Fallen Angel

by Mina's Fanfictions

How would have Christian Grey's life turned out if the Greys had intervened when Elena tried to sink her claws into him? Would he still be the same man as we know, or someone completely different ... {OOC/HEA/AU} - CHRISTIAN/ANA - Family/Hurt/Romance

58. Chapter 58: From Heaven To Purgatory

My dear little broccolis💚💚💚

💚 So, this story is dedicated to two particular authors with whom I have briefly touched on those issues, and who make amazing stories. paleseptember10 & Krooela. Go check them out, you won't regret it.

💚 Fallen Angel💚

How would have Christian Grey's life turned out if the Greys had intervened when Elena tried to sink her claws into him? Would he still be the same man as we know, or someone completely different ...

‼️Rated M - {Out Of Characters/All Human/Alternate Universe}‼️

‼️Romance/Angst/Drama/Lemons‼️

‼️AS/CG/The Greys/The Steeles/Jack Hyde/Elena Lincoln‼️

💚 READ & REVIEW, DON'T BE A SILENT READER 💚

Chapter 58: From Heaven To Purgatory (3,5K)

Christian's PoV

Christmas Eve at my parents' house is its usual mix of chaos and warmth. The house feels almost alive with holiday cheer. The scent of cinnamon and pine fills the air, transporting me back to childhood, when my grandparents did everything to make Christmas the most magical time of the year.

Mia is wreaking havoc on our ears, singing off-key on purpose to classic Christmas songs. Mom and Dad are in the kitchen, preparing the feast. Well, more like Mom is cooking while Dad sneaks bites behind her back—a time-honored Grey family tradition.

Ana eventually joins Mia in the cacophony, much to my dismay, and Elliot isn't far behind. Their trio grows louder, with Ana's sweet laugh carrying over the melody. Kate and I exchange a look from the couch.

"At least some of us have decorum," I mutter, leaning back.

Kate pulls out her phone, smirking. "I'll send you the video later. It's always good to have insurance material."

"Is that why you're such a good PR? You have blackmail on everyone?"

"Don't ask questions you don't want answers to," she says with mock seriousness. "The less you know, the better off you'll be if you ever find yourself in the hot seat."

After capturing a solid five minutes of their "performance," Kate decides to help Mom in the kitchen. I stay behind, my attention fixed on Ana.

She's been living with me ever since Kate moved in with Elliot, though neither of them gave up the apartment. To be fair, it's Kate's—it belonged to her mom, and she and her brother inherited it. But Ana hasn't made the full move. Most of her things are still there, and every time I bring it up, she finds a way to postpone the conversation.

I've talked about it with Martha, and I can't shake the nagging thought that she's keeping a safety net. Like she's not entirely sure about us.

"Christian, you're staring," Elliot teases, clapping a hand on my shoulder.

I scowl, annoyed that he noticed. Ana and Mia are still singing—this time, Baby, It's Cold Outside. It's ridiculous and adorable, especially when Ana shimmies her hips playfully in my direction.

Elliot chuckles. "Don't worry, bro. You're not the first Grey man to be smitten. Just don't screw it up."

"Go away, Elliot," I mutter, though I can't help the small smile tugging at my lips.

Ana catches my eye and waves me over. "Christian, come taste this," she calls, holding up a spoonful of what I assume is Mia's experimental alcohol free eggnog.

The singing stops as I approach, but I eye the spoon warily. "What's in it?"

"Just try it!" Mia insists, pouting dramatically.

I glance at Ana, who's biting back a laugh. That doesn't help my confidence. Mia's culinary skills are... non-existent.

I take a cautious sip, and the taste is as bad as I feared. Grimacing, I swallow with effort. "It's terrible."

Ana bursts out laughing, and Mia swats my arm. "You're no fun!"

Rolling my eyes, I seize the moment and pull Ana under the mistletoe. She gasps, and I grin like a man who knows he's won. She has no choice but to kiss me, her lips soft and warm against mine.

