AN: I'm back, and let's hope things go smoothly over the next few weeks. This site has given me nothing but trouble. Stories are going missing. Doc Manager is refusing to load stories. Copy and paste, pasting gibberish. The list is endless. If you are reading this, then hooray. CJ.
Ana stepped out of her car, taking a deep breath of the crisp morning air. Looking up, her heart momentarily skipped as she caught sight of Christian Grey emerging from his vehicle. He looked as composed as ever, yet something about him felt different today—a little more vulnerable, perhaps.
"I met Elliot Grey for the very first time, right here on this spot," she reminisced, her voice trailing off as she glanced toward the memory. "He was leaning against a red beat-up Ford F-150, a big grin plastered across his face, and I liked him immediately." Christian's clear gaze locked onto hers as she spoke, noticing how her eyes sparkled with nostalgia and affection for his brother. This warmth had never been directed toward him. It settled like a stone in his chest, the realization that he wouldn't be the recipient of such genuine emotion.
Ana unlocked the door to her studio, the beautifully renovated space coming to life with the flick of a switch. "I'd already decided to go with him and his company. I loved his plans for this space," she continued as if she hadn't just punctured through his carefully crafted facade. Overhead lights illuminated the expansive interior—walls lined with frames yet to meet a painting, roll, and roll of old and new canvases. The scent of fresh paint mingled with the faintest trace of wood varnish. This was her sanctuary, the space where she felt in complete control until a painting decided to challenge her, and she welcomed them with glee. "Meeting him was one of the best things to happen to me… to both of us, really," Ana added thoughtfully, her smile widening.
Christian stiffened, the weight of an unwanted truth crashing down upon him. "Before I made that decision, I had already ordered a background check." Her words were simple but held layers of unspoken history, and he felt a chill run down his spine.
She hadn't even needed to say it outright; Christian's mind raced as understanding dawned on him. She had known about Elena Lincoln for as long as she had known Elliot. "Daddy is the overly cautious type," she added. Christian felt the weight of her insinuation settle heavily over him, suffocating.
A weak flare of defensiveness ignited in Him. "She helped me." His voice came out low and feeble, almost as if he were trying to convince himself more than her. Then something sharper stirred within him—indignation. He did not need to justify himself to someone who seemed entirely uninterested in his turmoil or past.
Ana froze mid-motion, the apron she had pulled over her head draping over her frame like a protective shroud. "I'm sorry, but at what point in this game…your game might I add, did I ever look or sound like I gave a fuck about your friendship with the pedophile?" Her words were a sharp weapon, slicing through his pride. "I don't give a fuck about you or her, and be grateful for that because if I did, she'd be in prison getting the shit kicked out of her every day." Her voice was cold, unwavering, as she tied the apron around her waist and moved further into her studio—a fortress of her creativity and independence.
"Sounds to me like you do give a shit," Christian retorted with a humorless chuckle, attempting a facade of defiance despite the turmoil roiling within him. After all, why else would she sever ties when he was losing at his own game?
"No, it sounds like you think we have a personal relationship," she shot back, the anger and disdain palpable in the air. "I do not need or want to hear your justification for Elena fucking Lincoln." Her words were a direct hit. "This, Grey, was a game. Do you actually think I play games with people I care about? Do you think I play games with Elliot, Madison, and Kate? No, I play games with the likes of Hyde, you, Lincoln—individuals whose moral compasses are questionable at best." The fire in her voice was relentless, her disdain cutting deeper than he ever anticipated.
Christian's laugh held no humor; it was filled with disbelief. "You don't know me, Ana. And now, because of this little game, you believe you have the right to speak to me however you desire. Elliot is family, so he can get away with his vitriol. As you stated earlier, you do not have any form of a relationship with me." His voice, tinged with arrogance, crescendoed into a scream, an outburst of rage born from both hurt and indignation. "I do not have any qualms about destroying you until you are on your knees begging."
For a moment, Ana merely stared at him, her head cocked to the side, studying him like a predator eyeing prey. Christian Grey was nobody's prey. But in that moment, he realized she was far more capable than he had given her credit for. She would learn to wield the sharp edge of her words against him, and soon enough, he would feel the sting of that truth, even if it was lost on him now.
The tension coiled tightly within him as he prepared to leave. That evening had shattered illusions he had scarcely begun to entertain—illusions of romance. They were stripped bare before him and replaced with the reality of how Ana perceived him—a player in her twisted game, a pawn in her eyes. It might have been his game, but somehow, he'd gone in blind, ignorant of the rules. He felt anger radiate from the pit of his stomach, turning to something darker, something primal.
"Fair warning," she spoke softly, her tone shifting suddenly to something almost sensuous, wrapping around his resolve like a vice that held him captive at the door. "I also have no qualms about destroying you."
There it was—the truth of her power, the reality of what she could do to him if provoked enough. It crashed into him like a wrecking ball, tearing down the walls he had built. In his fit of rage, he had temporarily blinded himself to the fact that she knew all about him and the things he'd worked so hard to conceal. He pushed the door open without a reply, slamming it closed behind him. Yet, the door fitted with soft close hinges denied him the catharsis of a dramatic exit. He didn't acknowledge her words, but they loomed large in the air… a warning, an offer, a challenge?
"Fuck you, Elliot Grey," he muttered under his breath, the frustration bubbling inside him as he strode to his car, unaware that this battle was only the beginning of a war he never wanted to wage but was now embroiled in. "NO." He slammed his fist against the steering wheel. There'd be no battle, no war. He, Christian Grey, was conceding defeat.