Chapter 84

Chapter 84
Carlo

"Why the hell did you do this to him?"

I don’t even get a chance to breathe before the yelling starts. I don't need to ask who's on the line. Alexi. Her voice is sharp, pissed, and underneath all that? Wrecked.

The call just came through, and the moment I picked up, she was already screaming. I almost hang up. Almost. But then I hear a faint noise behind her, a groan, something muffled. A voice. His voice.

Fuck.

I blink at the empty screen in front of me, try to gather the shitstorm brewing in my head, but I’m already spiraling. My body tightens at the sound of Blaze in the background. He's not okay. I don’t need anyone to tell me that—I can feel it crawl under my skin.

"Alexi," I say, low, flat, trying to hold it together. "I told you not to call me."

"Yeah? And I told you to stop being a goddamn asshole!" she fires back. "You said you loved him?! What the actual fuck does that even mean, Carlo?"

Then his voice comes through again. Faint. Hoarse. “Alexi, stop…”

He sounds like shit. My spine locks up.

"You’re lying in the fucking hospital with broken ribs," she barks at him now, ignoring me, like I’m not even on the goddamn call. "If you’re so fucking fine, why the fuck did you go driving at 12 a.m.? Huh? If it doesn’t hurt, why are you all wrapped up like a goddamn mummy?"

I freeze. Hospital? Broken ribs?

I feel the words hit me right in the chest. It knocks the breath out of me. My throat dries up. My fingers go numb around the phone. My mind tries to process it, but it doesn’t land. I just keep hearing it over and over.

Hospital.

Broken ribs.

Midnight.

He went driving at midnight like he had nothing else to live for. Like he was just… done.

I feel like I’m going to throw up.

I don't even realize I’m gripping the edge of my desk until the pain in my palm kicks in. Sharp. Hot. I’ve been digging my nails into it.

“Alexi,” I try again, this time my voice is lower, shakier. I don’t even know what I want to say. What’s left to say? That I didn't mean it? That I didn’t want him hurt?

That I’m the reason he’s lying there?

She cuts me off before I can figure it out. “I’ll let you be, Carlo,” she says. Her voice has shifted now. Still angry, but quieter. There’s something final about it. “He doesn’t want me to do anything to you. Not even fucking scream. He said he’s done. Finally decided to let you go. So fine. He can let you go. But I swear to God, Carlo… if I ever see you near him again, I’ll make sure you fucking regret it.”

And then the line goes dead.

Just like that.

Silence.

I drop the phone on the table like it’s suddenly poisoned.

My feet hurt. Like I’ve been standing on nails. Everything just aches. My chest. My throat. My fucking soul.

But I keep telling myself this is what had to happen. It’s for the good. For his good.

He doesn’t see it now, but I saved him. I had to say all that shit, make him believe I didn’t give a fuck, because if I didn’t, my dad would’ve gone after him harder. This was the only way to protect him. To get him off their radar.

Right?

Right?

I run a hand over my face, trying to breathe through the mess I just heard. I can still hear Blaze’s voice in my head. Not the loud, cocky, fuck-you tone he always used with me—but that soft, exhausted one I just heard on the phone.

I didn’t even get to talk to him.

Didn't get to say his name.

Didn't get to say I’m sorry.

Didn’t get to say I love you.

No, I had to go and fuck it all up because love isn’t safe. Not with the Davenports. Not with my last name, or my father watching every damn move I make.

I told the old bastard I ended things. Told him Blaze was out of the picture, so he didn’t need to be touched. And he agreed. Smirked like he won. But the moment I asked for my title back, for the seat at the Empire—he laughed in my fucking face.

“Prove yourself,” he said. “Then we’ll talk.”

So now I’m left with nothing. Not the company. Not the power. Not the man I fucking love.

I grab the glass of whiskey I’ve barely touched and down it in one go. It burns like hell. Good. I deserve it.

I’m about to pour another when the door opens.

Click.

Heels.

Fuck.

I don’t need to look up to know who it is. That perfume hits before anything else. Too sweet. Like cotton candy dipped in poison.

“Carlo,” Rebecca says. Like we’re friends. Like she didn’t just show up at the worst fucking time. “You didn’t answer your phone.”

I look at her. Still dressed up like she’s going somewhere expensive. Like she has a brand to protect. Her eyes scan me for a second, and maybe she sees something in my face because her smile twitches.

“You look like shit,” she mutters, stepping inside like she owns the place.

“Thanks,” I mutter, voice dry.

She shrugs. “Just being honest. Look, I’m only here because we have that gala tonight. You know, the one your father said we should be seen at. Public appearance and all. Remember?”

I blink at her.

Gala.

Right. That fucking thing.

I don't answer. Don’t say yes. Don’t say no.

I just stare at her. At her perfect hair, her flawless makeup, the cold gleam in her eyes. She’s like a punishment carved into flesh. A reminder of everything I did wrong. Of what I gave up. Of who I betrayed.

She walks up to the desk, places a sleek black box on it. “Wear the tux I sent. It’s sharp.”

I look at the box like it’s a fucking bomb.

She turns to leave but pauses at the door. “You know,” she says, not turning around, “if you’re gonna keep pretending to be this heartless bastard, maybe try not looking like the world just punched you in the face.”

Then she leaves.

And I’m alone again.

The silence stretches long. Heavy. The kind that wraps around your lungs and makes it hard to breathe.

I grab the bottle this time. Not just the glass.

My hands shake.

I don’t even know what the fuck I’m doing anymore.

I said it was for his good. That I’m doing all this to protect him. But maybe that’s just the lie I tell myself to sleep at night.

Because right now? He’s in a hospital bed. Alone. In pain.

And I’m stuck in this fucking office, wearing a tuxedo picked out by the woman I’m being forced to marry, heading to some PR stunt gala to make my father proud.

Blaze is right.

I’m a fucking coward.

But I still love him.

God, I still fucking love him.

And that’s the worst part of all this.

I never stopped.