Chapter 356 Don’t Wait for Me

Tiffany’s POV

Silence settled over the table. Then Fynn pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head slowly.

“Tiffany, don’t. Don’t wait for me. You’re young. You’ve barely met anyone. Give it time, meet more people, grow up a little, and you’ll realize there are men out there a hundred times better than me.”

“Maybe there are plenty of men better than you,” I shot back. “But that has nothing to do with anything. I like you. And no one, no one, could ever take your place.”

The waiter arrived then, setting down plate after plate. I glanced at the food, and my chest tightened. Every dish was something I loved. He’d remembered. He’d ordered all my favorites without me saying a word.

I looked across the table at Fynn, this infuriating, contradictory man who knew everything about me, who treated me with such quiet care even as he pushed me away with both hands. If he truly wanted to be cold and merciless, if he really wanted nothing to do with me, then why did he keep doing these small, tender things?

We ate. And we argued. Back and forth, round and round, straight through until the hands of the clock crept toward one in the afternoon.

Finally, Fynn checked his watch and rose. “Come on. I’ve already bought your ticket.”

He hauled me up from my chair and started towing me toward the airport.

I dug in my heels, resisting his grip. “Let go of me! I told you, I’m not going back!”

“Stop it.”

“Are you deliberately trying to make me angrier?” Fynn growled, his patience fraying to threads.

He forced me through the terminal doors. He had my boarding pass in one hand and my suitcase in the other.

We were almost at the departure gates when I spotted a row of boutiques and specialty shops. My steps slowed. Paris had barely given me anything except humiliation, but I still wanted something to take home.

Fynn followed my gaze. “You want to look?”

I blinked at him. “What?”

“The shops.” He sighed, already sounding tired. “Pick something. You came all this way.”

My heart gave a small, foolish jump. “Really?”

“Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

Of course. He said that as if buying me something in Paris was no different from picking up a bottle of water.

I stepped into the nearest shop and looked around. There were boxes of macarons, silk scarves, perfume, and little souvenirs arranged beneath bright lights. I picked up one box, then put it back.

Fynn noticed. “You liked that.”

“I don’t need anything.”

“I didn’t ask if you needed it.”

Before I could argue, he took the box from my hand and walked to the counter. Then he added a small silk scarf in my favorite color, because apparently he had decided to ruin me emotionally before sending me home.

I stood there, watching him pay.

The second he turned toward the counter, I saw my chance.

I wrenched free of the last thread of common sense and slipped away, darting into a quiet, tucked-away corner where the crowds thinned out.

Send me home? Not a chance. He had no idea what I’d gone through to get here, how much I’d risked, how far I’d flown. I wasn’t about to make it easy.

A few moments later, I peeked out and watched him finish at the counter. He turned around, the box and scarf in his hands, and found me gone.

His head snapped left, then right. Panic flickered across his face as he scanned the crowd.

A guilty little thrill ran through me.

Good. Let him worry. Let him feel, even for a second, what it was like to be the one searching.

I was so busy congratulating myself that I didn’t notice him disappear from view entirely.

I craned my neck, hunting for him, when suddenly a hand landed on my shoulder. I spun around with a gasp, and there he was, Fynn, looming over me. Cold dread trickled down my back.

“Are you really going to play hide-and-seek with me now?” His eyes blazed. “Come with me.”

I shook off his hand and burst into tears, loud, ugly, helpless sobs. “Do you have to treat me like this? Do you have any idea how I felt coming all this way to find you?”

“I don’t need to know,” Fynn said. “Sebastian told me to send you home.”

“Is it because he ordered you to drag me back?” I choked out. “Or because you can’t stand the sight of me?”

“I didn’t come to Paris for fun,” he said, his voice hollow. “I’m in a terrible place right now. I want to be alone. Please, just leave me be. Can you do that?”

“I won’t bother you,” I pleaded. “I’ll stay quiet. I’ll just be near you. As long as we can share a meal, talk a little now and then, that’s enough for me. That’s all I’m asking.”

He rubbed his forehead, exasperation radiating off him in waves. “Am I not being clear enough? I want to be alone. Even if you never said a single word, your being here would still make me uncomfortable. Do you understand that?”

I didn’t say anything. The tears welled up fast, spilling over before I could stop them. A long, aching silence stretched between us.

Then, from somewhere overhead, the boarding announcement echoed through the hall.

Fynn held out the boarding pass. The box of macarons and the silk scarf were still tucked under his other arm.

Without a word, I took the ticket from his hand. I turned and walked away without looking back.

I had come soaring on wings of hope, and I was leaving with them clipped and broken.

The flight home was a blur. I didn’t speak a word the entire way.

When I finally stumbled through the door of the pack house, Mila was there in an instant, her face etched with worry. She wrapped an arm around me and guided me gently up to my room, murmuring soft things I couldn’t quite hear.

But I was past feeling anything by then. There was only the humiliation, the shattered pieces of my heart, and the hot, suffocating shame of having wanted something so badly and being told, so plainly, that I wasn’t wanted back.