The evening winds down with gifts and stories by the fire. My parents share memories of past Christmases, and Ana listens intently, her hand resting lightly on my arm.

As the night grows late, I lead her to the Christmas tree, where the twinkling lights cast a warm glow on her face.

"I have a surprise for you tomorrow," I whisper, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

Her eyes light up, curiosity shining in their depths. "A surprise? Christian, you've already done so much."

I smirk. "You and I don't have the same definition of 'so much.'"

She laughs softly. "That's the problem."

I kiss her, cutting off any protest. "You'll love it. Just wake up early tomorrow."

She smiles, leaning into me. "I'll hold you to that."

.~°~. .~°~. .~°~.

The drive to Ana's parents' house is filled with her curious glances and Lola's contented huffs from the backseat. Our Newfoundland puppy has taken over the entire space, her tail wagging lazily against the leather seats as if she senses the festive energy.

Ana shifts in her seat, her tone a mix of excitement and impatience. "Are you going to tell me where we're going yet?"

I glance at her, smirking. I'm glad she hasn't figured it out yet. To be fair, even I wouldn't have guessed it, but her mum deserves the credit for this. After her late-night confession, I'm starting to see the Colonel in a different light.

"Nope."

She narrows her eyes playfully. "You're impossible."

I stay smug and turn up the volume on the radio. Christmas music fills the car, and we sing along, surprisingly in tune this time.

When we pull up to her parents' house, she gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. "Christian, you didn't—"

"I did," I say, cutting the engine and stepping out to open her door.

Her parents are already at the door, their faces lighting up when they see her. Her mum pulls Ana into a tight hug, murmuring something I can't quite catch. Even the Colonel's usually stoic demeanour softens as he embraces her and presses a kiss to her shoulder.

"Come in, come in," her mum says warmly, ushering us inside.

The house is filled with the comforting aroma of roasted vegetables and spices, the warmth of the fireplace melting away the winter chill. Lola trots in behind us, her big paws sliding slightly on the wooden floor, earning a laugh from Ana's mum.

"She's grown so much!" her mum exclaims, crouching to pet Lola.

"Carla cuddled little Lola any chance she got at Thanksgiving," Ana adds, smiling. "And Lola loved it."

"Of course she did," I say. "Any time someone gives her attention, she rewards them by drooling all over them."

"She's practically a bear," I joke, scratching behind Lola's ears. Technically, she's still a puppy at barely nine months old. Ana glances at me, her eyes soft with gratitude.

We settle in for lunch, the table laden with hearty dishes and festive treats. Conversation flows easily, and the Colonel, in a rare moment of light-heartedness, begins recounting stories from Ana's childhood.

"Did you know when Ana was four, she insisted on dressing up as a princess every single day for a year?" he says with a chuckle, his eyes glinting with mischief.

"Dad," Ana groans, her cheeks turning pink. "Don't."

"What?" he says innocently. "It's a good story. She even wore the tiara to bed once. Said it was for 'authenthicity.'"

I lean back in my chair, smirking. "I'll have to see some old photos. You know, for 'authenthicity.'"

Ana glares at me, but there's a hint of a smile on her lips. "You're not helping."

Her mum laughs, reaching over to squeeze Ana's hand. "It's true, though. She was the most adorable little princess."

"I think you still are," I say, my voice soft, earning a warm smile from Ana and a rare approving nod from the Colonel. I hadn't thought he'd overhear, but it seems like a good thing he did.

The day is filled with laughter, stories, and a sense of belonging I hadn't realised I'd been missing. Watching Ana with her parents, seeing her so at ease and happy, makes me more determined than ever to give her everything she deserves. Especially since she's the same with my parents—she makes no distinction between our families.

As we step out into the snowy night, Ana wraps her arms around me, away from her parents' eyes. Especially the Colonel's. "Thank you for this, Christian. It means the world to me."

I kiss her forehead, holding her close. "You mean the world to me, Ana."

