Pierre’s eyes darkened, but there was a desperation in them, a rawness that I had never seen before. “I rejected my fated mate for you,” he said, stepping closer, his voice breaking slightly. “Do you know what that means? I chose you. I could’ve had a life with the woman who was destined for me, but I didn’t want her. I wanted you.”
His confession hung in the air like a heavy cloud, but it didn’t move me. If anything, it made the bitterness in my chest burn hotter.
“Do you think that makes this better?” I asked, my voice trembling with anger. “Do you think I care that you rejected your fated mate? I don’t. I never asked for this, Pierre. I never wanted you. I regret ever saving you.”
The words left my mouth before I could stop them, but I didn’t want to take them back. I wanted him to feel the pain I felt. I wanted him to know how much I despised him for ruining my life.
For a moment, Pierre stood there, frozen, his face unreadable. Then, slowly, his expression twisted with rage, his fists clenching at his sides. For a second, I thought he might strike me, and part of me almost wished he would. It would have been easier than this—easier than seeing the raw hurt flash in his eyes.