Chapter 232
“And I slapped him so hard my palm still stings,” she whispered. “Then I slapped her. For wearing my robe.”
“Justified,” Justin said quietly from the fireplace.
Carmen snapped her head toward him, her eyes narrowing.
“You think it’s funny? The end of my life?”
“I think it’s the beginning,” he said, his tone even and unhurried. “His appeal was always a mystery.”
𝗡е𝘄 𝗰h𝖺𝗽𝗍еrѕ 𝘦𝗏еr𝘆 we𝘦𝘬 𝗼𝘯 𝗴𝖺𝘭n𝗼𝘃𝘦𝗹𝗌.𝘤оm
Carmen blinked. The remark seemed to short-circuit her grief for a moment. She reached for the bottle again.
“I need to get drunk,” she announced. “Obliteration drunk.”
“I’ll join you,” Jocelyn said, reaching for a glass.
Gaston rubbed his temples. “I’ll order pizza. It’s going to be a long night.” He glanced toward the hallway. “Let me check on Aaden first and make sure his noise-canceling headphones are on. His room is in the east wing, so he shouldn’t hear any of this.”
Justin didn’t move. He stayed where he was and watched Carmen pour another drink. Her hair was a mess, her nose was red, and she looked like she wanted to burn the world down.
He watched her with a quiet, focused intensity — a predatory gleam stirring behind his eyes.
She’s finally single.
Two hours later, the living room smelled of pepperoni and expensive cognac. The empty pizza boxes were stacked on the coffee table like a cardboard tower.
Carmen was lying on the rug, staring up at the chandelier. The crystals were spinning — or maybe the room was.
“I should call him,” she mumbled, the words thick and heavy on her tongue. “I should tell him he’s a worm.”
She fumbled across the rug until her hand found her phone.
Jocelyn lunged for it. “No drunk dialing. Rule number one.”
Carmen dodged her hand with surprising agility. “I need closure!”
She unlocked the phone. Her vision was blurry, but muscle memory knew the number. She hit dial and put it on speaker.
The ringing filled the room. One ring. Two.
“Hello? Carmen?”
Quentin’s voice was desperate, breathless.
“You are a fungus!” Carmen yelled at the phone.
A low, dark chuckle came from the armchair where Justin sat.
“Carmen, baby, please let me explain,” Quentin pleaded. “It was just stress. The wedding planning — it got to me.”
“Stress?” Carmen screamed. She tried to sit up and fell back onto the rug. “You slept with your assistant because of stress?” She flung an arm toward the ceiling. “I’m stressed too! Do you see me sleeping with the mailman?”
“Who is that laughing?” Quentin’s voice shifted, sharpening with sudden jealousy. “Is there a man there?”
Justin leaned forward. The leather of the armchair creaked.
“Yes,” Justin said clearly. “There is.”
“Who are you?” Quentin demanded.
“I’m the man who is going to treat her better than you did,” Justin said, his voice smooth and cold as ice.
Carmen squinted up at him from the floor, her brow furrowed. “Who?”
Justin rose from the chair. He walked over to where she lay on the rug and lifted the phone from her loose grip.
.