---- Chapter 8 Erika POV: The gala broke something in him. After that night, Coleton' s quiet desperation morphed into a frantic, public spectacle of remorse. He quit his job in Austin, abandoning the career | had inadvertently built for him, and followed me back to my city. He became a fixture outside my office building, a ghost haunting the edges of my new life. Every morning, he was there, holding a bouquet of the white peonies | used to love, his face etched with a sleepless, hollowed-out look. | never acknowledged him. | had my driver use the underground garage entrance, avoiding the pathetic, daily ritual of his repentance. He got my new number from someone, and the barrage of messages started again. But they were different now. The angry accusations and desperate pleas were gone, replaced by a stream-of-consciousness of memories. Remember that little Italian place near campus? The one with the checkered tablecloths? | went there last week. It tasted like ash without you. I' m learning to make that mushroom soup you like. The one your mom used to make. It' s harder than it looks. ---- | sold the motorcycle. I' m never getting on one again. | m done with that whole scene. Those people... they weren' t my friends. Not really. | read them, my heart a frozen lake. The pain they caused wasn' t for him. It was for me. For the years | had wasted, for the genuine love | had given so freely, only to have it treated so carelessly. My father and brother watched from a distance, their silence a form of permission. They were allowing me to handle this, to close this chapter on my own terms. "Clean up your own mess," my father had said, not unkindly. It was his way of showing respect for my strength. One afternoon, the sky opened up, a torrential, unforgiving downpour that turned the city grey. | was at the family estate, playing a quiet game of chess with Bret, when one of the housekeepers rushed in, her face pale. "Miss Larson," she stammered. "There's a man... in the garden. He' s just... kneeling in the rain." | didn' t need to ask who it was. Bret placed his hand over mine on the chessboard. "You should go," he said gently. "You need to end this. For good." | took a deep breath, stood up, and grabbed an umbrella from the stand by the door. He was a pathetic sight, drenched to the bone, his expensive ---- suit clinging to his thin frame. His hair was plastered to his forehead, and water streamed down his face, mixing with the tears | could see even through the sheets of rain. When he saw me, a flicker of desperate hope ignited in his eyes. "Erika," he cried, his voice hoarse and raw. He tried to get up, to scramble to his feet, but his legs seemed to give out. "You came." "This is meaningless, Coleton," | said, my voice flat, barely audible over the drumming of the rain on my umbrella. "No, it's not!" he insisted, crawling a few feet closer, trying to grab the hem of my coat. "It' s the only thing that has meaning. | was wrong. | was so, so wrong. |' II die without you, Erika. | swear | will." | looked down at his trembling, waterlogged form, and | felt nothing but a deep, profound pity. The fire was gone. The love, the hate, the anger-all of it had been extinguished, leaving behind only cold, damp ashes. "You won' t die, Coleton," | said, my voice softening. "But you need to let this go." "Give me one more chance," he begged, his face a mess of rain and tears. "I' ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. A lifetime." The word hung in the air between us. "A lifetime," | repeated softly, shaking my head. "There is no lifetime for us anymore, Coleton. You burned that bridge yourself." ---- | crouched down, holding the umbrella over both of us, forcing him to meet my gaze. His eyes were wild with a grief that was entirely of his own making. "Let me ask you a question," | said, my voice quiet but clear. "And | want you to be honest. When you say you love me, who are you really talking about? Do you love me-Erika Larson, the girl you spent five years with? Or do you love Aura, the woman who could give you the world?" He froze, his jaw slack. The desperate protest | expected never came. He just stared at me, the rain dripping from his chin, and in his silence, | got my answer. It was the answer | already knew. | stood up, leaving the umbrella in his trembling hand, a final, small act of kindness. | turned and walked back toward the warm, bright lights of the house, not looking back. "Do yourself a favor, Coleton," | said over my shoulder, my voice carrying over the storm. "Go home. Move on. Give yourself a chance to have a life." The heavy oak door of the house closed behind me, shutting out the storm and the man | once loved. "From now on," | whispered to the empty hallway, "we are nothing but strangers." Title: A Princess? No! I'm the Female General! In "A Princess? No! I'm the Female General!" by CrushReel, Adela Taylor, a noble family's daughter, disguises herself as her brother to secure their Duke title by joining the army. Despite facing obstacles, she achieves remarkable success. However, upon her triumphant return, her brother betrays her, setting off a chain of events that will test her resolve and reveal hidden truths. This captivating novel delves into themes of secrets, reincarnation, revenge, murder, and drama. Adela's journey from deception to betrayal is filled with intrigue and suspense as she navigates through a world where power dynamics and family loyalties collide. What sets this story apart is its strong female lead who defies expectations and challenges societal norms in a quest for justice and redemption. Experience the riveting tale of Adela Taylor online at CrushReel and witness the transformation of a princess into a formidable female general.