Random AITA Story

My Ex Came Over For Closure — So I Made Him Walk With Me To Return His Own Christmas Present.

"My Ex Came Over For Closure — So I Made Him Walk With Me To Return His Own Christmas Present I sat at my desk at the design firm long after the overhead lights clicked off for the night.

I took on every exhausting extra shift my manager offered. My lunch hour disappeared, replaced by obscure online watch forums on my second monitor. I spent my breaks negotiating with stubborn collectors across entirely different global time zones.

I was building a life for us, dollar by dollar. I am Megan, a senior designer. Three years ago, Tyler was a different person. We met at a crowded New Year's Eve party.

He was the kind of man who remembered my exact coffee order. He memorized the specific names of my coworkers. He listened to my obscure indie bands on rainy Sunday mornings.

We signed a lease on a drafty apartment with beautiful hardwood floors and terrible water pressure. I bought vintage rugs. I hung framed posters from our travels. He would look at me with profound adoration.

Then came the Tuesday, exactly two days before the Thanksgiving holidays. The bitter November wind rattled our thin living room windows. I stood at the kitchen counter. I was chopping vegetables for a stew.

Tyler walked through the front door. His face was pale. He didn't take off his coat. That was the first wrong thing. He told me to put down the kitchen knife.

He told me to follow him to the bedroom. I wiped my hands on a dish towel. I sat on the edge of our mattress. He stared at a fixed point on the blank wall behind my head.

He bluntly stated he just didn't feel the spark anymore. He used the clinical tone of a manager laying off a junior employee. There was no shouting. There was no dramatic betrayal.

He packed a duffel bag with a week's worth of clothes. He said he was going to his brother's couch. The front door clicked shut. For three agonizing weeks, the gift sat on my bedroom dresser.

It looked like a small, silent coffin. It was wrapped in glossy silver foil. I had tied it meticulously with a dark blue silk ribbon. Inside was the 1970s vintage diver watch.

It had the specific faded blue dial he brought up in conversation at least once a week. Every single object in the apartment carried a memory. The mug he drank from.

The chair he preferred. The hook where his winter coat usually hung. Tyler sent a text message. He wanted to come over on a gray Saturday afternoon. He needed to collect his last remaining boxes of books and his winter clothes.

He suggested we have a proper, mature closure talk. I spent the morning pacing the cold hardwood floors. I survived on stale toast and endless cups of black coffee. My hands shook violently.

I placed the silver box dead center on the empty wooden coffee table. I adjusted the angle so the bleak afternoon light caught the silver foil. The intercom buzzed its harsh metallic tone.

I nearly knocked over my glass of water. I smoothed down the front of my oversized sweater. I opened the front door. Tyler stepped into the apartment. He acted like a polite stranger in a dentist's waiting room.

He didn't take off his muddy boots. He left wet tracks on the vintage rug I vacuumed every Sunday. He wore the dark winter jacket I bought for his birthday two years ago.

He rubbed the back of his neck with a familiar nervous tic. He asked how I was holding up. I plastered on a tight smile. I told him I was taking up a new yoga class.

He nodded enthusiastically. Tyler walked into the dimly lit living room. He perched on the very edge of the sofa. He kept his coat zipped up. His eyes landed on the solitary silver box.

He looked at it for exactly three seconds. He didn't ask what it was. Instead, he launched into a highly rehearsed speech. He used clinical therapy buzzwords from a generic self-help podcast.

Boundary setting. Individual journeys. Honoring separate truths. Toxic codependency. I sat completely frozen in the armchair opposite him. My hands gripped the armrests tightly. He checked the cheap plastic watch he wore to the gym.

He was looking at me as a tedious emotional chore. A final task on his breakup to-do list. I stared hard at the shining silver box. A sudden, icy clarity pierced the fog in my head.

Giving him the watch would be an act of emotional self-harm. I stood up abruptly. The wooden legs of my chair scraped loudly against the floorboards. I cut him off mid-sentence.

His mouth hung slightly open around an unfinished therapy buzzword. I marched straight to the wooden coat rack. I grabbed my heavy wool winter coat. I told him in a flat voice I needed fresh air right this second.

I swiftly scooped up the silver box from the coffee table. I slid it deep into my roomy coat pocket. He stood up slowly from the sofa, utterly bewildered. (Read more in the first comment below) See part 2 in the comments below.

."

My Alpha Fiance Hired A Hitman To Kidnap Me — But He Didn't Expect Us To Fall In Love.

"My Alpha Fiance Hired A Hitman To Kidnap Me — But He Didn't Expect Us To Fall In Love I stared down through the bottom of my tequila glass. The club’s neon lights distorted through the clear liquid.

