Chapter 76
Carlo
“Long time no see, baby.”
I don’t even look up. I don’t need to. That voice—smug, syrupy, and fucking rehearsed—cuts through the air like perfume choking out oxygen. I finish signing the document in front of me, take my goddamn time, then finally lift my head.
There she is. Rebecca. Dressed like she walked off a magazine cover and into my nightmare.
“Didn’t even call me once all these years,” she adds, like I’m the villain in some story she’s been playing in her head.
I lean back in my chair and toss the pen on the desk like I’m already bored. “We broke up. What the fuck was I supposed to call you for? Catch up on how many men you’ve screwed since?”
Her smile twitches. Fake. Like everything else about her. She crosses her arms and steps closer, not breaking eye contact. She’s always been like that—pushing buttons for sport.
“Mm. That’s cold. Especially from a man who suddenly agreed to marry me. What changed, Carlo?”
I shrug. “My father wants it. That’s all. Don’t read into it. It’s not about you.”
She scoffs, but she’s still smirking like she’s got something on me. “Not about me? That’s rich. Your father picked me, Carlo. Out of all the polished society girls and models who would slit a throat to wear your ring, he picked me. That’s gotta count for something.”
I cock a brow. “To him, maybe. To me? You’re just the most manageable option. You smile on cue, you wear the right heels, and you don’t ask questions about where I go at night.”
She huffs a laugh and drags her hand along the edge of my desk, slow, like she’s trying to provoke something. “Jesus. No wonder they say you’re a heartless bastard.”
“I am,” I say flatly. “Especially to people who think they mean more than they do.”
There’s silence for a beat. Her face stays composed, but her eyes flash. She hates being reminded that she doesn’t get to crawl under my skin anymore.
“You’re right,” she says eventually. “This isn’t about love or romance. It’s about power. Name. Control. Your father gets a picture-perfect engagement. I get a last name that turns heads. You get to keep fucking whoever you want.”
My jaw clenches, but I stay quiet.
She sits across from me like this is some fucking casual business meeting. “Three weeks. That’s what we’ll tell him. We’ll have the engagement in three weeks. Flash the ring, pose for photos, smile at the right angles.”
I narrow my eyes. “You sure you can keep up the act that long?”
She grins. “Babe, I’ve been acting since I was twelve. I’ve played better parts than this. Trust me, I won’t ruin your precious image.”
I let out a short, humorless laugh. “You never cared about image. Just control.”
“And you never cared about anything at all.”
There it is. The little sting in her voice. The desperation under the sass. She wants this marriage more than she lets on. She wants the name, the lifestyle, the status. And maybe—she wants me to look at her like I used to.
But that guy’s long gone. The one who gave a shit.
“You’ll get the ring,” I say finally. “But don’t mistake it for a heart. That’s not on the table.”
She doesn’t flinch. Just brushes imaginary lint off her skirt. “I never expected it to be.”
I stand up, pushing my chair back. My voice drops. “Good. Because if you ever try to play house with me, I’ll make your life a living hell.”
“Likewise, sweetheart,” she says sweetly. “But let’s be real. You already gave your heart away, didn’t you?”
I pause. “Careful.”
She walks to the window, pretending to admire the view but throwing the real punch without looking at me. “He’s cute, you know. Blaze. That’s his name, right?”
My blood spikes. “You’ve got ten seconds to stop talking.”
She turns around slowly, not scared, just annoying. Always fucking annoying. “What? I’m just saying. I saw a photo. He’s got that scruffy, rebel vibe. Bet he screams your name like you invented sin.”
I step around the desk before I realize it, my voice low and sharp. “Did you fucking look into me? You ever mention his name again, I’ll make sure your face is the last thing the press ever wants to see.”
She smirks, not backing down. “Touchy.”
“You don’t know a fucking thing about him,” I snap.
“Right,” she drawls, stepping closer. “Because you keep your little secrets close. But I’m not stupid, Carlo. You agreed to this engagement out of guilt, not desire. You’re scared of what your daddy will do, scared of losing the company, scared of the headlines.”
I grit my teeth. “I’m not scared of shit.”
“No?” She tilts her head. “Then tell him. Tell your father to fuck off. Tell the world you’re with Blaze, not me. But you won’t. Because deep down, you know he’s your weakness, and I like that… I need to thank him, he made me get what I wanted.”
I stare at her. Hard. My fists tighten, but I don’t say shit. Because maybe—just maybe—she’s not wrong.
She steps back like she won the round, even though she’s still nothing but background noise in my real life.
“Three weeks,” she says again, voice smug. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Fine.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t get in your way,” she says, reaching for the door. “I know I’m not the one who keeps you up at night.”
She walks out like she owns the fucking floor.
The second the door clicks shut, I drop back into the chair, every nerve buzzing. I rub my face with both hands, trying to breathe, trying not to punch a hole in the goddamn wall.
She said his name.
She fucking said Blaze’s name like it was a joke. Like he’s some kind of dirty little secret. And maybe he is, to this fucked-up world I live in, but not to me.
He’s real. He’s the only fucking thing that’s felt real in a long time. Every time I look at him, it’s like the bullshit quiets for a second. Like I can breathe. Like maybe I don’t have to keep living this lie.
But now… three fucking weeks until I put a ring on a woman I don’t even like. Smile for cameras I want to smash. Dance around feelings I’d rather bury alive.
I grab my phone. Hover over Blaze’s name in my contacts. No messages. No calls.
I haven’t told him. Haven’t said a word about the engagement. About Rebecca. About the war going on inside my fucking head.
Because how the hell do you explain this kind of betrayal?
I could lie. Say it’s nothing. Say it’s just for business. That he still matters. That I’m doing it for us.
But he’ll disappear if he finds out. He always fucking does.
My chest tightens, and for a second, I feel like I can’t breathe.
What the fuck am I doing?
I slam the phone down and bury my face in my hands.
It feels like I’m shooting myself in the foot.