Hello, this is my new story, Mend.

(the 1st 4 chapters are relatively the same. I had to make some changes since the story has taken a different route)

I have dismantled canon 50. This IS a cheating story. NO, CTG & AS are not cheating on the other. There are other characters outside of canon that they are involved with.

If you're like me, you don't enjoy reading about our favorite couple being in relationships with other characters. If you feel that way & still choose to read the story, please hang on for a little while until I right the ship & get our couple together.

I don't plan on this story being long. It is set in present time & includes domestic violence & depression. If you find this AS meek/weak for a while, I thank you; she's meant to be. She's addressed as a Ms. instead of Miss because she's a 26-year-old professional.

CTG & AS do end up together & have a happy ending.

If you read my last story, you know that I have medical issues that often kick my ass & writing a fanfiction story is at the bottom of my priority list. I'd love to give an established timeline of posting, but I can't. I know that we all like quick updates, but I can't promise you one. Please know that even if you have to wait, I will finish the story. There's no need to ask me if I'm going to continue, even if I don't update as soon as you'd like. This story will be completed.

My DMs are still disabled so if you message me without a reply, please know I'm not being rude & ignoring you*.

Thank you for reading.

It is better to be unfaithful than to be faithful without wanting to be -Brigitte Bardot.

.1.

Ana

Negative.

I exhale deeply, relief coursing through my vibrating veins as I tightly hold the pregnancy test in my trembling hands.

Had it been positive, I probably would nosedive out of the window of my third story apartment

My period is only two days late, and as a woman who has a regular twenty-eight-day cycle, I became terrified that my Depo shot had failed, even though I've never missed one. I even had my assistant, Hannah, sync up my appointments with Dr. Greene on her calendar. I'm not leaving it to chance, and I've never missed a shot since I began getting jabbed at nineteen.

It isn't that I don't want to have children. It's that I don't want to have his children. I can't bring a child into this world with a man who lays his hands on women. I don't have a single doubt that he's abused other women in his past. I so wish that I'd known he did before I began to date him. If I had, the past year and half wouldn't be my personal hell.

Sitting on the toilet, right leg is extended, with my panties bunched around my ankles, I toss the offending test into the small trash can beside me and cradle my aching head with my hands. Declan hurt both last night when I unknowingly fucked up our dinner plans because I was working late.

I shouldn't have been surprised when I pulled into the parking lot behind my apartment building to find Declan's truck parked squarely in my spot. Confused, but resigned to what was going to happen once we were alone in my apartment, I bit the inside of my cheek and exhaled deeply. Still, I wasn't prepared for the punch he landed to the side of my head the minute he slammed the door shut.

Losing my balance, I'd knocked over a lamp and several large pieces of the broken lightbulb snuggled into my right knee, causing it to bleed on the quilt patched rug Mom made me for Christmas. Making me bleed isn't Declan's MO. He's perfected injuring me in places that no one can see. I knew that this time I was going to need medical attention. I couldn't very well walk around with glass stuck in my knee and with blood running into my high heels.

Declan, red-faced and enraged, stared at my leg, shoved me into a wall, and then began to shake me by my shoulders so hard that my teeth rattled, all the while yelling about me ruining dinner fucking plans. Dinner plans that I knew nothing about.

Today, and for some reason that I don't want to know, my left shoulder hurts more than my right. I can't lift my left arm without wincing and I haven't figured out how I'm going to conceal that at work today. I know that it isn't dislocated, however, it does have his finger prints on it. Hell, hey, left those on my right one as well.

Thankfully I'm right-handed.

After Declan shook me senseless, he made me wipe the blood off of my leg and told me to drive myself to the hospital for stiches. After warning me to keep my mouth firmly shut, he followed me to the emergency department at Swedish.

After a painful debridement and ten stitches later, I hobbled to the car, and there the asshole was. Declan had waited hours for me to leave and followed me home, but didn't come upstairs to my apartment which I found odd. I'd thought he'd want to see the damage he'd inflicted and once more tell me to keep my mouth shut about what happened. I was so exhausted and worn down that I couldn't bring myself to clean up the blood on the floor and along the wall.

I consider framing them as a reminder that I've finally found the strength to leave this psychopath

Last night, in the emergency room, the medical staff didn't palpate my head, so they didn't feel the goose egg that had already popped up causing my head to throb. And they couldn't see the bruising that was surely forming on my shoulders. Declan's handywork that I'm sure he's proud of.

That son of a bitch has a surprise in store. His comeuppance is approaching

I told the emergency room staff that I'm a clumsy woman who was wearing high heels and tripped when I entered my dark apartment, causing me to break a lamp and cut myself on the sharp, broken ends of the lightbulb.

They didn't question my explanation. Fuck, it did make sense.

I didn't, and don't, look like an abused woman. There are no black eyes, busted lips, or a broken nose. I assumed that the medical staff wouldn't look at me as one. No one's first impression of a woman dressed in a Chanel dress and Louboutin's, is that she's being physically abused by her partner. And that's horribly sad. What's sadder is that I should also admit that I'm being sexually assaulted, too, but I just can't bring myself to do it. I haven't willingly had sex with him in over six months. My freaky memory hasn't failed to recall the exact day. I've found a way to purposely erase it from my mind.

