I start scrolling through the responses.
Nat…or whatever your name is, I might be alone in this but I understand. I hope you'll keep writing because I love your stories and it doesn't really matter to me who you are. I can't believe I'm saying this because if you asked me a couple months ago, I would have been really upset that somebody would do this. But after I fell in love with your stories it's hard to say goodbye. I understand you probably won't want to write anymore but I hope that you will find a way to continue Dirk and Amanda's story, I just can't accept it's over. I understand what it's like when people around you tell you that you have to be a certain way, and even though you don't really believe them you feel like you have to do what they tell you. I know you didn't mean to hurt anybody. I'll be praying for you.
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I agree, please keep writing.
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lol wtf is this
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I also would love to see more from you. Nathaniel McBride, anyone?
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Also praying for you, Nat. You obviously had a story in your heart that you needed to tell, and I hope people will be open minded enough to understand.
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Honestly disappointed at all the ass-kissing in here. You realize he LIED to you, right? I don't know what the point of this confession is. Are we supposed to pat you on the back and make you feel better about yourself? It's really, really scummy to pretend to be a woman to gain somebody's trust. That's what predators do. And we're just supposed to take your word for it that you've never taken advantage of anyone? Please. Anyone who felt victimized would be too scared to step up, your rabid "fans" are CLEARLY okay with all your sliminess (and most of them have probably known all along, let's be real). They would tear anyone limb from limb if they said one bad thing about. *patiently waits to be deleted and banned*
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Anybody else need some popcorn?
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I used to think guys couldn't write romance, but you proved me wrong. Please don't quit. Ignore the haters and just be yourself.
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Something shakes me out of my trance. It's the ding of another incoming email. My hands are trembling when I open it.
***
From: [email protected]
Relax, I know it wasn't you. Which only leaves Kara. But to be honest, I don't particularly care anymore. It's the last thing on my list of concerns.
I didn't mean to ruin your life.
I don't know what else to say. I'm a bastard and I'm a bully and I ruined the only good thing that's ever happened to me.
That's you, in case you're having trouble following along.
You know me now, every part of me, better than anybody else ever has. That's been true for a long time.
I've been captivated by you since the moment we met. The world's a brutal place for women like you, but I never saw you falter. Five foot seven in flats, those curves always tugging on the seams of your clothes, like they didn't want to be covered up. You took up more space than you were allowed. You didn't smile when you felt like frowning. You spoke your mind, even at the expense of my comfort. And I couldn't look away.
You were beautiful, so beautiful, but that seems like too small of a word to describe what you are. You were my muse. I hadn't written in twenty years, not since my father found my journals and burned them in the backyard. Not since he told me I'd be nothing, nothing, unless I took on the family business.
But when I saw you, suddenly, I couldn't stop.
And I hated myself for giving in to it.
You'll certainly hate me now, and you're right to, but I thought you deserved to know. Not that you'll believe me, but I didn't keep emailing you for any reason other than the fact that it made me smile. That I thought I could make you smile. We hadn't connected like that in such a long time, in years, because I was afraid of what would happen. Still am.
I wish I could see another way for this to end. But I don't. You deserve to be free from me and I knew you'd never leave, unless I made it happen. For all your will and spitfire, deep down, you never want to disappoint me.
You didn't, Meg. You were never a disappointment. I wish I hadn't let you believe that you were.
I'm sorry.
***
I stare, and I stare.
With shaking fingers, I open the number pad - it takes a few tries - and call Adrian. I know he's not going to pick up, but I have to try.
I wait for ten rings before I start pulling on clothes, haphazardly, grabbing my wallet and going out to hail a cab.
The whole ride here, I keep my phone by my ear, even though I know it's no use.
Adrian lives on the appropriately-named "Billionaire's Row," in the tallest apartment complex in the city. Because of course he does. I've been here once or twice, but I've always felt too far out of my element to appreciate it. Now, I'm just too angry.
But the fact that this insufferable, careless man can afford to spend this much on a penthouse condo is sickening. Perhaps not as sickening as the fact that I fell in love with him.
I avoid the doorman's eyes as I jam my thumb against the print scanner. Really, I never thought about how remarkable it was that Adrian thought I could be trusted with 24/7 access to his building, but I bet he's about to regret it.
After a long, stomach-lurching elevator ride, I find his door and pound it with my fist, until it aches.
At first, there's no response. I'm starting to wonder if he's even home, and why I assumed he must be - when there's suddenly a series of shuffling and clicking noises, and the door swings open.
His clothes are rumpled, his hair a complete mess, with a bottle of Jack Daniel's in one hand and a half-empty glass in the other. I'm starting to understand why it was such a production to get the door open.
"It was you the whole time," I practically shout at him, not caring if anyone hears.
"It was me the whole time!" he echoes, spreading his arms out in a dramatic gesture. Jesus, he's even drunker than I thought.
I storm inside, kicking the door closed behind me. "Are you fucking serious right now? How long did you know it was me?"
"I suspected, at first," he says, swaying a little as he heads for the kitchen. "Then, when the details started to come out, I knew."
"Bullshit." I fold my arms across my chest, protectively. "There's no way you couldn't have known from the first email."
"Okay, okay." He sits down, heavily, on a stool at the bar. "I knew, but I didn't want to know. I told myself it had to be a coincidence, because if it really was you, that'd be too big of a coincidence. It made sense at the time." He swallows with an effort. "Also, I wanted to know what you say about me behind my back."