Chapter 89

Chapter 89
Carlo

"Repeat it again, slower this time," Dad says, pinching the bridge of his nose like he’s already embarrassed by me.

I clear my throat, grip the notecard like it's a goddamn lifeline, and try not to sound like I’m dying inside. “Rebecca... meeting you felt like fate... You’ve taught me that love is—”

“No.” He cuts me off. “Stop there. You sound like a fucking hostage. This is a wedding, Carlo, not a boardroom announcement.”

Rebecca laughs softly from across the room. That annoying, fake-ass little chuckle like she’s not living for every second of this. “It’s okay, Father. We’ll get it perfect before the ceremony.”

'father'? He was Uncle to her before, when did she start calling him father. I want to punch a wall. Maybe throw myself into one instead.

Instead, I force a smile and look down again. My fingers twitch. My phone is hidden under the notecard, resting against my leg. The screen lights up every few minutes with race coverage, muted but running. I watch it like I’m not watching. Like I don’t give a shit that Blaze is out there right now, living the life I said goodbye to.

My eyes catch a shot of him on the track. Helmet on. Focused. Feral.

He looks fucking incredible.

And I feel like shit.

Mom walks in, hair curled and pinned, wearing pearls that probably cost more than my soul. “My baby,” she says, eyes welling like this is supposed to be a beautiful moment. “You look so handsome.”

I don’t say anything. I can’t.

She straightens my tie. “You’re doing the right thing, Carlo. You promised me. No more running. No more chaos.”

I think about Blaze—how chaos felt like home. How it smelled like sweat and metal and cinnamon gum on his breath. How it tasted like his mouth on mine, angry and desperate and fucking real.

I nod anyway. “Yeah. No more chaos.”

Lying comes easy when it’s all you’ve got left.

Dad claps his hands once, commanding the room. “Ten minutes. Everyone, let’s give the groom some space.”

They shuffle out like well-trained dogs.

Rebecca stays. Of course she does.

She walks over, trailing that sickly perfume she wears to mask how empty she is underneath. “You okay?” she asks, like she’s not forcing me into a marriage I never wanted.

I want to scream. Instead, I look at her. Hair curly. Flawless makeup. The kind of face my dad thinks sells magazine covers and legacy deals. She’s exactly what they want.

And I’m the asshole who said yes to all of it.

“Yeah,” I lie again.

She leans in, fixes my boutonnière. “Smile, babe. We’re gonna be a power couple. The press already loves us.”

I flinch at the word babe. Blaze used to call me that when he was mocking me, but somehow it always sounded like a nickname. With Rebecca, it just sounds... hollow.

She kisses my cheek and leaves.

I’m finally alone.

The second the door clicks, I grab my phone and turn the volume up just a little. Blaze is mid-race. The announcer’s losing his shit. “Blaze’s back like he never left, ladies and gentlemen!”

Goddamn right he is.

He’s flying down the track, sharp, lethal. There’s something savage about the way he rides. He’s not racing—he’s punishing the road. Every turn, every corner, it’s like he’s bleeding something out.

I can’t breathe.

It should’ve been me out there. Not in a suit, not in this fucking room rehearsing vows I don’t mean. I should be where I belong—on that track or in that pit, watching him tear the world apart like he always does.

I swipe away a notification from Dad. He’s probably checking on me, making sure I haven’t run off again.

I almost do.

My chest feels tight. I undo my tie, yank the damn thing off and toss it onto the couch. I pace the room like that’s gonna help. It doesn’t. The air feels stale. My skin itches in this overpriced tux. Every second ticks louder in my skull.

The crowd roars from the stream. Blaze just took the lead.

I grip the back of the chair and close my eyes.

I fucked up.

Not just by choosing Rebecca. Not just by giving in to my father. But by thinking I could survive this without Blaze. That I could pretend what we had wasn’t real just because it didn’t fit the world they wanted me to live in.

I see his face. That last night. The way he looked at me—heartbroken and pissed and so goddamn in love.

He said he’d never forgive me.

I don’t forgive me either.

A knock at the door.

I stiffen, wipe my face even though I’m not crying. I can’t afford to cry. That would make this real.

“Sir?” my assistant’s voice. “They’re ready for you.”

I grip the phone one last time, watching as Blaze disappears behind a cloud of smoke, his name flashing on the leaderboard. First place.

I swallow hard.

I want to message him. Text something stupid like I saw you. Or You’re still mine.

But I don’t.

Because I’m a coward.

I slip the phone into my jacket, breathe once, and open the door.

The hallway’s bright. People are lined up. Rebecca’s father is shaking hands, photographers already snapping shots. Mom’s talking to some senator’s wife. Everyone’s buzzing.

It’s a fucking circus.

“Ready?” Dad asks, stepping beside me. He adjusts his cufflinks, smug as hell. “This is everything we worked for.”

Worked for? You mean sold me for.

But I just nod. “Yeah.”

His hand clamps my shoulder. “Proud of you, son. You did good.”

I want to throw up.

The music starts. That sappy violin shit. The kind that makes women cry and men pretend they care.

Rebecca walks in. Everyone turns. Cameras flash. Her dress sparkles. She looks like a goddamn trophy. She smiles at me like she’s already won.

I don’t move.

My feet feel cemented. My stomach’s in knots. I swear the chapel’s spinning.

I glance sideways. The sun’s peeking through the stained glass, casting colors across the floor. It makes everything look fake. Dreamlike.

Like I’m not really here.

Blaze’s name still echoes in my head. The roar of the crowd. That look in his eyes when he told me to go. When he gave up on me because I made him.

I take one step forward.

Then another.

The officiant starts talking. Rebecca’s smiling. Dad’s watching me like a hawk. I can’t even feel my hands anymore.

I’m supposed to say something. Vows. Words. Promises.

But all I can think is—

He’s not here.

He should be.

And I’m about to marry someone I don’t love.