Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian novel Chapter 217

I don’t like this. I don’t like being the object of her anger. I put my head in my hands. Maybe…maybe I should apologize. What did Flynn say? It’s better to concede the battle to win the war.

And deep down, I know I’ve fucked up. But I’d hoped that she would have forgiven me by now.

I type out an e-mail.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: I’m Sorry

Date: September 14 2011 16:45

To: Anastasia Grey

I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry.

I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry.

I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry.

I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry.

I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry.

I fucked up. Please forgive me.

Christian Grey

CEO & Penitent Husband, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

I don’t want to go home to face her anger again. I want her smiles, her laughter, and her love. I gaze up at her smiling face in the photo. I want her to look at me like she does in this portrait. I return to the e-mail, wondering whether to hit send. This meeting could go on for a while. I call Mrs. Jones.

“Mr. Grey.”

“I may not be home for dinner. Please make sure Mrs. Grey eats.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Cook her something nice.”

“I will.”

“Thank you, Gail.” I hang up and delete the e-mail—it’s not going to be enough. I could try jewelry. Flowers? My phone buzzes.

“Yes, Andrea.”

“Mr. Hansell and Senator Blandino are here with their teams.”

“Call Ros and Samir to join us.”

“Yes, sir.”

This will be a fight about layoffs. I grit my teeth. Sometimes I hate my job.

Blandino is appealing for calm. “These are our economic realities in 2011,” she says to Hansell, who sits red-faced on the other side of my boardroom table.

I just want to go home. But we’re not finished here.

My phone buzzes, and my heart rate spikes. It’s my wife. “Excuse me.” I rise from the table, feeling seven pairs of eyes on me as I exit the room.

She’s called. I’m almost giddy with relief—my heart feels like it will escape my chest. “Ana!”

“Hi.” It’s so good to hear her voice.

“Hi.”

I can’t think what else to say, but I want to beg her to stop being mad at me.

Please don’t be mad. I’m sorry.

“Are you coming home?” she asks.

“Later.”

“Are you in the office?”

I frown. “Yes. Where did you expect me to be?”

“I’ll let you go.”

What? But— There’s so much I want to say, but neither of us speaks. The silence is a chasm between us and I have a boardroom of people locked in crisis talks waiting for me.