I didn't dare admit what really happened last night; my boyfriend assaulted me. I despise him, wish horrible things upon him, but haven't left because I'm terrified of him.

Because he's threatened to kill me many times over the past year and I believe him. He's promised to kill every person that I love, and I believe him.

Would a nurse or doctor have believed me last night? I could have taken off my dress to show them the bruises that mar my body, but what would have happened? They'd have called the police and the police wouldn't be my ally.

Declan Beckett, an only child, comes from old money. His family started and owns several large banks in the Pacific Northwest. He loves to throw that up in my face; "No one will believe you, Ana"

His family has the influence to make sure of it. They have the cash and status to make any police report I file against him to disappear.

And I can't help but think that no one would believe that Declan Beckett, the golden boy and star architect at Grey Construction, would hurt a single strand of hair on a woman's head. Or pull wads of it out like he's done to mine.

One of Elliot's best friends. The two can't be more opposite if they tried. I pray that Elliot never finds out.

If filing criminal charges against him won't help, then a restraining order might as well be used as toilet paper. Aren't they all? Neither would keep me safe.

Being an executive at a Fortune 500 company who makes six-figures and drives a brand-new BMW, does not make me safe.

None of that makes me safe. No one else can make me safe. I am going to do it myself. This time the victim is going to save herself.

After last night, I know I have to get away. This is also chipping away at my mind.

I'm all too aware that I'm spiraling deeper in the depression I'm in once more. The seemingly bottomless pain is back on my slim shoulders. If I were asked to describe myself, I'm not sure that I could properly describe Ana Steele.

Last night, though? That was the call to find myself.

Once I got home from the hospital last night, I think Declan watched me inch my into my apartment building because it always gets him off watching how he's fucked me up. Bastard. I'd tell Dad, who would shoot him, but I don't want Dad in prison because Declan Beckett isn't worth anyone doing time for. Declan isn't worth the oxygen he breathes

I was always proud of myself because I was a rational woman and never made decisions based upon emotion. I always dealt with facts, personally and professionally. The fact that I can't say that about my life now is humiliating.

The fact that I haven't been able to say that for the past year is embarrassing. Everyone that I know believes that I'm in control of every aspect of my life, because I always was. Admitting defeat, or rather, staying with a man who laid hands on me after first time, is a mystery that I can't even explain.

I have a career at GEH that's phenomenal and I can't see myself working anywhere else. Shit, I've never worked anywhere else. Christian, or Mr. Grey, as I refer to him at work, took a gamble on a twenty-year-old "genius" as I've been labeled, who'd just earned her Master's degree in math and graduated Summa cum laude from the University of Washington.

While working on my MBA, I began to intern with Ros, his ever so wonderful right-hand woman, who's now my boss. I've sat in meetings with her, knowing how much of a ball buster that she is and contemplated what she'd do to help me if I confided in her about Declan.

Kate hasn't ever been nor will she ever be an option for the first person that I tell and ask for their help. After she physically exploded, Declan Beckett would be her first victim to be hung, drawn and quartered. Then she'd do her best to ruin his family.

I don't have to wonder what would happen if Elliot or Christian were to find out. They'd probably haul him to a Grey Construction site, beat him to death and bury his body underneath a house that Elliot and his crew are building.

But getting personal with Christian is a line that can't be crossed because it's fortified with barbwire and buried IEDs. And I'm not interested in being blown to smithereens or sliced up by barbwire. So, I do the dance of avoidance that I've perfected.

Just mentioning Christian causes Declan to go mental. He's insanely jealous of any man that comes near me, but he really hates Christian Grey, and when I have to accompany Christian on business trips, inside and outside of the United States, there's always a painful price I have to pay.

I'd spent my younger years confident and goal oriented, never feeling less than when it came to men. To be honest, I found dating boring. It felt like a time suck that I wasn't interested in.

That is until Christian Grey entered my world as a friend, quickly becoming a mentor, and drawing me into his professional life as an intern. Personally, I fell for him hard and quick until we finally crossed the boundary of friendship and I ended up with a broken heart, leaving me to swear off love altogether. Without ever discussing what happened between us, the friendship I shared with Christian never changed. Kate refers to it as the "lost weekend."

I won't deny that I was left a crumbling mess, no matter how our friendship or later our professional relationship progressed. I faked it until I made it and ended my lonely nights with other men that were a waste of my time. So, I concentrated on where I wanted to be in this world. School, and work, and I excelled at both.

A few months later, I began a relationship with a much older man who was the professor of a grad class that I took at night. He told me that he was divorced and was over the top confident and took himself too seriously when he told me about his life's adventures. He was also hung like a horse. I'd had bigger, but that particular dick was one that I'd been conditioning myself to never think about again.

