Authors note:

Hey, lovely readers! This chapter takes us deeper into Christian and Ana's struggles, both together and individually. Tensions are high, secrets are unraveling, and emotions are running wild. As the danger escalates, so does the intensity between them. Will they find strength in each other, or will the past continue to haunt them? Let's dive in and see where this chapter takes us!

I just want to thank each and everyone of you that took the time to read my adaption of our beloved Fifty Shades of Grey.
It is absolutely amazing to see how many people my work has reached. Thank you for each and every personal message, review, like and follow.

All my LoveMrsB

Chapter 37

Christian grabs the bottle of whiskey, his jaw tight as he pours himself another drink. The ice clinks against the glass, his fingers gripping the crystal like it's the only thing holding him together.

Before he can take a sip, I step forward and snatch it from his hand. His stormy gaze snaps to mine, but I don't hesitate. Tilting my head back, I down the burning liquid in one gulp. The ice nicks my teeth as the whiskey sears down my throat.

Christian's lips part slightly, a flash of shock quickly replaced by frustration.

"No, Grey." I set the empty glass down with a sharp clink against the counter. "No numbing yourself. Not this time."

His nostrils flare. For a second, I expect an argument, but instead, he exhales roughly, raking a hand through his hair. "You don't understand, Anastasia."

I cross my arms. "Oh, I understand just fine."

He shakes his head, pacing like a caged animal. "You think this is just about manipulation? About control? It's not that simple." He stops, his eyes locking onto mine—raw and conflicted. "She got inside my head. Twisted things. She made me believe I needed her." His voice drops to barely a whisper. "A part of me… still feels like I do."

My heart clenches, but I don't let it show. "That's what abusers do, Christian. They make you think you're nothing without them. But it's a lie." I step closer, my voice unwavering. "She doesn't own you. Not anymore."

His throat bobs as he swallows, but the torment in his gaze remains.

"And I sure as hell won't let her drag you down with her," I add.

His expression hardens. "That's exactly why I won't let you go through with this."

Here we go.

I tilt my head. "And what exactly do you think you're stopping me from doing?"

He steps closer, his body radiating tension. "This isn't a game, Anastasia. If you keep pushing, she'll come after you. Vance will come after you."

A slow smirk tugs at my lips. "Let them try."

He growls in frustration. "Damn it, Anastasia! This isn't some covert mission—"

I arch a brow. "That's where you're wrong. This is the simplest mission I've ever handled."

He scoffs. "Destroying someone isn't simple."

I take another step forward, our bodies nearly touching. "You have no idea what I've done. The things I've seen. This? This is nothing compared to the past." My voice lowers, a quiet intensity threading through my words. "I've dismantled entire organizations from the inside. I've taken down people far more dangerous than Elena Lincoln. And I did it alone."

His jaw tightens.

I brush my fingers along his arm, feeling the tension coiled beneath his skin. "I'm not some fragile girl who needs saving, Christian. I am the storm they should fear."

His breath shudders, his hand curling around my wrist. "And what if I lose you in the process?"

I soften, my fingers trailing up to cup his face. "You won't."

His eyes search mine, torn between fear and something deeper.

"You have to trust me," I whisper.

He exhales shakily, his forehead dropping against mine. "You're going to be the death of me, Anastasia Steele."

A slow smile spreads across my lips. "Not today."

For a moment, we stand there, locked in a silent battle of wills.

And then, finally…

He lets out a quiet curse and pulls me into a fierce, desperate kiss.

But even as his lips claim mine, I know the war isn't over.

It's only just begun.

Christian's hands grip my waist, pulling me against him, but this isn't just passion—it's control. His need to feel like he's holding the reins, even as he spirals. His body hums with tension, his restraint hanging by a thread.

I let him take what he needs, my fingers threading through his hair. But when his grip tightens, when I feel the frustration thrumming beneath his skin like a live wire, I pull back.

His eyes are dark, unreadable. "Don't do this," he murmurs, his voice rough.

I tilt my head. "Do what?"

"Walk into the fire."

I exhale, stepping back just enough to put space between us. "Christian, I've lived in the fire. I know how to control the burn."

His jaw clenches. "And what if this time you can't?"

I hold his gaze. "Then I adapt."

