Doubts - Regretful ex-Fiancé

Chapter 12 | ✓

Trigger warning: Violence, drugs, crime, sadness, vulgar words

"You can leave right now", I said, looking at him firmly. "There's no reason for you to stay. Honestly, it would be great if you just left. Just call one of your bodyguards to pick you up. I can handle myself."

"No," Jonathan replied firmly, meeting my gaze without flinching.

His calm voice was strong and confident. He acted like this was just another day, not one of the dirtiest places he had ever been. He seemed unfazed by the absurdity of his situation. His attempt to soothe me with his gentle demeanor only made me more angry. Was he trying to make a point? Did he think this would fix anything between us? Doesn't he realize that this kind of dirt can't be easily scrubbed away? Any false ideas he has about me will quickly vanish when he sees what lurks in the shadows of this place.

I wanted to laugh at his self-assurance and his tidy clothes. I felt like pushing him into the puddles nearby to show him what reality was like. He might have believed that nothing could change his wish to make things right with me. He thought life was straightforward and that we could just pick up our relationship with a simple kiss.

Jonathan was clueless, and it made me anxious to think he was about to discover things I had kept hidden from him. I had been stuck in this life for too long. It was a struggle to maintain a blank face because this life was a nightmare I never wanted anyone to know. An unpleasant truth I didn't want my fiancé to discover. But what was the point of hiding it now?

I realized from the start that this plan of hiding things was flawed. Lies can weigh heavily over time. I knew I couldn't keep my past hidden forever, but I made every effort... oh, how I tried...Ultimately, my lies led to my downfall and my awakening. That seemed to be my fate. Good things never lasted long for me.

Today, I can find my mother in many unfortunate situations. She might be with different men, desperate for money, passed out from drugs, or even dead. Anything could be happening with her. And did I want Jonathan to witness any of this? Absolutely not. No way... "Are you carrying a weapon?" I asked him with a mocking tone. I was eager to provoke him, but he just wouldn't take the bait.

"Of course. I'm more than ready. No matter how much you want me gone, I'm here to stay, in ways you can't even imagine." He looked at me with a lot of kindness as he spoke. I rolled my eyes and gritted my teeth at his words. I was really trying not to cry from shame. Despite my strong decisions, I felt scared to be with this man. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't shake off the anger about how things ended between us.

"Just follow my lead and don't mess up," I said, starting to head toward the alleys where I might find my mother. "I'd rather you stay behind me, Isabella," he replied, walking so close that I could feel his breath on my neck. "You have no idea where we're going or what we're doing. Just listen to me," I shot back at him.

He stopped talking but stayed close to me. He wore a dark jacket and jeans, while I had on a hood and my hair tied back. As we continued walking, the surroundings got worse. People were sleeping on the streets and using drugs openly. Women were scantily dressed, looking for clients who could pay well. The air was filled with a terrible smell. In the distance, I could hear a woman crying, and some buildings had their windows wide open, with heads occasionally peeking out to see what was happening in the dark streets.

This part of the city was not a place anyone refined would want to walk through. I couldn't picture either of the Coleman brothers or their friends here. It seemed absurd and shocking. Yet, there was Jonathan, following me, looking nothing like the man who usually led meetings to sign big contracts.

I was heading to the spot where I last saw my mother. I knew she probably wouldn't be there, but I hoped to talk to some of the regulars who might remember me or know I could offer them money for information.