Page 147 of I'm sorry, Princess
Clara spots me instantly. She’s already moving, her heels clicking fast against the floor. “Serena—” Her voice is tight, panicked. She grips my arms, her eyes darting over me like she’s checking for injuries. “What happened? Are you hurt? What’s—”
“Where is he?” My voice cracks, the desperation tearing through every syllable. “Where’s Lorenzo?” My gaze sweeps the club again, my throat aching with every frantic breath.
Clara hesitates, and my pulse spikes. “I… I haven’t seen him.” Her voice is uncertain now. “What’s going on?”
“I need to find him,” I choke, and then I see Andres striding toward us, his expression unreadable.
He stops in front of me, and for the briefest second, his eyes soften. “Serena… you need to go.” His voice is low, almost gentle.
“What? No! No, I can’t.” My words spiral into sobs, my whole body trembling. “I need to talk to him, he got something—” My voice breaks, the words catching in my throat. “It’s not true. I swear it’s not true.”
Andres exhales slowly, his jaw tightening. “He’s not himself right now,” he says quietly, almost like he’s trying to protect me. Clara glances between us, her face paling.
“I don’t care,” I whisper, the tears burning my cheeks. “Please… please, I just need to talk to him.” My voice crumbles into pleading, the kind that leaves you hollow afterward.
Clara pulls me into her arms, and I collapse against her. My sobs shake through both of us, the sound muffled against her shoulder. My head spins, my breathing uneven, until the air in the room seems to shift.
And then… I feel it.
I open my eyes.
He’s here.
Lorenzo is walking toward us, and the sight of him knocks the air out of my lungs. His face is blank, utterly void of warmth, of anything resembling the man who told me he loved me in the rain two days ago.
There’s fresh blood on his knuckles. Both hands. His hair falls messily over his forehead, like he’s just run his hands through it again and again. He’s in a black suit, but the shirt beneath hangs open, stained with dark, drying blood. His steps are slow, deliberate, like every one of them is a warning.
The cold in his eyes freezes me where I stand.
My heart physically aches at the sight of him, at how distant, how unreachable he looks. It’s like staring at a stranger who’s wearing the face of the man I love.
Clara loosens her hold but doesn’t leave my side. Andres doesn’t move either, his presence like a silent barrier between us, though I can’t tell if it’s to protect me… or him.
And for the first time, I’m not sure which one of us needs it more.
“Lorenzo…” My voice barely escapes, trembling, but it’s all I can manage.
He doesn’t answer.
The only movement is in his hand, the envelope, crumpled and wet with streaks of blood. My stomach twists at the sight of it, knowing what’s inside.
“It’s not what it looks like,” I say quickly, desperately. “I promise, please, let me explain.”
His gaze locks on mine, sharp and glacial. “Did you fuck him?”
The question cuts through me like a blade, the ice in his tone sharper than the words themselves.
“What? No! Of course not!” My breath comes in shallow gasps. “How could you even say that? I never—”
“Is this what you’ve been doing all this time?” he interrupts, voice low but lethal. “While your father was trying to destroy me from the outside…” His knuckles whiten around the envelope. “…you were doing it from the inside?”
There’s hurt in his eyes, hidden under the steel, but it’s there. That’s what breaks me most.
“I could never hurt you!” I cry, my voice cracking so hard it physically hurts. “They lied! I could never marry Ian. I don’t feel anything for him! I only lo—”
“Don’t fucking dare finish that sentence.”
The words land like a punch to my ribs. My knees feel weak. He doesn’t believe me.
