Damn It, Carlos— Face Me!

Megan sat up in the center of the massive bed, twice the size of a standard king-sized bed, its luxurious royal drapes hanging elegantly from the top, giving it a regal and almost otherworldly presence. She admired herself through her smartphone camera, tilting her head to different angles, running her fingers over her freshly braided hair. Her brown wavy locks had been transformed into tight, intricate braids, courtesy of Julian, and she couldn’t help but admire the way they framed her face.

“Damn, I look good,” she muttered to herself, a satisfied smile curling her lips.

She twisted her head from side to side, ensuring she caught every possible angle, basking in the glow of her own beauty. The golden lighting in the master bedroom accentuated her sharp cheekbones and full lips, making her feel like a queen.

The sound of the bedroom door swinging open drew her attention. Carlos stepped inside, his broad frame moving with the casual grace of a man who owned everything in his sight. He barely acknowledged her, his focus entirely on the restroom as he walked past her.

“Hey, what’s up?” Megan called out, her voice light, almost playful.

“Hey, what’s up,” Carlos replied dismissively, his tone neutral, not even sparing her a glance before disappearing into the restroom.

Megan frowned, her eyebrows knitting together. She stared at the closed door, the sound of running water filling the silence. Minutes turned into half an hour, and her irritation grew with each passing second. What the hell was he doing in there?

Finally, the door swung open, and Carlos stepped out, wiping his hands on a towel as he strode past her once again, heading straight for the door as though she wasn’t even there.

Megan’s patience snapped. “Baby,” she called out, her voice sharper than before.

Carlos halted in his tracks at the entrance, his hand resting on the doorknob. He exhaled deeply before turning around to face her.

“Hey, honey, what’s up?” he asked, his voice carrying a hint of exhaustion. He approached the bed and settled beside her, eyes scanning her face. “What’s wrong?”

Megan’s lips pressed into a thin line as she studied him. “Why didn’t you acknowledge me when you came in?”

Carlos blinked. “What? I did.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I’m sorry you felt that way,” Carlos said, moving closer to her. “I just really needed to use the restroom, that’s all.”

Megan’s gaze locked onto his. “Do you love me?”

Carlos let out a short chuckle, clearly caught off guard. “What? What kind of question is that?”

“Answer me,” she pressed, her voice unwavering.

“Of course,” he responded, but there was something mechanical about the way he said it, as though he were reciting a well-practiced line.

Megan’s jaw tightened. “Are you cheating on me?”

Carlos’s expression darkened instantly. “Why all these stupid questions? You’re starting to piss me off.”

“Am I?” Megan scoffed, crossing her arms. “Because why would you come in here, completely ignore me, then lock yourself in the restroom for almost an hour like you were sneaking around?”

Carlos’s face twisted with irritation. “Fuck you,” he spat. “Even if I’m cheating on you, you have no right to question me. As long as I’m providing you the lifestyle you want, that’s all that matters.”

Megan’s breath hitched, her nails digging into the silk sheets beneath her. Carlos shook his head in disgust, his lips curling in a sneer before he stood up.

“I don’t have time for all this rubbish,” he muttered, already heading for the door.

“Carlos!” Megan called out, but he didn’t answer.

“Carlos!” she shouted again, watching as he exited the room without so much as a backward glance.

Rage boiled in her chest, and she shot up from the bed, her feet hitting the cold marble floor as she stormed after him.

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The corridor walls of the estate stretched endlessly, flanked with intricate woodwork and golden sconces that cast flickering glows across the polished marble floor. Megan’s bare feet slapped softly as she hurried after Carlos, her silk robe swishing behind her like a trailing shadow. Her breathing was shallow but fast.

“Carlos,” she called again, her voice echoing faintly.

He didn’t respond. His pace was steady. Intentional. His broad back, clothed in a snug black shirt, rose and fell rhythmically as he strode toward the far end of the corridor.

“Carlos— stop!” she cried, the desperation in her voice now piercing the quiet luxury around them.

Still, he kept walking.

With a frustrated grunt, Megan surged forward, caught up to him, and grabbed his wrist with both hands. Her fingers barely wrapped halfway around his thick forearm.

“Damn it, Carlos— face me!” she demanded, trying to pull him back. Her feet skidded slightly on the glossy floor.

Carlos stopped.