Page 100 of I'm sorry, Princess

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, pulling Sienna into a hug. She holds onto me tightly, her body trembling slightly from the weight of everything she’s just told me. We both had an awful night, hell, an awful freaking week. And the alcohol isn’t doing either of us any favors. My head is spinning, my emotions all over the place, and I know hers are too.

“Let’s make that spa day a weekend,” I say, pulling back and giving her a soft smile. “I think we both need it.”

She nods, forcing a small smile, but her eyes are still glassy. She’s barely holding it together, just like me.

“Let’s get out of here,” she sighs, rubbing her temples. “It’s late, and I can’t stand being in this place a second longer.”

I couldn’t agree more.

“I’ll drive,” I offer quickly. Lie. I can barely see straight from the drinks, the crying, the shock of being handed a damn marriage contract, and worst of all, the lingering heat from him. From his hands on my body, the way he held me like I belonged to him, the way he looked at me like I was his world and his prey at the same time.

I shove the thought away.

Sienna gives me a skeptical look but nods. “Fine. But if you crash my car, I’ll haunt you in the afterlife.”

We walk towards the parking lot, both of us too drained to even make conversation. But as we approach Sienna’s car, my steps falter.

Someone’s sitting on the hood, arms crossed, exuding pure dominance.

Not just anyone.

No, not Lorenzo. But someone close to him.

I freeze. My stomach tightens with unease, but not fear. I’ve seen this man before. I don’t know his name, but I know who he is.

He was there that day.

The one who walked into the room like a fucking ghost and shut off the cameras. The one who freed Lorenzo from his cuffs like it was nothing. The one with the cold, unreadable expression that sent shivers down my spine.

And now, here he is, perched on Sienna’s car like he owns it.

He’s as tall as Lorenzo, maybe even taller. Built like a soldier, a warrior, a man who could kill with his bare hands and not blink twice about it. But unlike Lorenzo, he has no tattoos marking his skin. He’s clean, sharp, like a blade that’s never dulled.

His hair is black, neatly cut, his face impossibly sharp, all angles and edges. And those eyes, those gray eyes, are cold, calculating.

But he’s not looking at me.

He’s looking at Sienna.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Serena

We stand in front of the car, and he doesn't move. He’s just there, arms crossed, expression unreadable, his entire presence radiating cold indifference. The way he watches us, like he has all the time in the world, sends a shiver down my spine.

I clear my throat. “Uhm, excuse us?” My voice is polite, hesitant, with the slightest hope he’ll step aside.

He tilts his head slightly, like I just said something amusing. “You’re excused,” he says flatly. And then, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “Now get in the car.”

What the actual hell?

I open my mouth to argue, to tell him we don’t need him to play chauffeur, but then reality kicks in, we're both drunk, and neither of us can drive. Sienna shoots me a look, silently telling meto pick my battles.

He extends his hand, palm up, waiting. “Keys.”

I blink down at my hand, where I still have a tight grip on them. How does he always manage to make everything sound like an order? Huffing, I slap the keys into his palm, and without another word, he slides into the driver’s seat. Sienna hesitates for a second before taking the passenger side, leaving me in the back.

This is beyond weird. The tension in the car is suffocating, thick like smoke, and no one says a word as he starts the engine. I can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t just a ride home, it’s something else entirely.