The CEO's Unspoken Love Novel

Chapter 40 Eleanor POV The shop bell's cheerful jingle had never sounded so ominous. I stood frozen in the center of my flower shop, watching Derek's expression change from surprise to something cold and unreadable. The air between us seemed to crystallize, trapping my half-finished sentence about wanting to be done with him forever. Sophia's eyes widened as she glanced between us, quickly gathering her purse. "I should go," she murmured, slipping past Derek with surprising grace for someone who'd been enjoying my humiliation just moments before.

The door closed behind her with a soft click that echoed in the sudden silence. Derek remained in the doorway, his tall frame blocking the exit like some beautiful, terrible guardian. His eyes-those piercing blue-gray eyes that had haunted me for years-were winter frost. "Well," he finally said, his voice deceptively casual, "that was educational." I opened my mouth, but no words came. What could I possibly say? That I didn't mean it? That would be a lie. That I was provoked? It would sound pathetic.

"I suppose I should thank you for your honesty," he continued, stepping inside and letting the door swing shut behind him. "It's refreshing to finally hear what you really think of me." "Derek, I-" "No need to explain," he cut me off with a dismissive wave. "You've made yourself perfectly clear." Without another word, he turned and walked out, leaving me standing amid my flowers, each bloom suddenly seeming as fragile as my composure. I don't remember locking up the shop. My hands trembled so badly that I dropped the keys twice before managing to secure the door.

My phone felt impossibly heavy as I pulled it from my pocket. No missed calls. I dialed Derek's number, holding my breath as it rang once, twice, three times before switching to voicemail. His professional, distant voice instructed me to leave a message. I hung up without speaking and typed a text instead: [I'm sorry about today at the shop. It was a misunderstanding. Can we talk?] The message showed as delivered but not read. After waiting five excruciating minutes, I sent another: [Derek, please respond. We need to talk about this.] Nothing.

1/2 As I sat there, the image of his face when he'd heard my words kept replaying in my mind. Beneath the cold mask he'd quickly assembled, there had been a flash of something else-something raw and wounded that made my chest ache with guilt. I'd never seen Derek vulnerable before. Never thought he could be hurt by anything I said. The apartment was dark and silent when I arrived home, save for Sunny's enthusiastic greeting. His little paws danced around my ankles as I flipped on lights and moved through each room, confirming what I already knew-Derek wasn't here.

"Just us tonight, buddy," I told Sunny, scratching behind his ears. Mrs. Hughes had left dinner covered in the warming oven-a simple pasta dish with a note about reheating instructions. I went through the motions of setting the table for one, pouring a glass of wine I didn't really want, and forcing myself to eat a few bites that tasted like nothing. My phone remained stubbornly silent. I checked it constantly, each time feeling a little more hollow. After a shower that failed to wash away my unease, I slipped into a silk nightgown and crawled into our king-sized bed.

The sheets on Derek's side were crisp and undisturbed. I stared at the empty space beside me, tracing the outline of where his body should be. Without conscious thought, my mind began to wander, conjuring images of Derek in this bed. The strong curve of his shoulders against the white sheets. The way his chest rose and fell with each breath. The warmth of his skin when he happened to brush against me in sleep. My breathing quickened as I imagined his hand reaching for me in the darkness, pulling me against the solid wall of his chest.

I could almost feel his fingers trailing down my spine, his breath warm against my neck. A strange heat pooled low in my belly, and I shifted restlessly against the sheets. My hand drifted across my collarbone, down over the silk covering my breast, imagining it was his touch instead of mine. The fabric whispered against my sensitized skin, and I gasped at the unexpected intensity of the sensation. In my mind, Derek's lips were at my throat, my shoulder, moving lower with deliberate slowness.

His hands would be confident, knowing exactly how to touch me, how to- I sat bolt upright, shocked by the direction of my thoughts and the very real response of my body. My heart pounded for an entirely different reason now, and I pressed my palms against my flushed cheeks. Comments R Visitor 1 Comments > im not understanding why she feels guilty. This guy abandoned her for 2 years, then she hears he's been in constant communication with his ex in the ... More 7 days ago 6