~Reynold’s POV~
"No, please," I sobbed, closing the distance between us and reaching up to cup his face. "I’m sorry..."
I leaned in, trying to kiss him, but Frederick caught my wrist.
I leaned in, trying to kiss him, but Frederick caught my wrist. His grip was firm enough to stop me without hurting me. He gently pulled my hand away, his eyes cold and distant.
"Goodnight, Reynold," he said quietly, shifting away from me. "I want to sleep now."
With that, he turned his back to me, pulled the heavy duvet over his shoulders, and lay still in the soft light.
I sat frozen beside him, staring at his unyielding back as fresh tears spilled silently down my face.
Why won’t he forgive me? I thought, a bitter ache twisting in my chest. I didn’t even do anything that bad. I only gave Spencer my contact and let him drop me home. So why does seeing Frederick like this hurt me so much? I’m really sorry...
Finally, I lay flat on the mattress, the silence of the room pressing heavily around me. In the end, I’ll always be alone.
I stared at the ceiling for a long time before exhaustion finally dragged me into a fitful, dreamless sleep.
The next morning, I woke with a sudden determination to try again. Maybe if I talk to him this morning, Frederick will finally forgive me.
I slowly turned toward his side of the bed and reached out to shake his shoulder, but my hand met only empty, ice-cold sheets.
I froze.
Frederick was not there.
"Mr. Corvin?" I called, my voice thick with sudden panic.
I sat up and called his name again, louder this time, but there was no answer. I scrambled out of bed and rushed into the master bathroom, pushing the door open as I frantically searched for him.
He wasn’t there.
I bolted into the hallway and ran downstairs, checking every room in the massive house, but the silence was deafening.
I didn’t want to believe it.
Was he really gone?
My heart hammered against my ribs as I sprinted back upstairs to the bedroom. I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and unlocked the screen, my thumb trembling as I prepared to call him.
Before I could dial, a notification banner flashed across the screen.
A message from Frederick.
My breath hitched as I opened it.
Good morning, Reynold. Did you sleep well?
I’m sending this message to let you know that I’ve already headed back, and I won’t be coming back. This isn’t because of what you did. It’s because you’ve always believed that I’m only giving you these things because we sleep together. I want this time to show you that I can still provide everything you need without expecting anything from you in return.
I hate lies. I stayed behind because I wanted to surprise you and didn’t want to leave you alone here. But when you came back in another man’s car and let him drop you right in front of the house, I realized that this arrangement isn’t something I want anymore. It might not seem like a big deal to you, and I’m not going to tell you who you can spend time with or what you can do. That’s your choice.
So live your life, kiddo. It was really nice meeting you, even if it was only for a short time. Everything you asked for will still be delivered to you as promised.
Goodbye, Reynold.
The phone slipped from my fingers and landed softly on the thick bedroom carpet.
I didn’t reply. I didn’t call him back. I didn’t scream or break down. I simply slid down the side of the bed until my knees hit the floor, then pulled my legs tightly against my chest.
I didn’t even cry. The tears wouldn’t come. My mind had gone completely numb as a hollow, suffocating truth settled deep inside me.
Nobody will ever truly want you, Reynold.
That was what I told myself.
I sat there for a long time before my fingers finally moved on their own, typing a message to the only person whose absence felt like a physical ache.
Mr. Corvin, I’m sorry I lied to you. I know I hurt you, and I wish I could take it back. Please don’t think badly of me because of what happened last night. I’m still young, and maybe I don’t always make the right decisions. But please don’t give up on me because of this. I still want to see you. I really am sorry.
I sent the message and stared at the screen, waiting for a reply that never came.
I remained sitting on the floor, my back against the side of the bed, staring at my phone and waiting for Frederick’s reply.
Tomorrow was the weekend, the day I was supposed to go home.
The thought immediately filled me with dread.
If I went back, my father would force me to meet Mr. Mike. And if I let him use me to save his company, I knew things would change forever. Frederick would never want me again after that. How could he? I would have betrayed whatever trust was left between us.
But then I thought about my mother.
What if my father really stopped paying for her treatment because I refused to cooperate? What would happen to her then?
I covered my face with both hands, overwhelmed by everything happening at once.
I couldn’t lose my mother.
But I couldn’t lose Frederick either.
After sitting there for several minutes, I finally made my decision.
I’m not going home.
I lowered my hands and stared at the empty side of the bed one last time.
Frederick might not want me anymore, but I couldn’t bring myself to make things even worse by going home.
Slowly, I pushed myself to my feet. I wiped my face, took a deep breath, and forced myself to focus on the morning ahead.
I had class.
I walked into the bathroom, got ready, and dressed for university.
Before leaving the house, I picked up my phone and sent Frederick a message.
Leaving the house now.
A few minutes later, after I reached campus, I sent another.
Arrived at campus.
I detailed every class I attended, every assignment my professors gave us, and almost every step I took throughout the day. I clung to the desperate belief that if I was completely transparent with him, if I showed him I had nothing to hide, he would eventually realize how much I cared and come back to me.
When I returned home, I texted him again. And again. I never stopped sending him updates about what I was doing, watching the read receipts appear one after another even though he never typed a single word back.
By evening, my car was delivered to the estate. It was a stunning, aggressively luxurious machine, far too expensive and flashy for someone like me.
I knew I couldn’t drive it to campus. Frederick had made it clear that whatever we shared had to remain a secret. If I suddenly started driving a car like this to school, my brothers would definitely notice. My father and stepmother would start asking questions where I got it, who gave it to me, and how I could suddenly afford something this expensive.
I had no way to explain it without exposing Frederick. So, for now, the car had to stay here.
Even so, I took photos of it, sent them to him, and typed:
The car was delivered. It’s beautiful... thank you. I love it.
He didn’t reply.
I kept messaging him throughout the day, pouring my heart out into the chat until exhaustion finally pulled me into sleep.
The next morning, I woke up and continued the same routine.
But by afternoon, another wave of panic hit me. My phone buzzed with furious calls and threatening messages from my father, demanding to know why I hadn’t shown up. He reminded me that Mr. Mike was already at the house and threatened to stop paying for my mother’s treatment if I refused to come home.
Desperate for something to hold on to, I finally told Frederick the truth.
My father is trying to force me to come home and use my body to save his company. Mr. Mike is there today. But I’m not going.