I had an incredibly close and intense relationship with this man from the start, and in hindsight, I clearly saw all the ways he used me and my naivete when it came to relationships because I'd never been in one that serious. With him, I finally believed that I'd gotten over someone that I wanted to be with desperately. I looked at Professor Asshole and was convinced that I'd found something soul and mind quaking, perhaps even lasting.

To his credit, the fucker encouraged my life's goals. Along with Kate, that sorry excuse of a man was my best cheerleader. After sex, we'd endlessly talk about anything and everything. He helped me plot out my future. For some stupid reason, I never wondered why every bed that we fucked on was in a random hotel. Kate kept pointing out the obvious, but I ignored her.

It turned out that the bastard wasn't divorced. He was married with two kids and a fucking dog. It was so traumatizing that it was the first time I questioned everything and everyone that I knew. I dropped his class and had to force myself to attend school. Whenever we had the occasional run in on campus, he'd turn away like I didn't exist. Like what we'd done never existed. I fell into a deep depression and was put on anti-depressants. Kate pushed for me to begin therapy. I refused. I considered telling his wife about our affair so someone else could hurt the way that I did. But I couldn't. I'm not cruel.

I just have really bad taste in men

After that, I spent years hooking up with men until I finally realized that was only making me feel worse. Time went by quickly once I stopped pushing myself into other men's beds and gave all of my attention to my career. I stopped with the mindless dating and screwing around. I swore off men and concentrated on making my career the only relationship that I wanted to be in. And I excelled at it, always going far beyond my own expectations. I was proud of what I'd accomplished and myself.

A few years passed before I met Declan Beckett. He worked for Elliot as an architect and I knew him for a while before he asked me out and I accepted. I'd known him to be reserved and quiet. Declan had set goals for himself and had accomplished many of them, and I related to that. He was handsome, funny, laid back, and friendly.

On paper, he was perfect.

We dated for six months before I saw the cracks in Declan's seemingly perfect façade. So, call stress at work flared up a temper that I'd never seen. He began to shout at me and call me names, only to apologize minutes later, blaming it on his job. Later, and incrementally, his behavior became more volatile. If he didn't like the clothes that I was wearing, he'd call me a "slut" and would push me around until I changed clothes. He would drag me around my apartment by my hair. Then came being shoved into walls and pushing me down on the floor, often kicking me. But it was my first business trip with Christian that Declan introduced me to his fists and hands around my throat. I still don't understand how they didn't leave bruising. How I wish that they did. Maybe the narrative of my life would have changed.

I tried to walk a fine line around Declan so he wouldn't explode. Trying soon became futile, and by that time, I'd become profoundly depressed again, just like I was when I found out about Professor Asshole. So, it was back to anti-depressants that aren't working, because of course not. I'm still depressed but I've learned to hide it. Even from the information hound that's my best friend.

I stifle a yawn and look at my watch. It's still early, not quite six-thirty, but I'm ready to get the hell out of this apartment and go to work. I usually don't leave until seven-thirty, but Declan often makes surprise morning visits. I'm done fucking around with that possibility.

After swallowing a Wellbutrin and Ibuprofen, I carefully pad around my hard wood floors to my walk-in closet. My injured knee is causing my entire leg to protest as I go. I stare at it. It's a little swollen and has already bruised. I suppose the doctor stitched it up well, he said he did, but since I've never had stitches, what the fuck do I know? I grab a new, large band aid and cover it.

I check myself over in the floor length mirror to pick out something to wear. There's no wearing a skirt or dress today. People will see my bandaged knee and ask questions because they're nosy fuckers.

Maybe I should tell one of them the truth

However, I'm still afraid that someone is going to question why I'm slightly limping, when I haven't made a concrete plan to leave him. No matter what.

I've just got to find a way out

I pull out a long sleeve gray silk blouse and gray slacks. Even the blazer I slide up my arms is gray. I've decided that I'm going to wear all grayscale today. I'm coordinated from that silk shirt to my bra and panties. Yeah, I already know what kind of day it's going to be.

It's the real version of me. The depressed version, but the I-Can-Still-Get-Up-And-Function-Version. It's the I'm-So-Depressed-But-Can-Still-Match-My-Clothes-Version. The face looking back at me is the woman who cried in the shower. I'm the woman who sobbed on my bathroom floor and held my hands over my mouth so no one could hear me screaming.

Yeah, this is the I-Just-Want-Someone-To-See-The-Real-Version-Of-Me.

It's the worst kind of depression because I receive complements for my put together appearance, when I wish someone would notice the real woman behind an expensive suit and Louboutin's.

Maybe they do notice but are too afraid to bring it up. It doesn't matter if they do.

I stare in the mirror at my made-up face and hair that I've left down. I groan when I step into my heels. Hobbling around in pain is on today's agenda.

I make my way from my apartment in Capital Hill to Grey House in record time. Thankfully, it's not raining this morning so I don't have to fight the traffic from people who don't know how to drive in the rain, despite the fact that they've lived here their entire life.

