Page 102 of Bid For Me
A fresh wave of sobs overtakes me, and I clutch the banister for support as I force myself to stand. I can’t stay here, crumpled and broken on the stairs. I need…I don’t know what I need. But I can’t sit here.
I grab my small clutch bag with my phone in it, and stagger upstairs, each step heavier than the last. When I reach the landing, my gaze drifts to the master suite. The double doors stand open, the soft glow of a bedside lamp spilling out into the hallway. I take a step toward it, then stop, my stomach twisting.
I can’t go in there. Not after what just happened. Not after he left me.
What does he expect from me here? To settle in? To pretend that everything is fine, that we’re fine? I don’t know how to play this game, how to act like I’m not drowning in this sea of confusion.
I glance out the landing window, the lights of the city flickering in the distance, but I don’t see any of it. All I can see is the house, the emptiness of it, the space between us that seems to stretch further with every second.
I feel like I’m losing him, slipping through his fingers. I don’t even know how to get him back, if that’s even what I want anymore. Everything’s been so mixed, so tangled. One moment he’s close, and the next he’s a million miles away. How can I fix this when I don’t even know where I stand?
And then there’s the truth – the truth about Alexander. Should I tell him? Should I risk opening up despite his father’s threats? But then again, what good would that do? I’m not sure he’d believe me. If I tell him everything – about Alexander, about the way he’s been manipulating us both – will Seb see me as a liar? Will he think I’ve been playing him all along?
I’m stuck.
Every thought I have leads to another question. How did we get here? How did we end up like this? I wish I could take it all back, undo the contracts, the lies, everything that’s led us to this point. But what good would that do? We’re already here, and there’s no going back.
Instead, I veer toward the nearest guest room. The bed is smaller, the space elegantly impersonal, but I don’t care. I grab my phone with shaking hands and dial Candy’s number. She picks up on the third ring, her voice bright and chipper, completely unaware of the wreck I’ve become.
“Elle! How’s it going? Did you blow his mind?”
At her words, the dam breaks again. I can’t even speak, just sob into the receiver as I sink onto the edge of the bed. For a moment, there’s only silence on the other end, and then her tone shifts, sharp and concerned.
“Elle? What’s wrong? What happened?”
Through my tears, I manage to choke out the words, spilling everything.
The kiss, the coldness, the prenup, the way he stormed out and left me standing there like I didn’t matter. By the time I’m done, my throat is raw, and Candy is seething.
“I’ll kill him,” she growls. “I’ll kill him and his bastard father. I’ll burn their entire fucking empire to the ground.”
A weak laugh escapes me, bitter and humorless. “It’s pointless, Candy. What’s done is done. I made my bed. Now I have to lie in it.”
“Bullshit,” she snaps. “You didn’t do anything wrong. He’s the one being a fucking coward.”
Her words should comfort me, but they only make the ache in my chest worse. “I don’t know what to do,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m so tired, Candy. I just…I can’t anymore.”
She softens, her tone losing its edge. “Listen to me, babe. You’re going to get some sleep, okay? I’ll come over first thing in the morning if you text me the address, and we’ll figure this out together. Everything looks worse when you’re exhausted and it’s been a hell of a day.”
I nod, even though she can’t see me. “Okay.”
“Promise me, Elle. Go to bed. No more crying, no more overthinking. Just sleep.”
“I promise.” The words are hollow, but they seem to satisfy her. We say our goodbyes, and I set the phone down on the nightstand, staring at it for a long moment before dragging myself to my feet.
The dress, the one I picked out with such hope, suddenly feels like a burden, a weight I can’t bear. I strip it off, along with the matching underwear, and let them fall to the floor in a heap. Wrapping a blanket around myself, I crawl into the bed and curl into a ball, the cool sheets offering little comfort.
The tears come again, slow and steady, soaking into the pillow as I toss and turn. My thoughts are a relentless storm, replaying every moment of the day in vivid, excruciating detail. The heat of his kiss, the way his hands had claimed me like I belonged to him, the flash of anger in his eyes as he turned away.
What changed? What did I do wrong? Should I tell him? Can I even trust him?The questions echo in my mind.
The house is silent, the air heavy, and every creak of the floorboards makes my heart clench, half-hoping, half-dreading, that Seb has come back. I imagine him walking through the door, his expression softening as he apologises, explains everything, holds me the way I so desperately need to be held.
But the hours drag on, and the emptiness of the house never changes.
Eventually, exhaustion claims me, pulling me into a restless, tear-streaked sleep. Dreams come in fragments, flashes of him standing just out of reach, his back turned, his voice echoing with words I can’t quite understand. I wake up over and over, my pillow damp, my chest aching.
By the time sleep finally takes hold of me properly, it’s the darkest hours of the night, and I never hear if Seb returns.