Page 50 of F*ckboys

"Fallon," I whisper, my voice cracking with emotion.

No matter how hard I try to fight it, the truth remains: I've lost her, and all I have left is the emptiness that comes from knowing she's gone. In this dark space, my thoughts are my own worst enemy, taunting me with memories of a love that's now out of reach.

"Get it together, Aksel," I tell myself firmly. "You'll be fine. There's someone else out there for you." But even as I say the words, I know that they're lies, hollow attempts to mask the pain that refuses to be silenced.

As I continue to work and push my body to its limits, the days turn into nights, and the darkness in my heart growsever deeper. And all the while, Fallon remains unreachable, her absence a constant reminder of the love we once shared, and the actions and inactions that tore us apart.

My heart races as I pace the floor of my office, phone in hand. The weight of Fallon's absence remains a relentless burden on my soul. It's been weeks since we last spoke. I can't shake the image of her teary eyes from my mind, and it fucking kills me.

"Damn it," I mutter under my breath, slamming my fist against the desk. I need to get out of here, away from these walls that only serve to remind me of what I've lost. But where would I go? What could possibly distract me from the deafening silence that has taken hold of my life? Neither work or the gym—the two things in my life that typically give me solace—are working.

My phone beeps.

Carissa: Jesus, Aksel. You look like shit.

I glance around as if expecting to see her hiding in a corner. Three dots flicker on my screen to indicate another message is incoming. She's one of those people who messages a few words at a time and takes up the whole screen.

Carissa: I saw you rushing by

Carissa: downtown

Carissa: with your face in your phone earlier.

Carissa: Tried to call out

Carissa: but you were absorbed in a call

Carissa: or something.

Carissa: Anyway…

Carissa: We need to talk.

The messages continue to flood in. Lucky for her, phone companies don't charge by the message these days. I frown, scrolling through her lengthy note. It's filled with warningsabout corporate espionage within my company, details she's apparently uncovered during her own investigations.

Given she's a PR executive I'm not entirely sure why she's involved in my business, but she occasionally forays into investigative journalism and she does have a reputation for enjoying digging up a scandal, so it's not entirely implausible she funded an investigation on a whim. Still, I'm skeptical. It's only when I see mention of Kent Farrington and Isabella Warner's names in the messages that my interest is truly piqued. Carissa insists we meet:

Carissa: Meet me at Luna's.

Carissa: I'll fill you in.

Carissa: Too busy to text

Carissa: and

Carissa: This is too important

Carissa: to discuss over the phone.

My instincts scream at me not to trust her, but desperation takes hold and I agree. I'm deeply invested in the family company and bear a great sense of responsibility to address any speculations of wrongdoing, especially knowing about the secretive operations that go on behind the scenes. At the very least, this unexpected development might offer a temporary reprieve from the constant ache in my chest.

Aksel: Fine. But you'd better be telling the truth.

Carissa: Of course. Why wouldn't I? ??

Carissa: Meet you at 8pm.

Carissa: Luna's on 8th.

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