I arrive at GEH and park in the executive lot and make my way towards the building, doing my best not to limp. It's so quiet in the early morning. I wish that my mind was as quiet.

Jerry, a retired Seattle cop who now works as night security at GEH, meets me with a large grin on his wrinkled face. The grin slips and his eyes are on my legs. Shit. He straight away noticed that I'm doing my best not to limp and failing miserably. Now I don't believe I'm going to be able to hide it from anyone. What did I expect? He's got a cop's mentality.

Don't ask, Jerry. For fucks sake, please

"Good morning, Ms. Steele. You're here early," he tells me from behind the desk he's sitting at.

"Morning, Jerry. How are you?" I only smile because it's expected of me.

I'm also glad he didn't bring up that I'm walking funny. Maybe I should have called in sick.

He laughs and winks at me. "About to end this shift, so I'm great."

We exchange pleasantries that I have to dig through my almost clenched teeth.

I hurry to the elevator; my heels are clicking on the floor and I wish again that I'd worn flats instead of sky-high heels. I wonder if my co-workers would notice if I took them off and walked around barefoot.

I know someone who will notice if he catches sight of me and I just don't want to deal with him today. There's no way around that though, my attendance has been demanded at a breakfast meeting.

I close my eyes and the elevator to the executive floor lifts me upward twenty flights with maximum velocity. The doors open to bright lights and white sandstone flooring. I find there are more early birds here; I smell coffee. Scurrying down the empty hall to my office, I unlock it and switch on the light. This room has recently become a refuge for me. I'm starting to arrive earlier with each passing day and leaving later in the evening.

Declan can't touch me here

Kicking the door closed with my shoe, I stand and take in my surroundings. Yeah, it's definitely a refuge that comforts me and I consider moving an air mattress in and living a life where I'm no longer a psycho's punching bag.

A lot of the reasons that I love my office is because my parents made sure that I would. The antique painted walls are covered with black and white photographs of friends and family that rest in cherry wood frames that Dad made. Ray Steele, an utter master carpenter, created the most beautiful office that I've ever seen. My desk is made of the same wood that the picture frames are and Dad added a leather writing surface. He really went all out by building me a credenza behind my desk. I bought the leather tilt and swivel chair. Sometimes I sit and spin around pretending I'm a child. If only I were.

The gorgeous weaved rugs that cover the floor were handmade by Mom. How my parents, Ray and Carla Steele, two artistic and talented people, raised a child who was counting to one- hundred when she was four is crazy. Especially since they didn't teach me how to count to one-hundred. My parents have no conception of numbers or math, much less understand my career in finance. I still balance their checkbook. Their artistic genes passed me by. I can't even paint by numbers.

I sit, my sore body protesting and shove my purse into the bottom drawer of my desk and fire up Safari. The clicking of my nails as they hit the computer's keyboard is the only noise in the room.

I swear the longer I scroll down my inbox, I find many emails that I need to forward to who they should have been sent to in the first place. It irritates me so much that I fire off an inter-departmental notice reminding the employees who work under me to address all issues with whomever they properly need to go to. I know that my words are harsh, and I'm also aware that I've sounded like this for a while now, although I haven't been called out on it. Sometimes I stare out in space during particularly boring meetings and imagine moving out of Seattle so Declan can't find me.

But fuck that. When I find a way to get out of his grasp, he'll be a chapter in my life that no one will ever read.

I've noticed Ros' curious expression staring at me during those meetings once my mind finally settles on the matters at hand. She hasn't called me out on it.

Yet

An email from Ros pops into my inbox just as I'm about to close it. She's reminding me that I'm required to attend a breakfast meeting that I already knew I had to attend. It irks me beyond measure. They know that I have an eidetic memory and wouldn't forget. I don't have to be reminded of the information that Christian and Ros want, information that they already read in the report that I sent them. But no, she wants me to bring in physical files that back up my findings. No, scratch that. Christian wants to see them. I dig out two reports from the top drawer of my desk that aren't really required and then grab the spreadsheets that were on the architects drafting table that Declan bought me. My stomach sours looking at it and I consider tossing it out of the window. It's a shame the windows don't open.

Mr. Grey wants to know where over a million of his dollars disappeared after a recent acquisition. Usually, a financial analyst takes care of this, however, not a single analyst who works under me could figure it out. Meaning that it fell on my lap. It took me less than an hour to find the fuck up.

The mood that I'm in this morning has me hoping that once I begin to drone on about the numbers, Ros is going to regret insisting on my presence at this meeting. I'm only hoping that Christian got laid last night and isn't in a shitty mood.

Hannah finally arrives and knocks on my door asking if I want any coffee. I decline and we go over my schedule for the day. I've got three afternoon meetings that I didn't need to be reminded about. Then Hannah tells me of an unexpected meeting with Christian later in day. It's about a business trip to New York next week. A meeting that appears that I can't worm my way out of.

What the fuck

After an hour, I bundle up the unnecessary files and slowly drag my aching body to Mr. Grey's much too large conference room. As usual, I'm the first to arrive and find Andrea settling a tray of muffins and coffee in the middle of an equally large table.

