All Chapters of Beyond Rejection.: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

Levi Her body feels like fire beneath my hands, every curve, every soft shiver, every gasp consuming me. I can’t stop touching her, memorizing her, tasting her - she’s every inch of my obsession made flesh. Her lips part again, trembling, and I don’t hesitate. I kiss her hard, urgent, letting my tongue trace hers as she moans softly, helpless against me.I lift her fully, pressing her back against the headboard, letting her legs wrap instinctively around my waist. She stiffens for a second, swatting at my shoulders weakly, but her protests are half-hearted. The way her body molds against mine, pliable and soft, makes it impossible to stop. Her hair fans across the pillow, damp from the shower earlier, glinting under the dim light of the room. Every strand, every curl, every scent of her drives me mad.“Crosswalk…” she breathes, her voice shaky, warning me even as it betrays her need. My hands roam over her back,

LeviThe house feels unnaturally quiet as I make my way through the halls. My phone buzzed a few minutes ago—Greta’s message was terse, almost panicked. “Sir… Ana hasn’t left her room all day. She barely ate anything. She refuses to come down. I don’t know what else to do.”I run a hand through my hair, swallowing hard. Normally, she’s disciplined, stubborn, but predictable. Now, she’s retreating, isolating herself—and I know why. I’ve seen it before: a woman cornered, furious, heartbroken, trying not to fall apart in front of me.I reach the study first, intending to check for anything she might have left behind or dropped. My eyes immediately catch what’s scattered across the polished floor. Papers. An envelope.My chest tightens as I kneel to pick them up. The embossed crest of my father’s stationary makes my stomach sink before I even open the envelope. My hands tremble sli

Levi The name hangs in the air long after she says it.Corbin.It settles into my chest like something heavy and unwelcome, pressing against my ribs until breathing feels like work.I close the laptop slowly, deliberately, placing it on the table beside me. The soft click echoes louder than it should.Greta senses it first. Of course she does. Her pen stills mid-air, her gaze flicking between the both of us like she’s watching a storm roll in.“Ana…” she starts carefully, “that’s… a strong name.”Ana nods, calm. Too calm. “It is.”That’s it. No hesitation. No explanation.My patience snaps.“Corbin?” I repeat, my voice low, controlled, but there’s an edge to it I don’t bother hiding.For the first time tonight, she looks at me.Not fully. Just enough.“Yes, Crosswalk. Corbin.”

AnastasiaEverything after the pain becomes a blur, but not the kind that fades. It is the kind that burns itself into memory, sharp and unrelenting.One moment, I am in his arms, struggling to breathe through the crushing pressure in my abdomen, and the next, I am being carried down the stairs while Greta rushes ahead of us, already issuing instructions in a voice that brooks no argument.I clutch at his shirt, not because I want to, but because my body refuses to let go. The fabric twists in my fists as another wave of pain tears through me, and this time I cannot hold it back. A cry rips out of my throat, loud and raw, echoing through the house in a way that makes everything feel too real.“It’s too early,” I whisper, even though I know neither of them needs to hear it again.“I know,” Greta replies quickly, her tone firm but not unkind. “Just focus on breathing. We are getting you to the hospital.”

Anastasia The hospital room smells like antiseptic and something faintly metallic, like blood that has been scrubbed away but refuses to completely disappear. It clings to the back of my throat, making every breath feel heavier than it should.I lie still, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet rhythm of machines and distant footsteps in the hallway. My body feels like it doesn’t belong to me anymore. Every muscle aches in a way I didn’t know was possible, deep and lingering, like something inside me has been stretched and wrung out.But none of that matters.My gaze drifts slowly to the small cot beside my bed.He’s there.Tiny. Wrapped in a soft blue blanket. Barely moving except for the slow rise and fall of his chest.My son.A strange, overwhelming tightness fills my chest. Not pain. Not fear. Something else entirely. Something I don’t have the strength to name.I swallo