Lola barks softly, as if in agreement, and we head home, the warmth of the evening lingering in our hearts.

.~°~. .~°~. .~°~.

Of course, if Ana thought I'd be content giving her a simple Christmas with nothing to mark the significance of our first Christmas together, she clearly doesn't know me.

After a heartfelt goodbye to her parents, I whisk her straight to the airport. She looks at me, her brows furrowing in curiosity, but she doesn't ask. It's part of the charm, this game of ours—her trying to figure me out and me delighting in surprising her.

"Where are we going?" she finally asks, her voice soft but tinged with excitement.

"You'll see," I reply, keeping my tone light and teasing.

Her lips press together, though I can see the corner of her mouth twitching. She's trying not to smile.

When we arrive at the airport, the sight of my private plane waiting on the tarmac makes her stop in her tracks. "Christian," she says, a mix of disbelief and exasperation in her tone.

"Yes?" I ask innocently, taking her hand and leading her up the steps.

She shakes her head, smiling despite herself. "You're unbelievable."

"And you're my life," I reply, kissing her temple before we board.

The flight is quiet, save for Lola's occasional huffs from her carrier and the hum of the engines. Ana doesn't press me for details, resigned to let the surprise unfold, though I catch her glancing at me now and then, her curiosity palpable.

When we finally land and drive to the villa overlooking the ocean in Bali, the look on her face is worth every penny and every thought I put into this.

"Christian, this is incredible," she says, her voice breathless as she takes in the view. The sun is setting, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, the sound of waves crashing against the shore a soothing backdrop.

"I wanted our first Christmas to be unforgettable," I say, wrapping my arms around her from behind.

She leans into me, her hands resting on mine. "You didn't have to do all this."

"I wanted to," I reply, my voice firm but gentle. "You deserve this and more, Ana."

We spend our days lounging on the beach, exploring temples, and indulging in local cuisine. Ana marvels at everything, her wonder infectious. Even Lola seems to thrive in this paradise (despite the heat), bounding through the sand with unbridled energy. And of course, we spend our night making sweet sweet love.

One afternoon, as the sun casts a golden glow over the shoreline, Ana chases Lola along our private beach. Her laughter echoes over the waves, a sound so pure it makes my chest ache. Lola's clumsy paws kick up sand as she bounds after Ana, who collapses into the sand, giggling uncontrollably.

I walk over, unable to resist the sight of the two of them. "Having fun?" I ask, crouching beside Ana.

She looks up at me, her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling. "The best."

Lola barks, nudging Ana's arm with her nose before flopping onto her side, exhausted but happy.

I sit down beside them, pulling Ana close. "You two are my world," I say softly, my voice barely audible over the waves.

Ana rests her head on my shoulder, her hand finding mine. "And you're mine."

We sit there for a while, the three of us, watching the sun dip below the horizon. Lola eventually drifts off, her soft snores blending with the sound of the ocean.

On our last night, after a quiet dinner on the villa's terrace, Ana hands me a small box. Her expression is shy, almost nervous, as she pushes it across the table towards me.

"What's this?" I ask, taking the box and glancing at her.

"Open it and find out," she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

Inside is a leather-bound journal, my initials embossed on the cover. The rich, dark leather is smooth under my fingers, the craftsmanship impeccable.

"I thought you might want a place to write your thoughts," she says softly, her eyes searching mine. "A safe space, just for you."

I swallow hard, her thoughtfulness hitting me square in the chest. She knows I see Martha weekly, but sometimes I struggle to let things out, to find the right words. Now, I have a place to try.

"Ana," I say, my voice thick with emotion. "This means more than you know."

She smiles, reaching across the table to take my hand. "You've given me so much, Christian. I just wanted to give you something meaningful in return."

I stand, pulling her into my arms. "You give me everything, Ana. Every day."

Her arms tighten around me, and for a moment, we just hold each other, the sound of the ocean and the soft rustle of the palm trees our only witness.