She jumps when I dump the files on the table and take my usual seat; the seat right beside Christian's.

"I'm sorry, Andrea. I didn't mean to scare you," I tell her.

Looking startled, she throws a hand to her chest for a moment and smiles at me.

"Oh, it's fine, Ms. Steele. I was lost in thought."

"Is everything good?"

Maybe what I need is pointless small talk.

Andrea's left her long, blonde hair down and she flips it over a shoulder. It makes my own ache.

I'm right about my shoulder not being dislocated, right?

"Yes, ma'am. I was just lost in thought about my weekend plans with my boyfriend. You know how it is."

Nope, Andrea, I don't know

Then she leans in close to me and whispers, "Mr. Grey is in one of his moods."

Inwardly I groan. Just what I needed today. Having to deal with a grown man who often behaves like a whiny tyrant first thing in the morning can be torturous. My earlier hope that he got laid last night is now circling his private toilet.

Before I can reply, several of GEH's minions enter the room, clinging to paperwork, and grabbing muffins that Andrea left out, and holding Styrofoam cups of what I guess is coffee. I take neither. All I want is an Ibuprofen or better yet, a shot of Demerol, and a warm bath to ease my aches and pains.

I pray this meeting doesn't last long.

A few are looking at me suspiciously. GEH's financial specialist doesn't usually attend an acquisition meeting. I've got analysts that deal with problems like this. I'm sure they're wondering why in the hell I'm in here because they never see me. I'm also feeling like they aren't aware that someone skimmed Mr. Grey's bank account.

I do my best to find a comfortable position and keep my leg extended. That's pointless. My knee hurts so, and I'm afraid that bending it will cause the bandage to slip off. Even though my left shoulder is throbbing, I'm having to suck it up. I usually talk animatedly and with my hands and everyone who knows me is aware of that. An incredibly sore arm and shoulder will be a tell that something's not quite right.

Please don't notice, Christian. Concentrate on your money and not me

Staying quiet as those around me quietly chatter about bullshit, I catch sight of Christian and Ros from the corner of my eye. Ros looks beautiful in a green dress that goes great with her red hair. She sweeps into the room and silence follows. Christian is hot on her six and doesn't bother shutting the door to the conference room. Everyone around the table, including myself, sit up straighter. Ros has to shut the door since her boss dropped into his seat of power wearing the grey glower on his face.

He ignores me.

It's times like these that make me wish I could make a living weaving rugs like Mom does.

Christian, or Mr. Grey, doesn't greet his staff. He gets straight to what this meeting is about and then steeples his hands under his chin and surveys those around the table.

I'm not on the receiving end of his scowling and dirty looks because he still doesn't bother looking at me, however, that's nothing unusual. Today, it's a small mercy.

"Ros, I hope your team's ready to present this to me. I want a concise explanation," he says gruffly.

Ros's "team." That's me. I'm Ros' "team."

She smirks, and looks at me from across the table. Christian always amuses her when he's behaving like this. If she wants me to join her party of laughing at our boss today, she's shit out of luck. I feel like hell, am in no mood, don't care, and really, really wish that someone would tell this arrogant asshole to go to hell. I have the pleasure of doing so outside of work, but once inside Grey House, it's formalities all day. Well, that's when others are around. When we're alone we're Ana and Christian.

My co-workers lay down the foundation of the Sides acquisition, which brought this meeting to life. Christian is dressed in a black suit that's over a perfectly starched white shirt. His gray tie matches his eyes perfectly.

No, Ana. Don't think about his eyes

Christian quizzes everyone around the table and seems to be satisfied with their answers. A new member of the GEH acquisition team, a pretty raven-haired lawyer, presents a plan of the various ways to break down the company we're discussing, all the while batting her eyelashes and giving fuck me eyes to her new boss. She'll need to learn quickly that kind of behavior doesn't fly with him. If she keeps it up, Christian will have her filing shit down in the mailroom or throw her on her ass out on the street. I didn't pay attention to what her name is because I don't give a fuck. She should know to behave professionally. I swear that I hear Christian grinding his teeth.

After everyone else has thrown out their ideas about what they're doing to dismantle the company to meet Christian's expectations, it's my turn on the hot seat.

He's now looking at me. His expression is bland. It's my turn to explain the fuck up I found. Christian wants numbers and a hint of where his money went. And he counts on me to tell him. Or at least put him on the right trail to follow.

He raises his eyebrows at me while tapping his Montblanc pen on a file in front of him. The tapping of it on the table is making my head ache.

I hate that fucking pen

I pull several spreadsheets out of one of the folders I've brought and slide them to both Christian and Ros. I use my own copy and begin to slowly - as if I were speaking to a child – go through the company's third quarter numbers. The numbers that indicate how much the acquisition made, along when the money went missing.

Christian stops me with a raised palm. "Ms. Steele, do you plan on wasting my time going over my company's third quarter earnings?" Christian asks, the same bland expression on his face. "Trust me, I know."

