Divorce to Destiny: Reclaiming My CEO Husband

407 Independence and Denial

407 Independence and DenialProperty of Nô)(velDr(a)ma.Org.

(Jayden)

I don't even stop to catch my breath after heading back to the jet. I've called the pilot and organized a return trip. The sooner I'm away from here the better.

My heart is still racing, my torn fists ache from the fight. The betrayal. The utter destruction of everything I thought I knew engulfs me.

Finally, I'm at the airport private jet area. I get out of the car and make a beeline for the jet. It's waiting, fueled up and ready to take me back to London.

"Mr. Brennan," the pilot greets. "Do you need anything else before we leave?"

"I'm fine," I snap. "Just get me out of here."

He nods, and I march past him, my phone clenched in my hand. I don't want to talk to anyone. I don't need anyone. Winona, Lance, Viktor. I can run my own life. Make my own decisions.

I collapse into the seat, yanking out my phone to turn it off. I don't want to talk to anyone right now. I recall the argument with Winona. I can't remember the last time rage engulfed me like that. Those words just spewed out of me. Saying Judy was right. I just wanted to hurt Winona as much as I am hurting.

God, what have I done?

I shove that thought away, burying it under layers of rage. No. They did this. They betrayed me. I have every right to be furious. To want to hurt them the way they hurt me.

My mind spins again with the fight, the look on Winona's face when I said Judy might be right about her. I grit my teeth, shoving away the guilt that threatens to break through. She kept secrets from me. And Lance... my so-called best friend.

"Who the hell needs friends, anyway?" I mutter, as I get up to grab the bottle of scotch from the unattended bar. I twist the cap off, not bothering with a glass.

The burn of the alcohol does nothing to dull the ache, but I keep drinking, hoping it will. If I drink enough, maybe I won't care anymore.

Because caring hurts. Trusting people hurts.

I swallow another mouthful, the scotch burning down my throat, and lean back in the seat, staring at the -ceiling. All my life, every time I've opened up, let someone in, I've been screwed over.

By my father, by Judy's manipulations, by everyone I've ever tried to love. The only way to protect myself is to push them all away. Who needs them?

I don't. I can do this alone. Run Nexus, make decisions fix everything in London. I don't need anyone. I just need this bottle, right now.

But the truth eats at me. I'm not as strong as I want to be. The idea of never seeing Winona's smile, never feeling the warmth of her hand in mine, makes me want to throw the bottle across the plane. 1/2

407 Independence and Denial

I lift it, considering it, but then I set it down. Barely.

The door creaks open, and I tense, ready to bark at whoever dares disturb me. But it's just a staff member, nervously informing me the jet is ready to take off. I nod and fasten my seat belt. He comes over and removes the bottle and stows it safely back in the bar.

Viktor would probably want to know I'm heading to London, but screw that. I don't need Viktor or his lectures about loyalty and trust. I don't need anyone knowing what I'm doing right now.

I'm quite capable of getting to my hotel suite alone. I'll talk to him about why I'm back tomorrow. None of his goddamn business anyway. The memory of the photos haunt me.

Phillip, Lance, Winona. It's like a nightmare I can't wake up from. Now my whole life has blown up again. Why can't anything ever work out?

The city lights below blur as the jet climbs into the air and further away from reality. The hurt twists and knots inside me.

I'm right. They're wrong. They betrayed me. I convince myself, again and again, even as the alcohol fogs my mind and a sickening sense of regret starts to creep in. The jet evens out and I get up and get the bottle again.

Maybe I went too far. Maybe the things I said to Winona were out of line. The memory of her face, the way she crumbled when I mentioned Judy, cuts through me.

But no. I shove that feeling down, swallowing more scotch. She could have told me if she wanted. The truth always reveals. Especially with my mother around.

I close my eyes, but Winona's voice echoes in my head, the way she screamed at me, calling me pathetic. My grip tightens around the bottle, and for a moment, I want to smash everything around me. Destroy something, anything, to match the chaos inside. But I can't. I just sit there, pretending I don't need her. Pretending I don't need my family. Pretending I don't need anyone.

A sudden lurch of turbulence rocks the plane, and I jolt upright, my heart hammering. The bottle nearly slips from my grip, and I set it down, rubbing my temples.

The alcohol buzz is starting to take over, leaving behind the emptiness. Good, I don't want to think straight right now.

I'm still too raw, too angry, too broken. I lean back in my seat, and stare out at the dark sky, wishing I could disappear into it for good.

Never have to land back on earth again.