My Dark Romeo: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance(117)

The worst part was, although I loathed Dallas for acquiring my love, I still worried about her. Even after everything she’d said about me to Franklin, I wanted to be by her side. Hold her hand. Tend to her.

I was wrong.

I’d never loved Morgan. What I’d felt toward her was ownership and entitlement.

This. This was what love felt like. Like an organ of mine was in someone else’s hand, and I couldn’t retrieve it if I tried.

I hated every moment of being in love with Shortbread.

But that didn’t make it any less true.





I stumbled through Costa Industries’ rotating doors, bumping into the sober, stone-faced oaf. Unfortunately, I wasn’t drunk enough to fucking hallucinate.

Yes, it was Madison Licht, standing before me in all of his five-foot-seven glory.

Or rather, modesty.

“Well, well. What do we have here?” The frigid air lashed at both of us, but since he shared the same pallor as a melted snowman, his cheeks were the only ones to turn clown-red. “Getting into the Christmas spirit by solo drinking?”

“Not everyone can bask in the pleasure of seeing their company crumble to rubble. How’s Licht Holdings doing, by the way?” I palmed my phone, calling an Uber.

Five goddamn minutes.

“We’ll bounce back.” Madison ground his molars. “We always do.”

“Word around town is, in addition to your mounting legal troubles, you’ve also failed more audits than the Pentagon. If only you knew a financial expert with nearly a decade of experience in Defense.”

“I’d rather die than accept help from you.”

“I was hoping for that option.” I flicked the empty whisky bottle into a nearby trash can. “Let’s proceed with your untimely death.”

“So smug.” His nostrils flared as he sneered at me through a mist of red fury. “You think you’re so untouchable, don’t you?”

I knew he’d leaked my failed demo to the press. That he thought he’d done something other than handed me one giant wrapped gift ahead of Christmas.

I barked out a laugh. “Oh, I’m touchable. Your ex-fiancée touches me all the time. Everywhere. She’s delectable. Thanks for that, by the way.”

Madison advanced, fisting my collar, something he’d never do—or get away with—had I been sober.

His rotten carp breath rained down on my nostrils. “Don’t forget that I know your little secret. That Morgan revealed all your deepest, darkest fears to me before she fucked off.”

“My secrets can’t kill me,” I said, realizing for the first time that it was true.

The past was just that—the past. As unbearable and painful as it was.

He released me, brought his thumb to his neck, and sliced it across, holding eye contact the entire time.

“But I can.”





I woke up on Christmas Day with a raging hangover and a text from Frankie, unsure which of the two was worse.

Franklin Townsend



Momma and I are leaving tomorrow.





You better come here and take care of your wife, or I swear to God, you will have nothing to return to.





I am going to wreck your entire house, Costa.





Rage certainly ran in the Townsend blood.

I continued day drinking, ignoring the Townsend women while they tried to reach me on my phone, through Zach, and his landline.

Obviously, I’d arranged for Hettie and Vernon to arrive a few hours before Natasha and Franklin were due to board a plane back to Georgia. They’d take care of Dallas while I wallowed on Zach’s couch.

At some point, I grew bored of drinking and staring at the walls and ventured out of his place. The bitter cold nipped at my face as I trudged through unplowed snow.

A ghost town of closed bars and restaurants met me at every turn. I roamed through the streets until frostbite formed on my cheeks, then returned to Zach’s place and caved, bending to my heart’s will.

Romeo Costa



How is she doing?





Franklin Townsend



Come and see for yourself, jerk.





Romeo Costa



I’m busy.





Franklin Townsend



So am I.





Don’t text me anymore.





Damn her.

A sleepless night followed the miserable day.

Once the sun skulked up the sky and I glanced at my watch, realizing Frankie and Natasha had already taken off to Georgia, I called Hettie.

“Are you there?” I paced the living room, wearing out the rug beneath my socks (the Sun household enforced a strict no-shoes policy). “Is she okay?”

“Good morning to you, too.” I heard the crunch of melted snow and ice crushing under her boots. Her labored breaths heaved across the line. “Actually, I’m stuck in New York because of this shitty-ass weather. Buses and trains are down. They’re only now salting the roads, so—”

“And you’re telling me now?” I roared, darting to my shoes and shoving them on, policy be damned. I laced them in record time, already slipping into my coat. “Vernon won’t be there until afternoon. Dallas is all by herself.”