His words feel like a slap to my face. I raise my head and meet his eyes. I'm sure that my own are shooting daggers at his.

Sometimes, I feel like we're playing a game. I just don't know what it is

There are also times that I wish someone would remind me why I came to work for this man.

"Mr. Grey," I begin slowly. "I was under the impression that you wanted me to provide you with hard copies of sufficient proof to back up what I uncovered. Please refer to the second sheet I've provided. I think that shows I haven't, nor am I, wasting your time. Sir."

My artic tone is almost hostile and I know that I sound like a smart ass but I continue, feeling every eye in the room on me. Including Christian's.

"As you know, I turned in my findings about the missing money last week in a detailed report that I sent to you as well as Ros via email. Then I was informed that my presence at this meeting was mandatory so that I could go over what I found, despite the fact that I've already send in a report."

I'm irritated and speaking quickly. I'm not sure if what I've said makes sense.

My throat is dry but I manage to swallow and finish, "If going over a quarterly spreadsheet that you requested, is a waste of your time, please tell me what you want to know and I'll be more than happy to answer every question that you have for me. Every one, Mr. Grey."

The room is as quiet as a feather in the wind. I never break eye contact with Christian. Right now, I don't give a fuck if he signs my paycheck or the fact that his brother is married to my best friend.

I move in my chair trying to find a comfortable position. I sigh when I can't and find myself wincing. Christian's watching me like a hawk and narrows his eyes at me. Shit.

Although I don't know if the look is because he's noticed the way I'm moving or because he's incensed that I basically disrespected him in a room full of his employees. It could be both.

"Just tell us what you found, Ms. Steele," he tells me. He doesn't sound angry, but that doesn't mean he isn't going to rip me a new one in private.

I nod, but stay in a position so my knee doesn't sting or the bandage moves. Did I even bring a tube of Neosporin and more band aids to work? Why didn't I stay at home?

I think Ros noticed my moment of discomfort because she tilts her head to the side as she stares at me, an expression of kind concern on her face. I'd rather her think I'm dreading that Mr. Grey rips my head off.

"Mr. Grey, as you know the Sides acquisition occurred as the third quarter was coming to a close. If you'll look at the third line from the bottom, you'll see how much GEH made on it."

"I know exactly how much money the acquisition made," Christian fires back.

Ignoring him, I go on, "Please look at the second sheet. It's my report on the amount of money from the purchase that's currently unaccounted for. Before you ask, I did the numbers three times and came up with the same amount each time. Right down to a penny." I inhale deeply after explaining this to the man who now looks very angry.

This man never looks this angry for such a small amount of money. Well, according to him, a million is a small amount of money.

That's why he can't get rid of it as quickly as he made it.

What's going on with him? Yeah, he's mad, because it's obvious someone ripped him off, and it had to be an employee of GEH. But he seems like he's grumpier than usual.

He's using the pen that I hate to scratch off every line of the third quarter spreadsheet and then moves to my report. I wonder again if he read the report that I sent him. He stares at it for what seems like forever before raising his eyes to mine. Ros is staring at me as well.

"Over a million dollars?" Christian asks incredulously. His voice is a boom around the room.

Now he looks Christian Grey, billionaire extraordinaire

"Yes, sir." I go for conciliatory this time.

"Any opinion on how this happened, Ana?" Ros asks me.

She's kidding me, right? I don't do guesses

"Well, from what I found, I'm of the opinion that the money was likely embezzled by a low-level acquisition specialist," I offer.

Christian slams both his fisted hands on the table, causing everyone but me and Ros to jump. I swear, if these people are going to work for Christian Grey, they're going to have to get used to his bad behavior.

This man is a billionaire who makes a million dollars a day-or more-and he's losing his shit over losing a mil. Yes, the money that someone siphoned off is not only his, it's also a considerable amount. But it isn't going to do shit to his bank account or bankrupt him.

I'm sitting here uncomfortable with a sore body and a nightmare life that I equate with hell. Christian's reaction shows that he didn't bother to read my report. He gives Ros a hard look.

"Any idea who pulled this off?" he asks her.

She shakes her head no. "Not yet. Legal's already on it, though."

Christian doesn't reply. He just stands and leaves the room and I swear the shoulders of everyone around the tables drop and they all exhale.

Back in my office, I put the files away and pull two Ibuprofen from my top drawer and swallow them dry. Hannah offered me coffee or to go down to the cafeteria to grab me something to eat. I waved her off as politely as I could and shut myself into my office to kick off my heels. Maybe that will help my knee from hurting. I really should have worn flats. Or stayed at home.

I stand out my window and watch the rain that's now coming down in sheets. Being in this room and twenty-stories up in the sky makes me feel far removed from my reality below. Declan can't touch me here. He can't scream obscenities inches from my face and dictate what I can and can't do. I can't tell him no like I told Hannah about wanting coffee. I'm a puppet that he controls and I'm expected to smile like everything is fine. But my life is far from fine and my plan to get away from him still isn't crystal clear.

