His for the Holidays

Chapter 1: Too Strong

Mika

I stagger backward, my breath hitching as I clutch the edge of the bed frame for support. My voice trembles, revealing the panic I am struggling to control, as I return my gaze to him and ask what he is talking about. It's clear, but I can't comprehend it. "Wade..." I whisper, my throat tightening with the effort. “I don’t... I don’t understand any of this.”

In response, he moves inside with heavy steps and gestures toward the chair next to the small desk. "Sit down, Mika." But I shake my head, refusing to move. “I’d rather stand.” I choke, and he exhales sharply, running both hands through his hair and shrugging, his voice low and dismissive.

"Fine. Suit yourself." He says, moving deeper into the cabin with measured steps, clearly preparing himself for what he is about to say. He pauses, then turns to face me, his hands hanging at his sides in defeat. "I tried, Mika," he says softly. “I tried so damn hard to make this work. To fight for us. For you. But every new day... it just got harder. The more I tried, the more I realized I was lying to myself. To you.”

He glances down as if searching the floor for words that won’t come. “We’ve grown apart. You must’ve felt it too.” He continues but I shake my head. "No," I say, the word hanging in my throat. “I didn't feel it.”

My voice is brittle with fear as I take a shaky step toward him, but he turns away, staring at the ship's walls as he guts me open with his tongue.

“I don’t love you anymore, Mika.”

The words pierce through me like jagged glass, and despite my efforts to remain calm and breathe through the pain, my heart hammers in my chest, threatening to burst. However, he doesn't seem to notice, or if he does, he doesn't care; he continues, relentless in his quiet destruction.

“You’re strong. You’re independent. Indeed, those qualities are truly remarkable. But… It’s like you don’t need me. Not in the way I need someone to need me. It’s suffocating, Mika. Being with you feels like I’m the one being carried all the time, and I can’t do it anymore.”

I step back, shaking my head in disbelief. "Suffocating? Carrying you all the time?” My voice crackles as I demand that he looks at me, which he does. "What exactly are you talking about? All I have ever done is love you. I went above and beyond in our relationship to ensure your happiness." I choke, but he doesn’t let me finish and says, that’s the problem. He says it’s his job to assure me, not mine. “I need someone… different. Someone who’s fun. Easy to be with. Easy to love.”

The implications of his words make my stomach turn. "Easy to love?" I repeat in hushed tones. “You’re saying I’m hard to love?” He shrugs casually, as if he were simply stating a fact. “You are. You’re intense, Mika. It’s like you’re always in control, always planning, always thinking five steps ahead. And I’m just... I’m not like that. I don’t want to feel like I’m playing catch-up all the time. I need someone who can just… go with the flow. Someone who can let go.”

My nails dig into my palms, and the pain keeps me grounded as I fight the urge to scream. "So, what? You want someone who doesn’t challenge you? Someone who just sits back and lets you run the show?” The moment of silence as an answer is sufficient, and I open my mouth to respond again, but he interrupts. He goes on, the cruelty in his words disguised in a calm, reasonable tone, making it even more difficult to bear.

"I need someone to make me feel like a man. Someone who allows me to care for her, rather than the other way around. And you… you’re the opposite of that. You’re the one holding everything together, making the decisions, fixing the problems. It’s like you’re the man in this relationship.” He continues, and my vision blurs, but I refuse to let him see me break. Not fully.

"You are unbelievable," I gasp, my voice trembling with rage and heartbreak. “After everything I’ve done for you—after everything we’ve been through—this is what you do to me?” He takes a step closer, his eyes filled with what appears to be pity.

“I didn’t want it to come to this. I swear.” He continues, but I interrupt and ask why it has come to this. "Why couldn't you just sit me down at home and tell me this? If you did not want it to be like this. If you are not enjoying humiliating me like this. Why are you doing it? Why did you have to propose to some woman before telling me you didn’t love me? Why did you even f*****g propose to me in the first place if I’m so bloody hard to love?”

My body trembles, and he takes a step toward me, his hand reaching out as if he has the right to touch me. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. But his touch repulses me.

“Don’t!” I snap, shoving his hand away with all my strength. My hand moves to the ring on my finger—the symbol of everything I believed we had, everything I fought for—and I rip it off. The sharp tug stings, but nothing compares to the pain in my chest. Throwing the ring at him, it strikes his cheek before clattering to the floor.

“Get out!” I scream, or at least try. My voice is strangled by the lump in my throat, and I grab him, ready to unleash all the rage that has been building up inside me.

But then I catch it. A faint scent. Perfume, and just then, the door creaks open wider, and she enters. I freeze, "Nina." The woman who's just taken everything from me.

She doesn’t smile, doesn’t gloat—she doesn’t need to. Just her presence is enough to knock the wind out of me, and my whole body goes rigid as her gaze locks with mine.

