Page 114 of Broken Deal

But I told her. I told her I was tired. I shared all of my secrets with her. So why would she still write something like this?

Because it’s the truth. You’ve been lying to yourself this whole time. It’s time to wake up and face reality.

I shake my head, trying to shut off my sadistic fucking brain. I’m trying to breathe through the tightening in my chest. In and out. But it’s no use. The insecurities are crawling their way up, threatening to pull me under. It’s so easy to let them. To let them drown me. To accept love—reallove—was never in the cards for me. To accept that Sophia, like everyone else I thought I could trust, took advantage of me.

Fuck.

“I need to get out of here.” I push back from the table, already half-standing.

Matteo’s voice stops me for a moment. “And what are you going to do? You’re in no state to talk to her right now.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” I snap, storming out of the restaurant.

The walk back to the hotel is a blur. My mind is a mess, too loud and too hurt to think straight. Anger starts to simmer beneath the surface, barely held in check. But I need to confront her—Ihaveto. Even if it destroys me.

When I reach the hotel, I take a deep breath before opening the door, hoping it will steady me. But the second I step inside, the charged air between us stirs everything back up. The anger, the hurt, the betrayal—it crashes over me all at once, suffocating.

Sophia looks up, standing abruptly. “Lorenzo?—”

I raise my hand, cutting her off. “Saveit,” I seethe, my voice sharper than I mean it to be. “Why’d you do it, Sophia?”

“You think I did this? Seriously?” She frowns, confused.

I make the colossal mistake of looking at her. Her eyes, those hauntingly beautiful blue eyes I’ve come to love, are glossy with unshed tears. But the sadness in them claws at what’s left of my heart—and not in a good way.

I ignore her question, too focused on my self-destructing anger. “Was it really necessary to write something like that?” I snort a humorless laugh. “I mean, I knew you were good, but even for you it’s a little too far, don’t you think?”

I’m not thinking straight. Anger, shame, and self-preservation are trying to take over, and it’s easier for me to let it. To destroy. After all, that’s all I know how to do, right? I’m ruthless. Careless. I don’t care about anyone. Might as well live to the fucking reputation.

“Lorenzo, I didn’t write that article. YouknowI wouldn’t.” Her voice cracks, barely above a whisper.

“It sure doesn’t look that way from where I’m standing.” I wave my phone in the air, pointing to the screen. “Your name is right here, clear as day.”

“I don’t know what happened, but I will get to the bottom of this. Just… Can you please trust me?”

I pace the room, dragging a hand through my hair, avoiding her gaze like it burns me. I can’t look at her anymore. It physically hurts. “I thought I could trust you. I thought…” My voice falters, threatening to break.I thought you loved me. But I can’t say it. “I don’t know what to think anymore, Sophia.”

She steps back, her breath catching like my words slapped her. Words—they’re the most dangerous weapon when wielded right. And I’m losing control, letting them tear through her, through us.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? After everything, you don’t trust me?” Her voice trembles, disbelief coloring her expression.

I shake my head, my voice tight with anger. “Ididtrust you, and look at where it got me?—”

“I didn’t write it!” she yells, frustration seeping into her tone.

“And I don’t fucking believe you!” I roar back, my own voice harsh and unyielding.

“Wow.” Her laugh is sharp, almost bitter, and there’s a hint of breathlessness in it. “So… That’s it, then?”

“Yup.” It’s all I can manage, my voice tight as I struggle to keep the knot in my throat from breaking free.

She takes another step back, her face twisting with hurt, a fierce glint flashing in her eyes. “Out of all the people in the world, I thought you’d be the last one to hurt me.”

“Back at you,” I spit.

I can’t control the words that keep coming out of my stupid mouth. The insecurities, the doubt—they’re too loud, drowning out every rational thought. The words I need to say, the ones that could stop this, are trapped, stuck in my throat.

And maybe I don’t want them to come out. Maybe it’s easier to let go, even when I feel like I’m holding the shattered pieces of my heart in my hands, bleeding from the jagged edges. Even though, deep down, a part of me knows if I stopped for one second, if I could let the rational side of my mind catch up—I’d maybe be able to see the truth. But I can’t. It’s easier believing people think the worst of me, because that way, I never give them a chance to see the real me.

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