But I'm still going to get away from him

Somewhere below my office Declan is playing like he's a decent person and everyone he knows is buying it. I'm just grateful that he hasn't tried to contact me today. I don't have the strength to hear his viper's split-tongue tongue.

Maybe he'll give me a reprieve for a few days like he's done in the past, waiting for the wreckage he's left to dissipate.

I make my way back to my desk and lay my head down and close my eyes. I'm rubbing my sore shoulder and trying to decipher up from down.

A year and a half ago, before I entered this hellish relationship with Declan, I fired on all cylinders and never second guessed myself or the decisions I made. Where did that woman go? What did I do that attracted a violent man that I seemingly can't escape? One that I'm so afraid of that I've never told Kate about. She's seen a bruise or two but knows how clumsy that I can be and buys it when I say that I hit an end table or tripped over something. If she ever finds out the truth, she'll scorch the universe to burn Declan Beckett alive.

Suddenly, and startling me, my office door opens and I look up. It's Christian. I watch him stroll into my office and shut the door behind him. The man has never once knocked on my office door. He thinks since this is his company that he can do as he pleases, and I guess that's true. It doesn't mean I like it.

I sit up and we just stare at each other. There's no indication if this is the CEO or Christian. Unbuttoning his suit jacket, he takes the seat in front of my desk and I wait to find out who I'm about to deal with.

"I think we have something to discuss, Ana," he says, sounding reminiscent of my father.

It's the tamed down CEO, and since I know that I behaved badly earlier, I do my best to look contrite.

Nodding, I agree.

"You stepped far over the line in that meeting. I won't tolerate being disrespected by an employee, while in a room full of other employees. You're damn lucky I didn't take you down a notch or two for talking to me the way that you did."

I cock my head slightly and study his face.

"So why didn't you?" I counter. It's almost a dare.

He leans in closer to my desk and gives me a level gaze. I'm in no shape or mood to verbally spar with Mr. Grey, no matter how much fun it can often be.

"Why didn't I do what? Did what I just said fly over your head?"

I sigh and run my right hand through my hair. Christian's eyes move along with my hand then dart to the arm I have resting on my desk.

"Of course it didn't fly over my head. I'm merely asking why you didn't verbally throttle me during the meeting?"

He crosses one leg over his other knee. His eyes haven't left my face and I'm unsure if this is really about that fucking meeting. He doesn't have to say why he didn't rip me apart this morning. We both know why he treated me differently than other employees, and why he won't admit it.

His eyes narrow and he runs a hand through his hair. I don't know where this conversation is headed so I don't utter a single word.

"What's going on with you, Ana? Don't say nothing. You've been behaving differently for some time. Is there something going on that I should know about?"

My heartbeat picks up. What has he noticed? How have I fucked up?

His familiar cologne is in my nostrils and I inhale it deeply. I shake my head no.

"There's nothing wrong with me, Christian. I'm fine." I reply, lying straight through my teeth.

"No way, Ana, something is and has been for a while. I'm asking as your friend because I'm genuinely concerned."

God, I wish that I could tell him. But I can't. I look away, feeling like a bitch because I lied to him.

Declan's threatened too many of my loved ones

"Ana?"

Christian drags me back to the present. He does genuinely look concerned. Maybe if I give him a breadcrumb and then lie, he'll buy it and move along.

Sighing, I give in. Not completely though. It can't be the truth.

"There is something going on but it's personal and I don't feel it's appropriate to share it with you," I reply quietly. "You're correct, it has been going on for a while and I apologize if it's impacting my job…I don't want to discuss it because it's personal."

Christian frowns. "Is it Declan?"

I nearly stop breathing. Does he know?

"Why would you ask that?"

"Because you said it's personal. Personal makes sense if you're having a rough patch with him, or perhaps your parents."

If it were only that simple

"I really, really don't want to have this conversation. Can't you respect that?"

He looks completely perplexed and I can't say that I blame him. As long as I've known this man, he's as persistent as Kate Grey. They're cut out of the same piece of fabric.

"I respect it. Respecting it doesn't mean that I'm not concerned." He leans closer to my desk and places his forearms on it. "Tell me. You know that you can trust me."

God, he sounds so sincere that I nearly burst into tears. If I tell him, the past year will shine as bright as a spotlight and my head hurts too badly for becoming an asteroid. I also can't tell him about the plans of leaving Declan.

The plans I've just begun to cobble out.

"I trust you. I just don't want to talk about it right now. Simple."

We stare at one another and I almost get lost in his gray eyes. I can't, though.

You can't, Ana. You fucking can't

Christian scans me like an X-ray machine. Some part of me wishes that he was checking me out. I know better.

"Does it have anything to do with the fact you're limping through the halls and you didn't lift your left arm once during that meeting?" His tone is hard as granite and I feel nauseous. "You can barely make a point without using both of your hands. What's going on?" He's pointing at me. "What is this?"

I fucking knew he'd notice.

"No, it's not anything, Christian. It was dark inside my apartment, and I tripped. Hurt my knee a little, but it's no big deal. End of story."