Tonight was my official engagement party. My mating ceremony to Craig was billed as the event of the decade. I set the heavy glass down on the sticky bar counter.

He ruled as the most powerful Alpha in our region. Our political union was designed to cement the pack's absolute dominance. Craig deployed his private security team along every single wall of the venue.

Their rigid posture turned the nightclub into a high-end prison. I shifted my weight against the edge of the bar stool. I rolled my hips to the heavy bass vibrating through the floorboards.

I tossed my hair over my shoulder. I needed to prove I was more than just an asset to be guarded. That was when I noticed the stranger. He stood perfectly still against the back wall.

He had short blond hair. His sharp features caught the club's strobing lights. His forest green irises tracked my every move. He pushed off the wall. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

My friend elbowed my ribs. She pointed him out while laughing over the booming music. I climbed onto the edge of the bar stool. My breath grew shallow. Oxygen suddenly felt thick in my lungs.

The club colors smeared together into a rapid blur. My footing slipped. The wooden stool tipped out from under my legs. Strong arms caught my waist before I hit the floor.

A sharp scent of pine needles and winter wind cut through the alcohol. I pressed my face into his neck. His muscles went completely rigid against my cheek. The bass faded into a dull hum.

Blackness swallowed my vision. The violent rumble of tires over gravel vibrated against my skull. I tried to shift my weight. Thick rope bit deeply into the skin of my wrists behind my back.

The sharp tang of motor oil and burnt rubber filled the small space. I was trapped inside the trunk of a moving vehicle. Craig's men had been stationed at every exit.

Yet someone had managed to drag me out of the building. I commanded my inner wolf to shift. I poured every ounce of willpower into forcing the change. My body felt like solid lead.

The heavy shell of my limbs was poisoned by the drug from my drink. The vehicle je**ed hard around a sharp bend. My shoulder slammed violently into the rough carpet.

I kicked out with my bound feet. My boots connected with the metal lid. A loud thud echoed over the engine noise. Whoever drove this car was a dead man.

Craig would rip this kidnapper apart the second he realized his bride was missing. The engine sputtered. The ignition clicked off. The sound of howling mountain wind replaced the motor.

Heavy footsteps crunched over thick snow. The strides grew louder. The metal trunk popped open. Cold moonlight flooded my vision. Sixty pounds of muscle launched forward. My body cleared the metal rim.

The drugs were finally wearing off. I shifted mid-air. I aimed my jaws directly at his exposed throat. He did not stumble back. He did not raise his arms to block the attack.

His large hands caught me perfectly. He twisted my momentum. He slammed my back onto the frozen earth. I snapped my jaws. My teeth grazed his forearm. His heavy weight pinned me completely to the snow.

His grip gentled at the very last second. His rough thumb brushed the fur behind my ear. A purr vibrated deep in my chest. His green eyes locked onto mine.

I refused to submit to the man who stole me. Days bled into weeks inside the isolated mountain cabin. I mapped every single floorboard. I tested every iron window latch.

Every escape attempt ended the exact same way. He caught me halfway out the kitchen window. He tackled me into the deep snowbanks. His hands caged my waist. His chest pressed hard against my back.

He growled low commands directly against my ear. My inner wolf paced endlessly across the woven rug. She whined whenever he left the room. She preened whenever his gaze lingered on my throat.

He cooked meals for me. He sat quietly by the stone hearth. I walked over to the kitchen counter. I grabbed the whiskey bottle. I poured a heavy measure into a thick glass.

The flames threw long shadows across the muscles of his forearms. My bare feet crossed the rug. My knees bracketed his thighs. I settled directly into his lap. His hands instantly found my hips.

His fingers dug into the fabric of my dress. My mouth brushed the rough stubble along his jawline. His lips crashed against mine. My fingers twisted desperately into the fabric of his shirt.

My kidnapper was my fated mate. His hands tangled in my hair. He anchored me against his chest. The isolation of the cabin vanished. We tangled in his bedsheets. I traced the sharp line of his collarbone.

The shrill ring of a satellite phone pierced the quiet room. Tyler stiffened instantly beneath me. He slipped out from under the heavy blankets. He grabbed the plastic receiver. His knuckles turned completely white.

I pulled his discarded shirt over my bare shoulders. I watched the color drain entirely from his face. Craig's voice bled through the tiny speaker. My perfectly planned mating ceremony.

My absolute trust in my Alpha. My entire political future. Craig had never been searching for me. He had paid Tyler to abduct me from the club. His plan was to dump my body on rival territory.

He ordered Tyler to finish the job before sunrise. (Read more in the first comment below) See part 2 in the comments below. ."