I call Leo. He answers. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“What’s the name of this club?”
“Vintage AZ, but you won’t be able to come here. The penthouse is locked.”
“What’s your problem?” I shout.
He chuckles. “I just wanted to thank you, dear sister, for letting me know about Iselyn’s wedding plans.”
“You fucking asshole. You’re taking revenge. Open the damn door of this penthouse or I will break every single thing here!” I scream like a madwoman.
“I can’t open the door. Zo locked it. And you can break whatever you want if that makes you feel better. See you.” He says with annoying calmness before cutting the call.
I call Zoan’s number again. This time he picks.
“Where are you?” I shout, my throat raw from shouting at Leo.
“What happened?” he asks urgently.
“Come home within ten minutes or you won’t find me here. Even if I have to kill myself to get out.” I cut the call and fling my phone onto the bed.
I pace the room. How could he do this? He kissed me yesterday, and now he’s with another woman. Oh, how could I forget, he’s the same man who said everyone can forget their love. So it doesn’t even take twenty-four hours for him to move on.
The hurt knots in my throat. I swallow it down. It rises again.
After ten minutes, there’s a knock on my door. I open it. He enters and takes me in from head to toe.
“What happened?” he asks with a frown.
I turn, go to the bed, grab my phone, open the image, and hold it up to him.
He exhales, the tension drains from his posture. “It’s not what it looks like. She sat on my lap, I told her to get up and get lost. She kept flirting, so I threw her away. She’s now in hospital with broken bones. If you don’t trust me, go and check.”
I will kill Leo.
I set my phone down. “Why weren’t you answering my calls?” My voice is hoarse from overusing my vocal cords.
“My phone was with Leo. I was in a deal.”
I’m going to kill him. Now.
“Where is he?” I ask.
“In his room.”
I walk past him, step out of my open door, and reach his room. I try the knob, it opens. I step inside.
He’s sitting on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, tapping on his phone. Relaxed, as always.
I stomp closer and glare at him, hands on my hips. I’m not killing him only because he’s my brother and, perhaps, because I honestly don’t know how.
“Why did you do that?” I demand.
He smirks. “Did you feel the burning inside you while imagining him with someone else?”
His smirk fades into something less humorous, and my thoughts of demanding answers retreat, tails tucked, from the room. My body wants to follow them as well.
