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She gently pries my fingers from her sweater, her touch grounding. “Do you love him?”
I close my eyes, my heart constricting with the weight of my emotions. “Yes,” I whisper, a lone tear escaping my eye.
“Then you should find a way to work through this with him,” she advises, her words a lifeline in the tempest of my conflicted feelings. She rises, and before she opens the door, she says, “I’m sorry, Charlotte.”
As the door swings open, Sara reveals Desmond, who looks imposing and controlled, with a mask of calm on his face. His dark eyes assess me, raking over my body. His hair is tousled, as though he’s been running his fingers through it in frustration, and he has stubble on his jawline. Dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, he’s utterly captivating.
I let out a weary sigh and slowly stand, my body aching. Hobbling over to him, I hear him mutter something about stubborn women before he sweeps me off my feet. I don’t protest, too tired and sore to resist.
Desmond remains silent and brooding as he carries me out of Sara’s house and down to his car. The passenger door is ajar, a sign that he thought ahead, and he gently slides me into the seat, buckling me in before softly closing the door. Despite my promise not to run, I can see the concern in his eyes, as if he suspected I might change my mind.
As he slips into the driver’s seat, I turn to him. “I didn’t run,” I say, wanting to reassure him.
He shuts his door, his jaw clenched tightly, the tension in the air palpable. The unspoken words between us are heavy, a storm of emotions swirling beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed.
“I needed to work it out in my head,” I tell him, my words tumbling out in a rush. “Why did you kill Joey?”
Desmond doesn’t drive like Lyric. Instead, he takes it slow as he heads toward the mansion. Sighing, he reaches for my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine. “Joe was a pain in my ass,” he begins, “He was my best friend, and when he caught wind that my mother arranged a marriage between Jani and me, he lost his shit. It didn’t matter how often I assured him that wouldn’t happen, he didn’t believe me.”
He pulls my cold hand to his mouth, tenderly kissing my knuckles.
“You didn’t know they were seeing each other?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.
“No one knew. They were smart about it,” he replies, his gaze fixed on the road. “They kept it to themselves and were discreet. They avoided my cameras and my men. If he had just confided in me, we could have worked it out.” He glances at me, shadows dancing in his eyes. “When Jani got pregnant, Joe spiraled, thinking I was going to take her from him and kill their baby.”
I let my head rest against the seat, my eyes fixed on Desmond as he works through his feelings.
“I tried so hard to convince him otherwise, but he went to Sal and somehow convinced him to call his father, who offered them a deal,” Desmond continues, his voice filled with regret. “I took Joe that night to find out what he told his grandfather, not just to prevent them from taking off. I never meant to kill him, and I didn’t.”
I can feel the weight of his unspoken words, the guilt and pain he carries. “What happened?” I prompt gently, wanting to understand the full story.
“Joe luckily didn’t get a chance to tell his grandfather everything, but he gave up enough, telling them what state we were in. If he had left that night, he would have given everything up,” Desmond explains as he turns onto the driveway leading to the mansion.
“Sal put the bullet in his own son’s head, choosing his chosen family,” he continues, the bitterness of the truth evident in his tone.
“I’m sorry,” I offer, my heart heavy with the knowledge of the brutal choices that have shaped their lives.
“Don’t be,” he responds firmly, his eyes fixed on the mansion ahead. “This is our life, Charlotte. These are the choices we have to make, the hard choices that no one wants to make.”
I can’t help but question further. “Why did you have Lyric kill Sal?”
“I told you why,” he says, repeating the explanation he gave me weeks ago.
“Jani said he was going to give her up.”
“His guilt was eating at him. He wanted to make things right,” Desmond explains, his gaze falling to my knuckles. “I couldn’t take the chance that he’d give us up to his father or my grandfather. Knowledge is power in this world, Charlotte, and I have to kill to protect it, no matter the cost.”
The brutal reality of their world sinks in, and I realize that these choices are born out of necessity rather than desire. The lines between right and wrong are blurred, and Desmond’s commitment to protecting those he loves has led him down a dark path that he can never escape.
I nod gently and squeeze Desmond’s fingers, feeling a deep sense of sorrow for the lives affected by the choices made in this dark world. “What happens to Simon?” I inquire, my voice trembling. The thought of another innocent child being drawn into this nightmare is almost too much to bear.
Desmond looks up at me, his eyes haunted by the knowledge he carries. I can see the weight of his words pressing on him, and I need to know the truth, no matter how painful it may be.
“Just tell me,” I demand, my voice steady but determined.
“Simon was the one who lured Milo out of the bathroom,” he says, dropping a bombshell I never expected. My heart aches as I process the information. “Milo was eager to help and told us everything while you were healing.”
I rub at the ache in my chest, my mind racing to understand the implications of this revelation. “He’s gone, Charlotte,” Desmond states, his voice heavy with regret. “Simon wasn’t at the hangar. He wasn’t anywhere.”
