Chapter 82

Chapter 82
Carlo

“You fuck me when you were gonna marry another woman?”

His voice is quiet, but it slices through the room like a goddamn blade. I freeze in place. My hair’s still damp from the shower, towel wrapped around my waist, and he’s standing there now, with my phone in his hand—my fucking phone—his fingers trembling and his eyes already glassy.

I don’t say anything at first. I don’t even move.

I should’ve deleted that fucking link, I told them no cameras but my dad will always be a dick. I should’ve known he’d see it eventually, but I didn’t expect it to be today. Not here. Not like this.

I swallow down the lump crawling up my throat and shake my head a little like I’m brushing off the weight of what he just said. “What did you expect?” I say, voice flat. “That I’d spend the rest of my life with a man? Licking your asshole?”

It sounds cruel—because it is. I want it to hurt. I need it to.

His mouth opens a little, lips twitching, eyes still locked on mine like he’s trying to search for something behind them. His eyebrows twitch like he’s holding back a thousand things at once.

And I wish he’d stop looking at me like that. I fucking wish he’d stop seeing me.

Inside, I’m screaming at myself. I’m sorry. Fuck, Blaze—I’m sorry.

But that doesn’t matter. Not now. I already made up my mind. I have to do this. He has to hate me.

He looks down, blinking hard, like if he keeps his gaze down long enough, maybe the weight of it all will just slide off his back. “You could’ve at least told me,” he says. “I’d have fucking prepared for it.”

Prepared? There’s no preparing for this kind of shit.

I shrug like it’s nothing. “It’s not a big deal.”

That’s it. That’s the match.

His head jerks up so fast I hear his neck pop. “What the fuck did you just say?” His voice cracks, half-yell, half-beg. “Not a big deal? Are you serious right now? You’re out here proposing to some plastic Barbie while your dick’s still wet from me and you think it’s not a big deal?”

I clench my jaw, fingers curling at my sides. I don’t flinch, even though every fucking word he spits at me makes something in my chest rattle.

“Did you even love me?” he shouts. “Or was it all just fucking pity?”

That gets me.

I laugh. A dry, hollow, awful sound. My stomach twists like I might throw up right here on his floor.

I love you to death, I think. I love you more than anyone’s ever loved anything. I would’ve burnt the world for you. But I can’t let them touch you. I can’t let my father ruin you too.

But all I say is, “Me? Love you? Fuck no. I pitied you. You almost died in that race, Blaze. I felt guilty. You lost your leg because of me. That’s why I stayed. That’s why I kept you around. I wanted to ease my conscience.”

His face crumples, like something just cracked in the middle of him. And fuck, it kills me. Watching him stand there, trying to keep it together. But I don’t stop.

I can’t stop.

I keep going, like the bastard I have to be. “I did everything I could to make it up to you. But this little game went too far. I let it drag on too long. So whatever trash you think you’re feeling… let it go.”

He blinks again, mouth twitching like he wants to scream but can’t get the air out.

I’m lying through my fucking teeth, but I don’t let it show.

I don’t want him to chase me. I don’t want him to try to save me from this. Because if he stays, my father’s going to destroy him. Just like he’s destroyed everything I’ve ever loved.

“I’m breaking the contract,” I say, voice low now. Steady. “I’ll send the rest of your money. All of it. Consider this over.”

He just stares at me. Silent. Breath shaking. His chest rising and falling too fast for someone that still hasn’t moved from his spot.

I turn around.

I walk back into his bathroom and shut the door quietly behind me, pressing my palms to the counter like the porcelain might hold me up. I stare at my reflection, dripping water onto the tile. I look like hell. Worse. Like someone halfway through a breakdown pretending they’re winning.

My hands shake as I dry myself off completely, one movement at a time, too slow, too numb. I drag the towel down my chest, my shoulders, my thighs. I pull on my briefs first, then black tailored pants, buttoning them with fingers that don’t feel like mine. My shirt is still on the chair where I dropped it, wrinkled. I slide it over my arms anyway, not caring how I look. But I fix the collar. I still fix the goddamn collar.

My hands pause at the mirror. I force them to keep going.

Cufflinks. Watch. Belt. The mask.

I shrug on my blazer like it’s armor and stand up straighter, practicing indifference in the glass. The wet hair ruins it, but I don’t fix it. I don’t towel it dry. I leave it dripping. Let him see how little I care.

Another lie.

Every step I take toward the door feels like I’m dragging my own fucking spine out behind me. I know he’s watching. I know his world just caved in, and I’m walking away like I didn’t just light the fuse.

But I don’t stop.

Because if I do… if I even turn around to look at him one more time, I’ll break.

I reach the hallway. My hand’s on the doorknob, and I hear it—just a sound. Something close to a gasp or maybe a sob, but quiet. Choked back like he’s not giving me the satisfaction.

Good.

Hate me. Hate every fucking piece of me.

I press my back against the door for a second and let myself breathe. Let myself feel it. Just a flash of it, before I kill it again.

My chest heaves. My eyes burn. My whole face threatens to fall apart.

But I hold.

I fucking hold.

Then I walk out. Out of his house. Out of what we had. Out of the only thing that’s made me feel like a real fucking person in years.

And I don’t look back.