Chapter 19
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Ruby came in without knocking. She always does that when she wants something. “Torren,” she said, all breathy and fake concern. “You’ve been drinking too much again. Let me help you relax.”
She slipped onto my lap without waiting for permission, and her hands slid over my chest.
“Get off!”
She leaned in, pressing her body closer. “I can make you forget her. Let me remind you what it’s like to be wanted.”
I snapped. I shoved the glass aside and stood, making her stumble off me.
“You will never be her,” I said sharply. “No matter how hard you try. You will never touch
what she had.”
She blinked, hurt flickering in her eyes. Then she straightened her back and tossed her hair over her shoulder.
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“She was never yours to begin with, Torren. You just used her. You think she stayed because she loved you? No. She stayed because she had nowhere else to go. She was broken. She was begging for scraps. And you let her starve.”
도
I stepped forward, close enough that she backed into the wall.
“She was never yours to compete with,” I said low and deadly. “Don’t confuse her silence with surrender. She owned this house more than you ever will.”
Ruby swallowed and looked away.
I left her there and walked to the bedroom, but I couldn’t sleep. I stared at the ceiling until 3 AM, then grabbed my phone like a fucking addict and typed it out.
“You’re mine, Therese.”
Sent.
I stared at the message. Read it ten times. Waited for the dots to show.
They never came but instead, I got a notification.
Number blocked.
I threw the phone across the room and watched it smash against the wall. Pieces scattered across the floor like glass bones. My heart was pounding and my hands shook with rage.
She blocked me.
She fucking blocked me?!
I stormed out of the bedroom and went down to the private bar. Ruby followed, her voice trying to sound sweet.
”
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“Torren, please stop this. You’re better than this. Let’s just go back upstairs and-”
I turned and shoved her hard against the wall. Not enough to hurt, just enough to shut her
- up.
“Get out of my sight, Ruby. Before I lose what little patience I have left.”
Her eyes filled with tears. She looked like she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. She turned and walked away, barefoot and silent like a ghost.
I poured the whiskey. No ice. No glass.
Just the bottle. And I drank like I was trying to kill something inside me. Because she was supposed to be mine. And I was supposed to be the one who walked away first… Not her. Never her.
The place was called The Crooked Wolf. My private bar. No press. No fans. No Ruby.
Just me, my liquor, and the kind of rage that sat in my gut like acid.
I was already on my third bottle when I grabbed my phone and called Mico.
“Get your ass here. Now.”
He didn’t ask questions. That’s why I kept him. Thirty minutes later, he stepped into the dim room, nodded at the bartender like always, and made his way to the back booth.
I didn’t move. Just leaned back on the leather seat… one arm stretched across the top, the other gripping a half–empty bottle of scotch like it was the only thing keeping me grounded.
“You called, boss?” he said, calm as ever.
I let the silence stretch for a second. Then I spoke, voice low, cold, certain.
“Find Cleo. Find where Therese is hiding my son.”
He blinked. “You want me to-?”
“I want you to track her down. Use her security. Her friends. Her damn maid’s phone if you have to. I don’t care how. I want that kid. I’m going to use him to bring her back. She’ll crawl if I hold what she loves.”
But Mico didn’t nod like he usually did. He hesitated. Scratched the back of his neck and looked away.
And just like that, I knew something was wrong.
“What?” I snapped. “Why are you quiet? Say it.”
He sighed, heavy and tired. “You’re not gonna like this, boss.”
I stood, the bottle still in my hand. My voice dropped, sharper now. “Say it, Mico.”
He looked at me then, as if the words physically hurt to carry. But he said them anyway.
“Your son’s gone”
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“Your son’s gone.”
Everything stilled.
“Gone where?”
He swallowed hard. “Dead.”
I blinked. I felt the word hit me, but not sink in. Not yet. “What?”
“Cleo… he died. Last week. After Jude’s birthday party. It was sudden. At the hospital. He didn’t make it.”
For a long second, I just stood there. Then I moved.
I lunged forward and punched Mico so hard in the jaw he staggered, knocking over a stool on his way down. His lip split open, but he didn’t complain. Just wiped the blood away like it was nothing.
“You’re lying!” I shouted. “You’re fucking lying, Mico! Why the hell didn’t anyone tell me?” He didn’t flinch. Didn’t raise his voice. Just reached into his coat, pulled out a folder, and tossed it onto the table between us.
“Because you weren’t listening to anyone, Torren,” he muttered. “You stopped answering calls unless it was about your stocks, your brand deals, or Ruby.”
I snatched the folder open. My hands shook.
Medical reports. Discharge summaries. A death certificate. A photo of a child–sized urn. The date was printed at the top in cold, clinical ink.
Same day I was laughing with Ruby at that rooftop party.
The same day I posted her in my stories. Toasted champagne. Let myself forget that Therese existed–even just for a few hours.
My knees gave out. I didn’t even feel myself fall. Just hit the floor, clutching the pages, rereading them as if the truth might rearrange itself on the third or fourth time through.
“He was dying…” I whispered. “And I didn’t even know.”
And then, fuck help me, I remembered.
I remembered Therese that morning, standing in the doorway with our son in her arms, sobbing. I remembered the fear in her eyes. The panic. She said his lips were turning blue. That he wasn’t responding. That something was wrong.
And me?
I told her to stop being dramatic. Said she was using Cleo to get my attention again. I accused her of crying wolf, like always. I told her I’m with Ruby and cutted off the call.
