A Blaze In My Heart

59. "Her last location shows your house."

(1671 words)

*Blayze's POV*

Once upon a time, I believed that I didn't have a heart, or at least so I was told. Heartache and sorrows were unknown to me. Or at least I had made myself immune to them. My heart turned to ice; I became apathetic to others' emotions, while bottling up and suppressing my own.
There was no space for feelings if I wanted to be successful, to be at the very top.

Mihrimah, just like her name, was the sunshine in my life herself. She lit up everything. She could walk on barren land and blossom flowers everywhere her feet touched. She changed everything. My heart, my perspective, my dreams. She gave me a purpose. Something more meaningful than just work, awards and recognition. She was the epitome of happiness. Of peace and comfort. Too bad I could never give her peace.

For the first time I felt something. Something unique, beautiful and worthwhile. She made my heart beat fast. She drove me crazy, and I loved every bit of it. She made me happy and content with just a look. I was addicted to her smile, her touch, her breathtaking eyes, her entire beautiful existence.

The heat of her broken gaze, the tears threatening to spill out of her beautiful light brown eyes, melted the ice of my heart. While I stood there, maintaining my usual impassive expression, pretending to not give a fuck, I felt my heart break into pieces with hers. The sound was loud in my ears, the feeling vivid and painful and continuous.

My heart ached and throbbed, as if it might stop any second, unable to bear any more torture.

Did I hurt her more or myself?

And since when did breaking a girl's heart break mine?

Was I really that enthralled by her?

The image of her distressed, heartbroken face was fresh and vivid in my mind. The tears that shone in her breathtaking eyes, the pain that showed on her innocent face. I broke her heart. I broke her.

Without another thought, my hand wrapped around the nearest object—the lamp on my work desk, tossing it to the floor with full force. A loud sound echoed as it broke down, still not as loud as the sound of my heart shattering as I broke hers.

I pushed my revolving chair to the ground next, throwing the stationary and papers on my desk, picking up and hurling anything I could find, screaming out in anger and frustration. Still it did nothing to calm the storm within me. It did nothing to erase the image of her pained expression. My angel, my sunshine. I ruined her. I ruined us.

I should have known. Loving wasn't for a beast like me. Deserving an angel like her wasn't meant for me. I thought I could love her, protect her, but I became the one who brought the cataclysm. The catastrophe. The ruin. The fucking damage.

Feeling something so beautiful wasn't for me.

Being with someone so beautiful wasn't for me.

Why did I have to drag her to hell with me? Why did I have to be the one to put her through so much pain? Why did it have to be me? The bearer of her grief, the sword the struck her heart?

Why did I have to care for her so much?

Why did it have to hurt so much?

I believed I could protect her. That I could keep her close and shield her from all the harm in the world. But I was wrong. I had to do what I did. I had to push her away and maim us both to keep her safe.

Fuck. She must be crying. She must be in so much pain.

Ezra came forward with a deal. He would leave Mihrimah alone if I handed one of my billion dollar projects in the making to him. He knew what we had. He knew we were seeing each other outside of work. He had pictures of us from the night we went to the charity ball, when me and Mihrimah had sex in one of the rooms there. I didn't know how he got them, but if those pictures of her got out, they would ruin her reputation. So, I gave him my project in exchange for the pictures. And I pushed Mihrimah away to keep her safe. Being with me any longer would only bring her harm.