"Hello, Mika," she whispers, her voice honeyed with venom, and my knees threaten to buckle. Every fiber of my being tells me to say something, to throw her out, to do anything—but I freeze, paralyzed by the sight of her, by the memories of everything she represents. She abandoned Wade when he had nothing, and now she returns to claim him when he has everything again.

Wade breaks the silence with an inaudible murmur behind me. “We’re having a child, Mika.” The ground gives way beneath me, and I stumble back, collapsing onto the bed as he speaks. “I won’t let my child grow up in a broken home,” he adds, his tone almost defensive, as if this is the justification I need to accept his betrayal. A child. The one thing I can never give him.

"I am sorry," he repeats, but it means nothing, and his voice sounds like it is underwater. Sorry doesn’t undo the years I spent building him back up. Sorry does not take away the nights I held him as he cried, the battles I fought when he couldn't, or the sacrifices I made for someone who was never truly mine.

I do not move as he walks across the room. I hear him unzip his luggage—the rustling of clothes, the clink of metal—as he snaps it shut. His footsteps are unhurried, each one carving a deeper wound into my soul.

Nina follows him, her heels clicking softly against the wooden floor, and then they are gone. The door shuts behind them with a hollow thud, their footsteps fading into nothing.

The silence is deafening, pressing down on me until I can not stand it anymore. A guttural scream emerges from my throat, the sound of everything breaking at once, and I double over, clutching my stomach as memories hit me like a ton of bricks. I see Wade as he was when we first met: a broken man standing in my office, desperate for help.

Wade's father left behind a multimillion-dollar empire, but Wade's name was not included in the will. He wasn’t his father’s son, not really. He was the child of a maid they’d taken in, never formally adopted, never truly accepted.

His siblings returned like vultures to pick the bones clean, leaving him with nothing when his father died. It did not matter that they were out there, living their best lives with their mother, while he worked himself to the bone, establishing their legacy. They did not care about any of that. They took what was theirs and left him devastated, and Nina, whom he was engaged to, also abandoned him.

I should have stayed away and kept things professional. I should’ve drawn the line, but I didn’t. I stayed. He was alone, and I told myself I was there for him, but somewhere along the way, we fell in love. At least, I thought we did. I thought he loved me, too.

But now I see it. He never loved me. He needed me. I was his crutch, his safety net, the person who picked up the pieces and reassembled him. And now that he is healed, now that he's won, he does not need me anymore.

The realization hits me like a punch in the gut, and my body trembles with grief and fury, and a pain so intense that it feels like it will consume me. I am left with nothing.

His voice from when he said they were having a child comes flooding back, and my body moves on its own as I get up and walk to the mini cabinet.

I punch the code and rip open the door with trembling hands, grabbing the bottle of whiskey. My hands tremble as I twist off the cap, and the sharp scent of alcohol burns my nose, but I don’t care.

I tip the bottle back and take a deep, bitter gulp. The liquid burns my throat, and I welcome the discomfort—it is easier to bear than the ache in my chest.

Wade is having a child. The words play endlessly in my head, with each repetition slicing deeper. I squeeze my eyes shut, but the memories continue to flood in.

Wade isn’t the first, and Richard’s face rises unbidden in my mind as he told me the same thing. A child, Mika. I want a child. I loved him, too. I had given everything I could to make up for what I couldn’t give him, and for a while, it worked. My love was enough. Until it wasn’t. Until he left me for someone who could give him what I couldn’t.

How many times will this happen? How many more pieces of myself do I have to lose before there’s nothing left? I don’t want to be alone—I’m terrified of it—but maybe that’s all there is for me now. Maybe that’s all there’s ever been. I take another swig from the bottle and stumble toward the door.

The cabin tilts and sways as if the ship is conspiring to throw me off balance as I grip the doorknob and pull it open. The noise from the deck above come in like a wave. Laughter, music, drunken cheers—it’s a celebration, a mockery of the silence that’s choking me.

The stairwell feels endless, each step an uneven climb as I emerge onto the upper deck, the cool night air slapping my face. The crowd is thick, a sea of bodies swaying to music. I push past them, their joy brushing against me like thorns. None of them see me, and I’m grateful for that.

I reach the ship's edge and clutch the railing as if it is the only thing keeping me upright. The bottle slips from my grasp, clattering to the ground and rolling away, but I barely notice it. My hands tighten on the metal as I lift myself up, the sea stretching out in front of me, dark and endless.

The wind blows across my face, stinging my cheeks and tangling my hair. I close my eyes, the party's noise fading into the background. It’s just me and the sea now, and the thought of letting go feels… peaceful. My fingers loosen on the railing, my body leaning forward, and I let out a shaky breath as I let go.

But then something grabs me. Hard. And I let out a gasp as the force yanks me backward, sending my body tumbling towards the deck. The impact jolts me, sending pain through my hip and shoulder.

My vision blurs, and I hear a groan—not my own, but close. Through the haze, a pair of stormy gray eyes stare at me, terrified and desperate, and they are the last thing I see before everything goes dark.