His frustration simmers beneath the surface, but there's something else in his eyes—something deeper. Fear. Not of Elena. Not of Vance. But of losing me.

I soften slightly, reaching for his hand. "Christian, this isn't just about taking her down. It's about setting you free."

He flinches at the words, the weight of them pressing against the walls he's built around himself.

"She still has something over me, Ana. You don't understand."

I frown. "Then help me understand."

He exhales sharply, looking away, his posture tense. When he finally speaks, his voice is raw. "She made me believe I was broken. That I was only ever meant to be what she wanted me to be." His throat works as he swallows. "That without her, I was nothing."

My fingers tighten around his. "She lied."

He lets out a bitter chuckle. "Did she?"

I grab his face, forcing him to look at me. "Yes." My voice is sharp, cutting through the doubt. "She made you believe that so she could control you. But I see you. And you are so much more than the scars she left behind."

His breath shudders.

I press my forehead against his. "You are not hers. Not anymore."

Silence lingers between us, thick with something unspoken.

Then, suddenly, Christian shifts. Before I can react, his arms wrap around me, and in one swift motion, he throws me over his shoulder.

I yelp, my hands bracing against his sides. "Christian!"

He doesn't answer. He strides toward the bedroom with unwavering determination, his grip firm as he carries me effortlessly.

When we reach the bed, he tosses me down onto the mattress with a controlled force that steals my breath. His stormy eyes rake over me, his expression unreadable.

Reaching down, he grips my Converse and yanks them off, one after the other, flinging them over his shoulder without a second thought like they were offending him.

"You drive me insane," he mutters, voice thick with something dangerous.

I smirk up at him. "And yet, you're still here."

His eyes darken as he reaches for my hoodie, peeling it off in one swift motion. His fingers pause at the waistband of my sweatpants, his brows knitting together as confusion flickers across his face.

His gaze snaps to mine. "Anastasia… what the hell are you wearing?"

I stay silent.

Christian tugs the sweatpants lower, revealing a flash of emerald fabric underneath. The dress. The one I wore when I went to spy on Elena and Vance.

His body stills. His fingers tighten around the fabric like it might burn him.

His voice is rough, edged with something lethal. "Tell me you didn't."

I meet his gaze, unflinching. "I did."

The war is just beginning.

The air between us shifts, thick with something volatile. His breathing is uneven, his fists clenching like he's holding himself back.

"You walked into her world." His voice is low, lethal. "Dressed like this?"

I arch a brow. "Would you have preferred combat boots and a tactical vest?"

His expression hardens. "I would've preferred you not risking your damn life alone."

I step forward, closing the space between us. His body is rigid, his pulse thrumming violently in his throat.

"I wasn't alone," I say quietly, my voice steady. "I had the shadows. The silence. And the advantage of being invisible."

Christian exhales sharply, his eyes burning with frustration and something deeper—fear. His fingers flex at his sides like he's resisting the urge to grab me, to shake some sense into me.

"You don't get it, do you?" His voice is low, rough. He is now pacing the room, obviously furious with me. "Elena isn't just some enemy you can take down like a mission objective. She's a predator, Ana. She knows how to sink her claws in, how to manipulate, how to—"

"How to control," I finish for him. "I know, Christian. And that's exactly why I won't let her do it to you again." I rise from the bed and walk a few steps toward him.

His jaw ticks, but I don't give him the chance to argue. I take his hand, pressing it against my heart. His breath hitches as he feels the steady, unrelenting beat beneath his palm.

"I'm not afraid of her," I murmur. "And I'm not afraid of what it takes to end this."

He swallows hard, his thumb brushing against my skin absently. "You should be."

I shake my head. "No, Christian. She should be afraid of me."

The silence that follows is thick, electric. His stormy gaze searches mine, desperate for something—an answer, a way out, a lifeline. But the truth is, there's only one way this ends. With Elena powerless.

With him free.

Christian finally exhales, the fight momentarily draining from his shoulders. But his grip on me tightens, like he's still trying to hold onto something—me, maybe. The one thing he fears losing more than anything.

"This isn't over," he murmurs.

I nod. "Not even close."

His fingers slide from my wrist to my jaw, tilting my face up toward his. "Just… promise me something."

I raise a brow. "Depends on the promise."

His lips press into a thin line. "Promise me you won't do this alone."

I hesitate. Because the truth is, I already have.

