Fifty Shades Bound

Chapter Thirty

I barge into Eslava with Sawyer hot on my tail, startling the receptionist.

"Ma'am, perhaps you should slow down. Can't be good for the baby," he mutters, trying to catch his breath after chasing me down when I hopped out of the car before he parked. Gotta say, even while pregnant, I still got some game.

I ignore his statement, focused on the task at hand. I walk further into the salon, looking for the obnoxious yet perfect haired ex dominant of my husband's.

"Where is Elena Lincoln?" I call out loud, catching the attention of all the hairdressers, each one pointing to a door at the end of the room. I storm towards it, motioning to Sawyer to stop following me. He obliges and returns back to reception.

I throw the door open and come face to face with the devil herself.

"I was wondering when you'd show up," she smirks, crossing her arms over her chest. Her office is smaller than I imagined yet elegant all the same. Framed photographs of her with friends and family line the walls, alongside with certificates I assume are from her cosmetology schooling.

I sit down in the chair across from her desk and imitate her by crossing my arms over my chest. I can feel Blip kicking, not happy with my sudden spurts of energy.

Elena and I stare each other down before I finally sigh and give in.

"You must know why I'm here since you were expecting me," I say, looking her directly in the eye. She only smiles, flipping her short, platinum hair behind her shoulder.

"One can only assume," she says, winking. I roll my eyes as she leans forward in her chair, resting her elbows on the desk, propping her head up.

"You couldn't expect Christian to stay away from me, my dear. I'm his oldest confidant. He has things to share, things he cannot share to his very pregnant wife," she says, looking bored.

I feel my cheeks heat up, trying to ignore the fact that she just called me fat.

"I want you to stay away from him, Elena. You have no business in our lives. I don't know what he has told you but it doesn't matter because you are irrelevant. Stay away," I threaten. She studies me for a second before speaking.

"Your husband is a very troubled man. He needs to talk to people, people besides Dr. Flynn, and guess what? He doesn't feel that he can talk to you!"

I feel like I've been slapped. Is that truly how he feels? I feel the tears coming but I push them back, refusing to show Elena her words hurt me.

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about," I sneer, standing up. She doesn't move as I make my way to the door.

"Stay the fuck away," I demand, opening the door. Before I can walk out, she says something I never expected.

"Before you leave, I have Christian's jacket. He left it at my house," she says with a sickeningly sweet smile. She stands up and hands me a blue hoodie I know for a fact is Christian's. I can't help but stare at her dumbfounded. He went to her house? What the fuck is happening right now?

I snag the jacket from her hands and walk out without a second thought. I make my way to reception where I ignore Sawyer and leave, heading back to the car. Sawyer doesn't say a word as he opens the car door for me. I sink into my seat and can't help the few tears that slide down my cheeks. I quickly wipe them away and tell Sawyer we need to make one last stop.

We arrive at the destination and I walk through the lobby to the elevator, clutching the jacket to my chest the whole time. Once I reach the floor, I'm greeted by Christian's assistant, Andrea.

"Mrs. Grey, what a pleasure to see you. You're looking well! Would you like me to tell Mr. Grey you're here?"

"No thank you, Andrea. I'd like to surprise him," I tell her, giving her the most fake smile I can muster.

"Not a problem, Mrs. Grey. He's in his office," she says, pointing me towards the door. I thank her and make my way down the now familiar hall, nervous for the conversation that's about to transpire. I reach the door and take a deep breathe in. Should I go in guns blazing or use my fake, sweet voice? Fuck. I open the door quietly and shut it, keeping my eyes on my husband who is currently facing away from me, staring out of his floor-to-ceiling window. I walk quietly until I stand directly in front of his desk.

I clear my throat loudly, startling him. He turns around to face me, shock written on his face.

"Ana-," he starts, but I cut him off by throwing the hoodie on his desk. He stares at it for a second, emotionless, but when he finally looks back up at me, it's there. The one emotion I was praying not to see. Guilt.