That night, as we lie in bed, Ana traces lazy circles on my chest and I barely think about it. "This was the best Christmas I've ever had," she murmurs.

"Good," I reply, pressing a kiss to her hair. "Because it's only the beginning."

Lola snores softly at the foot of the bed, and as Ana drifts off to sleep in my arms, I know with certainty that this is what happiness feels like.

.~°~. .~°~. .~°~.

Back in Seattle, life settles into a comfortable rhythm. The chaos of the holidays is behind us, leaving a quiet calm in its place. Lola continues to grow, her gangly legs no longer quite so clumsy. Her presence in our home has become a strange but undeniable comfort.

One evening, as I sit on the couch with a book in hand, Lola pads over and rests her massive head on my lap. Her dark eyes look up at me, full of trust and a loyalty that feels unearned but deeply appreciated.

"You're a good girl, Lola," I murmur, setting the book aside to scratch behind her ears. She lets out a low, contented huff, her tail thumping lazily against the floor.

From the kitchen, Ana watches us with a soft smile, a dish towel in her hands. "She's good for you, you know," she says, her voice gentle but certain.

I glance up at her, my hand stilling on Lola's head. "How do you mean?"

Ana steps closer, leaning against the doorway. "You've always carried so much weight on your shoulders, Christian. It's like... you're always bracing yourself for something to go wrong. But with Lola, you let your guard down. She brings out a softer side of you."

I look down at the dog in my lap, her eyes now closed, her breathing slow and steady. "I guess she does," I admit quietly. "She doesn't expect anything from me except... to be here. To show up."

Ana crosses the room and sits beside me, her hand finding mine. "That's all she needs. And it's all I need too," she says, her voice dropping to a whisper.

I turn to her, my chest tightening at the honesty in her eyes. "You deserve more than that, Ana. You deserve everything."

She shakes her head, her fingers tightening around mine. "What I deserve is exactly what you've given me, Christian. Love. Commitment. A partner who's willing to grow. That's everything to me."

For a moment, I can't speak. I can't wait for February. I pull her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "I don't know what I did to deserve you," I say, my voice rough.

"You loved me," she says simply, leaning in to kiss me softly.

.~°~. .~°~. .~°~.

Later that month, something shifts in me—subtle but profound. The walls I've spent years building around myself begin to crack, letting in light where there was once only darkness. It's this newfound openness that leads me to my mother's house one chilly afternoon.

I don't tell Ana where I'm going; I'm not sure I can put it into words. But as I stand on my mother's porch, my hands in my pockets, I know this moment has been a long time coming.

She opens the door, her expression a mix of surprise and cautious hope. "Christian," she says, her voice trembling slightly.

"Hi, Mom," I say, stepping inside.

We talk for a while—about nothing and everything. The weather, her garden, her practice, a book she's been reading. It's easy, but there's an undercurrent of something deeper, something unsaid.

Finally, as I stand to leave, I hesitate. My chest tightens, and my palms grow clammy, but I force myself to take a step closer.

"Mom," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

She looks up at me, her eyes wide and searching.

Without thinking too much, I pull her into a hug. It's awkward at first—stiff and uncertain. But then her arms wrap around me tightly, and I feel her shoulders shake as she begins to cry.

"I'm so proud of you, Christian," she whispers, her voice thick with emotion.

Her words hit me like a wave, and for the first time in years, I let myself lean into her embrace. "Thank you," I manage to say, my throat tight. "For everything. For not giving up on me."

She pulls back slightly, her hands resting on my shoulders. "I could never give up on you," she says, her eyes glistening with tears. "You're my son, and I love you. Always."

I nod, unable to speak, but the weight in my chest feels lighter than it has in years.

When I return home that evening, Ana is waiting for me, her eyes lighting up as I walk through the door.

"How did it go?" she asks, her voice gentle. Well, it seems Mom beat me to it, but I don't blame her. she was probably so thankful to Ana and she has every reason to be. I wouldn't be here without her.

