Chapter 4

Alexandra Hoffman POV:

Jaxon didn' t wait for anyone' s permission. He grabbed my arm, his grip surprisingly firm, and pulled me towards his car. "We' re leaving," he stated, his voice low and guttural, a stark contrast to the chaos we' d just left behind. I didn' t resist. My body felt numb, my mind a blank canvas of shock and pain. The stinging on my cheek was a constant reminder of Hanson' s violence, a physical manifestation of his betrayal.

We got in the SUV. Jaxon started the engine, the roar of the motor the only sound breaking the thick silence. He kept his eyes fixed on the road, his jaw tight, refusing to meet my gaze. It was a cowardly act, a deliberate avoidance of the storm brewing between us. I leaned back into the leather seat, trying to put as much distance as possible between our bodies. The space felt vast, yet suffocating.

He drove in silence for a long time, the familiar city streets slowly giving way to winding, tree-lined roads. We were heading out of town, towards the secluded outskirts, a place where secrets could fester and truths could be buried. My heart pounded with a mix of fear and a desperate, fragile hope. I wanted answers. I needed him to explain. I needed him to tell me it was all a horrible misunderstanding, a twisted game, anything but the truth my eyes had witnessed.

Finally, he pulled over onto a quiet overlook, the city lights twinkling in the distance like scattered diamonds. He cut the engine. The silence was deafening, punctuated only by the frantic beat of my own heart. I waited, my breath held captive in my lungs, bracing myself for the confession, the apology, the explanation.

Instead, he turned to me, his voice rough. "Alex, you shouldn' t have said anything. You just made things worse. Karla is really upset. She' s fragile, Alex. Hanson was just trying to protect her."

My breath caught. He wasn't apologizing. He was blaming me. For her fragility. For Hanson' s violence. For his own infidelity. The words were a fresh wound, twisting the knife deeper.

Yet, as he spoke, I noticed a subtle tremor in his hands, clenching and unclenching on the steering wheel. His eyes, though still avoiding mine, were rimmed with red. Was that... guilt? Was he actually feeling something other than practiced indifference? The thought was a bitter, ironic revelation. He was capable of guilt. Just not enough to stop him.

A wave of profound sadness washed over me. All those years, I had believed in him, trusted him implicitly. I had believed in the sanctity of our love. Now, I saw it all for what it was: a meticulously crafted lie. And I was the fool who had believed every word. His guilt, his fleeting remorse, meant nothing. It didn't negate the pain. It didn't erase the betrayal.

The hope, tiny and fragile, that I had clung to moments before, shattered into a million pieces. There was no going back. No reconciliation. There was only the gaping chasm between us, filled with his lies and my shattered trust.

"It' s over, Jaxon," I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. The words, once so impossible to imagine, now felt liberating. "You and I. We' re done."

He flinched, as if I had struck him. His head snapped up, his eyes finally meeting mine, wide with disbelief. "What? No, Alex, don' t say that. We can fix this. I can explain."

"Explain what, Jaxon? Explain the three years of lies? Explain Karla? Explain why you let my brother hit me and then blamed me for it?" My voice was rising now, a raw, ragged edge to it. "No. There' s nothing to explain. The truth is ugly, and I saw it. I heard it."

I leaned forward, my eyes blazing with a cold fire. "And about the wedding? Consider it canceled. I will make sure of it. You won' t get away with this, Jaxon. Neither of you will."

His face, which had been pale, now flushed with a mixture of shock and anger. He reached for something in the backseat, a small, silk scarf, and in his agitated state, he ripped it in half. The torn fabric mirrored the shredded remnants of our relationship. He looked utterly disheveled, a rare moment of vulnerability that, ironically, left me completely cold. It was a fleeting glimpse of the chaos beneath his carefully constructed facade, but it held no sway over me now.

"Alex, please. Don' t do this," he pleaded, his voice cracking. "What do I have to do? How can I make it up to you?" He looked genuinely desperate, a wounded animal.

But his desperation felt hollow. It felt like another performance, another manipulation. My mind, clear now in its resolve, refused to be swayed.

"Make it up to me?" I scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "You really think you can 'make it up' after this? You think a few empty words and a fake apology can erase years of deceit? You think I' m that easily bought?"

He closed his eyes, a pained expression on his face. "Alex, I... I never meant for things to go this far with Karla. It was a mistake. A long, stupid mistake."

"Were the three years a mistake, Jaxon? Or was it just me?" My voice was sharp, cutting. "And what about all those times you swore you didn' t want to get married? Was that a mistake too? Or was it just a convenient lie, because you were too busy building a secret life with my brother' s fiancée?"

He flinched again, his body recoiling as if I had physically struck him. He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes darting away. "I... I never loved Karla, Alex. Not like I love you. She was... she was just a distraction. An escape. I was stupid. I messed up. But I swear, it meant nothing."

The words were a hammer blow. It meant nothing. Three years of shared intimacy, passionate encounters, secret meetings – all of it, just "nothing." My stomach churned again. He was so casually dismissing a significant part of his life, a part that had utterly destroyed mine. He was trying to minimize it, to make it palatable, to absolve himself.

The pain, suppressed for so long, flared up again, a sharp, physical ache in my chest. I pressed a hand over it, trying to calm the tremor that now ran through my entire body. He would never truly understand. He would never admit the depth of his deception. He would always find a way to justify his actions, to present himself as the victim of circumstance.

All the tender moments we shared, the late-night talks, the promises whispered in the dark, the dreams we built together – they were all a lie. A cruel, elaborate charade. He had been playing a dual role, effortlessly switching between the loving boyfriend and the clandestine lover. The thought was sickening.

I reached for the door handle, my hand trembling slightly. "I' m not naive anymore, Jaxon. I know you. I know what you' re capable of." I met his eyes, my gaze cold and unwavering. "I won' t forgive you. And I won' t let Karla get away with this either. You both deserve to lose everything."

His face drained of color. His eyes, moments before filled with a desperate plea, now hardened, a flicker of something dark and dangerous replacing the remorse. A possessive glint. A chilling acknowledgment. He wouldn't let me go. He wouldn't let Karla go either.

"Alex," he began, his voice low, but I cut him off.

I opened the car door, stepping out into the cold night air. The city lights blurred in the distance, a cruel reminder of the life I had just lost. "Goodbye, Jaxon."

He watched me, his face a mask of silent fury. I started walking, my strides purposeful, not looking back. The car engine roared behind me. For a moment, I thought he would follow, that he would try to stop me again. But the sound of the tires squealing, pulling away from the curb, told me otherwise. He was leaving. He was leaving me alone, on the side of a deserted road, broken and exposed. The ultimate act of callous disregard.