He leans back into the chair and scrubs his face with his hands. I stare at his perfectly manicured finger nails.

"What the hell did you fall on that fucked up your knee and arm?" he asks. I wish he'd have believed the first lie.

"It was dark when I got home and I fell trying to turn on a lamp. I knocked it over and cut my knee on the smashed light bulb."

That's partially true, but the look on Christian's face says he isn't buying what I'm selling.

"You've been falling down a lot lately."

He says it so quietly that I almost can't make out the words. My head pounds and I'm afraid that I'm going to lose my shit and tell him everything. I know what's running through his mind. I also know that I can't be an open book about my life because I don't know how the story may end.

Before I have time to swallow the spit that's gathered in the back of my throat, my iPhone begins to ring. It's on my desk sandwiched between us.

"Declan" has the screen lit up. I stare at it and fear crawls up my spine. I make no move to pick it up and feel Christian's eyes on me. It rings and rings before going to voicemail. Declan doesn't leave one.

"Why didn't you answer him?" Christian asks pointedly.

"Because we're in the middle of a discussion," I answer.

"I wouldn't have been offended if you'd answered your boyfriend's phone call, Ana."

"He can wait."

He can also drop dead

"I asked why you're falling a lot lately,"

I laugh bitterly. "You didn't ask a question. It was a statement. And you know that I'm not the most graceful human being."

Christian crosses his arms over his chest and it takes all of my might not to run my eyes up and down the muscles in his arms. The look on his face is telling me what I fear – he's picked up on something.

Before Christian can reply, my office phone buzzes and I press the speaker phone button. Whatever Hannah wants isn't anything that Christian shouldn't hear.

"Yes, Hannah."

"Ms. Steele, I have Mr. Beckett on line one for you," she says.

I'd faint if I weren't sitting down. What the fuck am I going to do? I can't talk to him in front of Christian. I don't want to talk to him at all.

I can tell him I'm in a meeting because I am.

Sort of.

But fuck him, I don't want to talk to him at all

"Please tell Mr. Beckett that I'm in a meeting," I say, with as much authority as I can summon.

Hannah falters, because she isn't used to me turning Declan's calls down. She quickly gathers herself.

"Yes, ma'am."

I press the button to end the call and look across my desk. Christian's eyes are boring into my face as hard as a jackhammer on concrete. Then I watch his eyes travel to my arm and back to my face.

"Ana, this isn't a meeting. Why did you just blow Beckett off? Twice, I may add."

"Yes, this is a meeting. We're talking, aren't we?" I'm nodding almost frantically. He abruptly stands and the chair he was in nearly tips over.

"Stand up," he orders. His voice is hard as granite however his expression is blank.

My God, what's he going to do? Trying to fucking play God with my life?

I sigh, trying to play it off. And ignore his ordering me around.

"No, my knee's sore." My words tremble and I fight to keep my chin from quivering.

"Stand up, Anastasia."

Don't do this, don't do this, don't do this

Again, I refuse and watch him circle around my desk. He squats down beside me and gingerly takes my right hand. Electricity runs up my arm, almost causing me to shiver.

Christian cocks his head to the side. "What in the hell has that mother fucker been doing to you?" he says in a low and menacing voice.

This, I didn't see coming

I squeeze my eyes shut and do my best not to cry. How I want to rest my head on Christian's shoulders and weep. I can't answer him. The words are stuck in all the lies and secrets that have swirled around me for so long.

Once I've managed to rid my life of that psycho son of a bitch, I'll be able to tell Christian everything. But now not.

Not when Declan threatens everyone that I care about. Not when he threatens Christian

He reaches out to me and pushes a lock of my hair behind my ear. His touch is like a firework. It's like a blinding, and beautiful firework show over Lake Washington that I could get lost in and never attempt to leave.

"You can tell me, Ana," he pleads, his soft fingers still on my skin. "Does Declan hurt you?"

How does he know this?

Christian's voice is as gentle as I remembered it can be and it makes a lone tear break free. I have no words to hide my shame. I also don't want to hide my feelings anymore. It's all so, so heavy. But I'm digging my way out of that heaviness and getting the fuck away from Declan Beckett.

"Ana, did Declan hurt you?" he presses and gestures to my leg. "Is he responsible for that?"

My resolve cracks and the knowledge that Christian cares about me, albeit as friend, strengthens me to be honest. I don't want him to feel obligated to save me.

I'm in the process of saving myself

Depressed or not.

I nod, and Christian swears under his breath.

"Has he hurt you before?" He's trying to sound calm but I feel the fury behind his words. His eyes are narrowed, but I know that he isn't angry with me.

I nod once more and Christian wipes away the tear running down my cheek with a thumb. He doesn't mutter another word, instead he pulls me into his arms and I finally crack open, weeping like a baby.

He's murmuring things in my hair that I can't make out because I'm crying so hard.

Crying because I've unloaded my hell and because I'm in Christian's arms.

A place I never thought I'd be again.

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