I set my keys on the counter and pull her into my arms. "It went... better than I expected," I admit.

She looks up at me, her hands resting on my chest. "I'm proud of you, Christian," she says softly.

I smile, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "I think I'm finally starting to be proud of myself too."

Ana leans up to kiss me, her lips warm and soft against mine. In that moment, I know I'm exactly where I'm meant to be—with the woman who's taught me how to love and the family who's never stopped loving me.

.~°~. .~°~. .~°~.

Valentine's Day is a disaster. Ana had planned a romantic evening—candles, music, the works—but I completely forget. By the time I get home, the candles have burned down to stubs, the food is cold, and she's sitting on the couch, arms crossed, her face a mask of disappointment.

I walk in, holding out a jewelry set and a collection of rare books I'd had delivered earlier in the day. "Ana, I'm sorry," I begin, my voice soft but uncertain. "I know I screwed up. These are for you."

She glances at the gifts but doesn't reach for them. "Where were you?" she asks, her voice calm but with an edge sharp enough to cut glass.

I hesitate, caught off guard. "I was working," I say. "There was a deal I couldn't push off—"

She interrupts, standing up abruptly. "Working? Like you've been working for the past few months? Coming home late, sweaty, and... and..." She stops herself, her lips pressing into a thin line as if holding back words she doesn't want to say.

I take a step closer, guilt tightening in my chest. "Ana, I didn't mean—"

She cuts me off again, her voice rising. "How would you feel if I acted the way you do? If I disappeared for hours, came home looking like I'd been anywhere but the office, and gave you nothing but vague excuses?"

"Do you think I'm cheating on you?" I ask, my voice low but firm, the accusation stinging more than I thought it would.

Her eyes flash with a mix of anger and pain. "Answer me this, Christian: If I were doing what you've been doing, would you believe me?"

I open my mouth to respond, but the words stick in my throat.

"Exactly," she says bitterly. "You can't even say it."

I step closer, my voice softening. "Ana, I trust you. You know I do. And I love you."

She freezes, her breath hitching. Her eyes widen, and for a moment, I think she's going to soften, but instead, her lips tremble, and unshed tears glisten in her eyes. "And yet, this is the first time you've said those words," she whispers, her voice breaking.

"Ana..." I begin, but she shakes her head, taking a step back.

"Do you have any idea how it feels to lay your heart out to someone who can't even bring himself to say those three simple words? But now, when I'm questioning everything, that's when you decide to say them?" She lets out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "You know what? I don't even want to know where you were tonight, what you've been up to, or why you've been acting this way. I just want to go home."

"You are home!" I say, panic rising in my chest. My voice is louder than I intended, but I can't help it. What is she saying?

She looks at me, her eyes filled with a mix of heartbreak and determination. "No, Christian. I'm not. Not anymore."

"Ana, please," I say, reaching for her, but she steps back, out of reach.

"When you're ready to man up and tell me what's really going on, you know where to find me," she says, her tone cold and final.

Before I can respond, she grabs her coat and walks out the door.

The silence in the penthouse is deafening. I stand there, staring at the door she just walked through, my chest hollow and my mind racing. How did it come to this?

Lola pads over, nudging my leg with her nose, but even her comforting presence doesn't ease the ache that has settled in my chest. I sink onto the couch, staring at the burned-down candles and the cold remnants of what should have been a perfect evening.

And for the first time in years, I feel utterly, completely alone.

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.~°~. .~°~. .~°~.

💚Your thoughts and opinions are always welcomed💚

💚 So ... this happened ... it seems that Ana is drawing the same conclusions as you ... But she doesn't have access to the WARNINGS, and you do. Just be patient and you will know ...

💚 ALSO, The first two books of From Duty to Love are out now! It would mean the world to me if you could check them out and support my journey. 💖

💚 E L James owns the names of the characters from the Fifty Shades franchise, Everything else is mine (including the mistakes and grammar errors).

Love, Mina 💚💚💚