The tension from the ballroom still hung heavy between them.
Carmen could feel Marco’s rage simmering beneath his calm exterior, his fists clenching and unclenching as he pulled her through the hallway, away from the party.
She didn’t fight him.
Not because she wanted to go with him—
But because she knew he wouldn’t stop until he had said whatever he needed to say.
He led her into a dimly lit lounge, a quiet bar tucked away from the main ballroom. The soft glow of amber lights made everything feel too intimate.
Carmen crossed her arms, glaring at him.
“What the hell do you want, Marco?”
He didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, looking more frustrated than ever.
Finally, his dark eyes locked onto hers.
“I regret it, Carmen.”
Carmen froze. “Regret what?”
“Everything,” Marco said, his voice low, raw. “The way I treated you. The way I didn’t believe you. The way I threw you out like you meant nothing.”
Carmen felt something in her chest twist painfully. But she refused to let him see it. Instead, she let out a cold laugh.
“Wow. The great Marco actually admits when he’s wrong? I should record this moment.”
Marco’s jaw tightened.
“I’m serious, Carmen.”
“So am I.”
They stared at each other, the silence thick between them. Then Marco sighed, stepping closer.
“I know I fucked up.” His voice was quieter now, almost hesitant. “But I’d do anything to fix what we had.”
Carmen flinched.
“What we had?” she repeated, her voice laced with bitterness.
Marco hesitated.
“Carmen—”
“No,” she cut him off, stepping away. “You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to act like you cared. If you did, you would’ve believed me. If you did, you wouldn’t have humiliated me. If you did—”
Her voice broke before she could finish. She hated herself for that. Marco’s expression darkened.
“I never stopped caring about you, Carmen.”
Carmen let out a shaky breath, shaking her head.
“I don’t want to hear this,” she muttered.
And before Marco could say another word—
She turned on her heel and headed straight for the bar. Carmen slid into an empty barstool and gestured for the bartender.
“Whiskey. Neat.”
The bartender hesitated for a moment, glancing toward Marco, who had just taken the seat next to her.
“Make it two,” Marco said, his voice flat.
Carmen ignored him, reaching for her glass the second it was placed in front of her.
The first sip burned down her throat—but it was a good burn.
The kind that made her forget. Forget the anger. Forget Marco’s words.
Forget the fact that no matter how much she hated him, a part of her still felt something.
“Slow down,” Marco muttered as she downed the rest of the drink and signaled for another.
Carmen scoffed. “What do you care?”
Marco sighed, rubbing his temple. “I care because you’re already a lightweight. And because you’re going to feel like shit tomorrow.”
Carmen smirked, grabbing the second glass.
“Good.”
Marco watched her, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Is this your way of punishing me?”
Carmen turned her head toward him, her eyes blazing.
“Marco, if I wanted to punish you, I’d do a hell of a lot worse than having a few drinks.”
Marco leaned closer, his breath warm against her cheek. “Tell me, then. What would you do?”
Carmen swallowed hard, but she didn’t back down.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she whispered.
Marco’s gaze darkened. “I would.”
They stared at each other, the air between them charged, suffocating.
Then Carmen grabbed her drink and turned away. “Go to hell, Marco.”
Marco chuckled, taking a sip of his own whiskey.
“I’m already there, sweetheart.”
Carmen was drunk. Not falling-over, slurring-her-words drunk—
But reckless, uninhibited, dangerously honest drunk. Marco had to practically carry her out of the bar and into the car.
“Put me down,” she muttered as he helped her into the backseat.
“Shut up and sit still.”
Carmen leaned against the leather seat, closing her eyes.
“I hate you.”
Marco sighed.
“I know.”
The ride back to the estate was silent except for Carmen’s slow, uneven breathing.
When they arrived, Marco stepped out first and walked around to her side.
“Come on.”
Carmen groaned, refusing to move.
“Too tired.”
Marco rolled his eyes before lifting her into his arms. “You’re impossible,” he muttered.
Carmen’s head fell against his shoulder, her breath warm against his neck. She mumbled something, too soft for him to hear.
“What?” he asked, adjusting his grip on her.
Carmen let out a sleepy sigh.
“You were supposed to love me.”
Marco’s steps faltered. His chest tightened.
She then grabbed his face and kissed him.