Carlos stormed into his apartment, still fuming. His muscles were tense, his fists aching from the impact of Ryan's face. He barely noticed the pain—only the memory of Cee's voice echoed in his head.
"Ryan, just leave!"
She had pleaded for him. Not for Carlos to stop for his own sake, but for Ryan's.
He growled under his breath, yanking off his jacket and throwing it onto the couch. He wanted to smash something, to drown out the thoughts in his head.
A sharp knock at the door pulled him from his rage.
Scowling, he ran a hand through his hair and walked over, yanking it open.
His father's secretary, Mr. Grant, stood there, his face impassive. Behind him, a black car idled at the curb, the driver waiting.
Carlos' jaw clenched. "What do you want?"
Grant adjusted his tie. "Your father requires your presence at the estate this weekend. The charity gala is tomorrow, followed by the formal gathering in the evening. Your attendance is not optional."
Carlos exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. "Of course it isn't," he muttered.
Grant continued, his tone professional. "Your father has also arranged a date for you. The minister's daughter, Laura. You are to ask her to be your escort."
Carlos' gaze darkened. "And if I refuse?"
The secretary remained unfazed. "Then you'll deal with the consequences your father deems appropriate."
Carlos scoffed. He could refuse, but his father would make things hell for him. He would drag his business into it, interfere with his investments, and make him regret his defiance in every way possible.
"Fine," Carlos bit out. "Let's go."
Without another word, he grabbed his keys and walked out, slamming the door behind him.
As the car pulled away, he didn't know that just minutes later, Cee would arrive, searching for him.
Cee's Side: A Door That Wouldn't Open
Cee stood outside Carlos' apartment, her heart pounding. She had run all the way here, desperate to fix what had just happened. The memory of his cold expression, the way he had brushed past her as if she were nothing, gnawed at her.
She knocked on the door.
Silence.
Her brows furrowed. She knocked again, louder. "Carlos, please. I know you're mad, but we need to talk."
Still nothing.
Cee stepped back, biting her lip. His car was gone. He wasn't home. She had expected him to come straight here in his anger, but it seemed she was wrong.
Her hands trembled as she pulled out her phone, dialing his number. It rang... and rang... but he didn't pick up. She tried again. No answer.
Her chest tightened. Carlos never ignored her calls. No matter how mad he was, he always answered—until now.
Feeling helpless, she leaned against the door, sliding to the ground. She needed to explain, to make him understand that she never meant to take Ryan's side. She had just been scared—scared of the violence in Carlos' eyes, scared of what he might do.
But he hadn't given her a chance.
She exhaled shakily and opened their chat. If he wouldn't answer, she had to put everything into words.
Cee: Carlos, I know you're mad, but please listen to me. I wasn't defending Ryan. I just didn't want you to do something you'd regret. Seeing you like that... it scared me, not because I thought you'd hurt me, but because I knew how much you'd hate yourself later. I don't want you to be the guy who loses himself in rage. Please, just talk to me. Let me explain in person. I love you.
She hesitated before pressing send.
Now, all she could do was wait.
Carlos stepped out of the car, his shoes clicking against the polished marble of the estate's grand driveway. The air was crisp, the night quiet, but the weight on his chest only grew heavier as he walked toward the towering mansion.
The butler opened the door before he even reached it, bowing slightly. "Welcome home, Master Carlos."
Carlos gave a curt nod before stepping inside, his eyes instinctively scanning the vast living room. Everything was as pristine as ever—gold-trimmed chandeliers, imported Italian furniture, and an overwhelming sense of emptiness.
And then he saw her.
Vivian, his mother, sat on one of the velvet chairs, swirling a glass of red wine in her hand. The glow from the chandelier above cast sharp shadows on her face, highlighting her ageless beauty. She was always effortlessly elegant, always perfectly put together—always indifferent.
Carlos stopped a few feet away, hesitating for a moment before speaking.
"I'm back," he said, his voice even.
Vivian didn't look up.
She continued swirling her wine, eyes fixed on the deep red liquid as if it held the answers to the universe. The silence stretched, growing heavier by the second.
Carlos swallowed the irritation rising in his throat. He should be used to this by now. The cold glances. The quiet disapproval. The way she always treated his brother like the perfect son while he was merely… tolerated.
But no matter how many years passed, it still stung.
"How's my father?" he asked, forcing his voice to remain casual.
Vivian finally lifted her gaze, her expression unreadable. "Busy."
That was it. No questions about how he was doing. No warmth. Just that one-word dismissal.
Carlos clenched his jaw. He had long stopped expecting anything more, but that didn't mean it didn't bother him.
Nodding stiffly, he turned toward the staircase. "Goodnight," he muttered, knowing she wouldn't respond.
And she didn't.
As he climbed the stairs, the weight on his chest only grew heavier.
He didn't understand why she was like this. Why she had always favored his brother, why no matter how hard he worked to impress his parents, she always looked at him with that same distant gaze.
What had he done to make his own mother hate him?
He would never know.
.