HATE ME LIKE YOU LOVED ME..

CHAPTER 2

THE MAN WHO SHE ABANDONED

.......

Alfie sat in his car, watching them, his fist clenched.

"She looks so happy," he muttered.

He reached for his phone and typed a message.

"Find every single piece of information about Amelia Doughty. Little or big, significant or insignificant. I want to know everything about her."

His jaw tightened. His fist on the steering wheel turned pink.

Amelia had just cleared her brother's debt and walked out of the school gate in a hurry. She was late for her job hunting.

She stopped to check her bag, patting it down.

A hand grabbed her.

"Who?" She almost screamed, looking up to see Alfie's face close to hers.

He pulled her toward his car and pushed her against it. She lost her footing, but he caught her before she fell.

She stepped on his foot and walked past him, refusing to let him hold her again.

Alfie stood still, pain climbing up his leg. He didn't move to nurse it. His eyes stayed on her back as she walked away, like she wasn't even worth a second look to him, but she was.

"You hate me," she said, remembering his words from days before. "So why are you still following me around?"

She stepped back and looked him up and down.

Alfie stood frozen. His heart beat faster. "Why do I keep seeking her out like this? Why, ehn?"

He looked down at the ground, his breath slow.

She turned back once to see if he was still following her. He only stood there, saying nothing, jaw locked, hand balled tight at his side.

He turned and walked back to his car without waiting for an answer. The engine started, and he drove off without looking back.

Amelia stood there until the sound of the car was gone. She took a breath and continued on her way.

Alfie drove straight to his villa, gripping the wheel the whole way.

The moment he stepped through the door, the house went quiet. No one moved. No one wanted his attention.

He found fault in everything that day. The food. The water. The way the cushions sat on the couch.

"Who arranged this place, ehn? Who?" His voice thundered through the house.

He picked up a flower vase from the table and threw it to the floor. It broke, and the room went still.

He knelt down and began picking up the pieces with his bare hands. A shard cut into his palm. Blood welled up.

The maids nearby whispered to each other and began backing away.

"Why are you all standing there like statues?" he snapped.

Everyone froze at the sight of his bleeding hand.

He stood, looked around at their faces, then turned and walked quickly to his room.

Inside, he opened a drawer beside his bed and took out an old photo. He sat on the edge of the bed and stared at it.

"Why," he said, his voice cracking, "what happened now, no, no."

He pressed the photo to his chest.

"What if she didn't lie? Nothing changes. It was all lies. She still left me."

He sank to the floor, the photo still held against him. Tears fell from his eyes.

"After five years," he said quietly, "why does it still hurt me like this?"

His grip closed around the photo frame until the glass cracked and cut into his palm too.

He looked at the photo again. His younger face stared back, smiling, not knowing what would go wrong.

"She cannot abandon me," he said, low and dry.

He raised the frame as if to smash it, then stopped, his hand shaking in the air. He set it down instead.

By the time he came out, a file sat waiting on his desk. Every piece of information they could find on Amelia.

He traced her name on the folder with his thumb before opening it.

He read page after page, his face growing darker with each one. Then he stopped.

Photos of Ray, and a small boy. Amelia held the child close, the same boy he had seen her walk to school that morning.

"So they are married." He let out a short, humorless laugh. "She used to tell me they were only best friends. How can best friends marry each other and have a child this big, eh?"

The information did nothing to settle him. If anything, it left more questions than it answered.

He picked up his phone and called his assistant. The line connected on the first ring.

"Send me Amelia's résumé. And anything else related to her in the company."

He ended the call without waiting for a reply, and one thought sat heavier than the rest: what he still didn't know about her.