But for his sake, I lie.

"Okay," I whisper.

Christian studies me, and for a second, I think he sees right through me. But instead of calling me out, he exhales sharply and pulls me into his arms, holding me so tightly I can barely breathe.

I let him, because maybe—just for tonight—he needs this.

Christian's arms tighten around me, his breath hot against my ear. For a moment, we just stand there, locked in this quiet war of emotions, but then he moves—suddenly, urgently. His lips crash against mine, not just with passion but with raw desperation, with everything he can't put into words.

I respond just as fiercely, my hands threading into his hair, tugging him closer. His grip on me is possessive, his fingers digging into my waist as if he's trying to memorize the feel of me, to anchor himself to this moment.

With a low growl, he lifts me effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me toward the bed. Our kisses are frantic, teeth clashing, tongues tangling, like we're both fighting to consume each other. The tension that's been simmering between us for so long ignites into an inferno, burning away any restraint.

He lowers me onto the mattress, his body pressing into mine, solid and unyielding. His hands move, stripping me of my sweatpants completely, revealing the emerald dress still clinging to my frame. His fingers brush over the fabric, his gaze dark and unreadable.

"This dress," he murmurs, his voice laced with something dangerous. "You wore it into battle."

I nod, my breath coming in short bursts as his fingers ghost over the hem, teasing but not giving in.

His jaw clenches. "Then I'm reclaiming it."In one swift motion, he grips the material and tears it down the center, the sound of ripping fabric echoing in the room. A gasp leaves my lips, but before I can react, his mouth is on me—hot, demanding, devouring.

His kisses are different now, deeper, like he's trying to brand me, to stake his claim not just on my body but on something far more fragile—my soul. His hands move over me with aching reverence, like he's touching something he's terrified to lose.

"You drive me mad," he murmurs against my skin, his voice raw, edged with need. "You walk into danger like you're untouchable. But here—" His hands slide down my body, gripping my thighs before parting them. "Here, you're mine."

I gasp as his fingers tease, explore, claim. My head tilts back, my nails raking down his shoulders and arms as he unravels me, piece by piece. Every touch, every stroke is a battle—a push and pull of dominance, of surrender, of something neither of us can control anymore.

But then he slows.

Christian's forehead presses against mine, his breath unsteady. His hands, always so sure, hesitate. His fingers tremble as they trace the curve of my waist, my ribs, as if searching for proof that I'm real, that I'm still here.

"Ana…" His voice cracks, barely a whisper.

I open my eyes, and what I see steals the air from my lungs. His stormy gaze is wide open, raw, and vulnerable in a way I've never seen before. Fear. Not for himself. For me.

"I can't lose you." The confession slips from his lips, unguarded, like a secret he never meant to say aloud.

My heart clenches. I cup his face, my thumbs brushing over the sharp edges of his jaw. "You won't."

He exhales shakily, his lips ghosting over mine, and when he kisses me again, it's no longer frantic. It's slow, devastatingly deep. A kiss that tastes of longing, of fear, of something too overwhelming to name.

When he finally enters me, it's not just passion. It's a claim, a promise, a desperate plea for something neither of us can put into words. He moves with unrelenting intensity, his body pressed flush against mine, as if trying to fuse us together.

My name tumbles from his lips like a prayer, his forehead pressed against mine, his hands gripping me like a lifeline. I meet him stroke for stroke, my own body trembling under the weight of everything we can't say.

And when the pleasure crests, when the world shatters around us, it's not just release—it's surrender. To each other. To this moment. To everything we are and everything we fear losing.

Christian collapses against me, his breathing ragged, his heart thundering against mine. He buries his face in my neck, his arms still wrapped around me like he's afraid I'll disappear if he lets go.

I thread my fingers through his hair, pressing a lingering kiss to his temple. "I'm here," I whisper. "I'm not going anywhere."

His grip tightens for a fraction of a second before he finally exhales, letting himself believe it.

For tonight, at least.

Author's note:

Ana and Christian may have found solace in each other tonight, but the storm is far from over. Secrets have been kept, lines have been crossed, and soon, their trust will face its greatest test yet. Will they stand together, or will the weight of what's to come tear them apart? The battle isn't just with their enemies—it's with themselves. Buckle up, because the next chapter changes everything.

Laters!