Page 183 of Carnal Games

Roughly brushing my tears away, I drag myself into the closet and change into a cami and shorts. Crawling into bed, I stare at the ceiling and wait for Nathan to fall asleep. I’m not letting Kian push me away without a fight.

***

The apartment is dead silent when I sneak out of my room at midnight. The guest bedroom is shut as I bypass it with my heart in my throat. I tread warily to the front door and pull it open.

Letting go of the breath I was holding after shutting it behind me, I cross the hall and put in the passcode to unlock Kian’s apartment door. I was scared he changed it.

Deathly silence greets me, like I’m stepping into a void.

Every inch of the place is squeaky clean with no sign of life. I walk toward the master bedroom, intent on confronting Kian. In case he’s at The Mirage, I’ll stay here waiting all night if I have to.

The invisible tether that connects me to him, ever since the first time I saw him, tells me he’s here. I let the pull guide me.His door is ajar when I reach it. Nudging it open, I find it empty with the bed still made. No sound comes from the bathroom.

I’m disappointed he’s nowhere to be seen when I startle at the thudding noise coming from the ceiling.

His home office! He must be there.

Dashing toward the staircase, I climb upstairs, and a cold gust of wind blows my hair. The slider door to the rooftop pool is wide open. Gazing out at the water fountain wall, I find the area deserted. Wandering down the dimly lit hallway, my heartbeat doubles the closer I get to his office.

I have no clue what version of him I’ll see.

Cold and quiet?

Angry and vicious?

Upset and hurt?

The troubling thoughts soon disperse as I turn into the doorway and screech to a standstill.

Standing over his desk in the same black dress shirt as this morning and matching slacks, he holds a glass tumbler with brown liquid swirling inside it. Just to the side sits a half-empty bottle of scotch.

He’s been drinking? For how long?

I didn’t even know he had alcohol at home because I’ve never seen him drink in all the time we’ve lived together.

Did I push him to this?

I restrain myself from rushing to his side. Nervous, torn, heartbroken, words fail me. In the semi-darkness and the stillness of the room, I study my beautifully broken and misunderstood man.

It’s like I’ve time-traveled into the past because the same heaviness surrounds him like a black cloud as when I saw him under the tree in the park.

I did this to him.

Head hanging low, tension curls around his broad shoulders and down the length of his spine. The sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his long fingers clench around the glass. Pain erupts in my belly when I notice a bandage around his knuckles.

I step forward.

“Leave, Iris.” His cold command strikes through the air.

I accept his ire but keep moving forward.

“I said. Go. Back,” he repeats without looking my way and downs his drink.

Another step.

“I’m warning you.”

I eat the distance, causing his head to snap in my direction. His jaw is gritted so harshly that it could cut glass. Whereas his eyes, they’re devoid of any soul. How many emotions is he feeling and how hard is he burying them?

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