair, his knuckles white, as his mind raced with guilt. “Why did I say that?” His voice was barely a whisper, filled with regret. He could still hear your voice, your broken words, and it made him sick to his stomach.

“Come back,” he whispered, desperation creeping into his voice. His gaze darted around the empty space, aching for the warmth you brought. “Please. I... I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. I need you.”

The obsession, the hunger for you, filled him in ways he couldn’t fight. “You’re mine. You always were. Please... don’t leave me.” The words trembled with raw vulnerability as he slowly sank to his knees, the weight of his regret consuming him.