Chapter Fifty-six
Mikkel
“Love doesn’t just sit there, like a stone; it has to be made, like bread, remade all the time, made new.”
~ Ursula K. Le Guin
M onday morning hit with the weight of responsibility, the kind that settled in my bones before my first sip of water. The usual rush of work felt even more overwhelming this time.
My mind was stuck on Abigail. She wore a mask of despair, and no matter how much she assured me she was fine, I knew better. I just hoped she’d eventually let me in on the burden she carried. There was a hollow silence between us, and it was eating me alive.
As I walked into the office, my phone buzzed with a call from her.
“Hey.” Her voice trembled, wrapping around me like a fragile thread, barely holding together.
Why the fuck did it sound like she was crying ?
“Hey, baby. Everything okay?”
“Can you come home early tonight?” Her voice was laced with an urgency that set off alarm bells in my chest.
“I was already planning to, mi reina . 189 ”
“Good. I just need to talk to you about my anxiety, about everything.”
The way she spoke, so carefully, made my heart clench.
“Who hurt you?” The question slipped from my lips, sharp and desperate.
A pause hung between us, thick with unspoken pain, and I could almost hear the cracks in her heart. Then came the hitch in her breath, a sound that shattered me. It was as if I could feel her tears, and my resolve wavered.
“Mikkel…” she whispered, and the sound wrapped around me like a vice.
“So help me God,” I vowed, my voice low and fierce. “Whoever hurt you won’t get to do it a second time.”
“I don’t want to talk about it over the phone.” Her voice quivered, and I could picture the tears glistening on her cheeks. “Tonight, when we’re together.”
“Okay.” My heart thundered in my chest. “But remember, I love you.”
“I don’t think you love me as much as I love you.” Vulnerability dripped from her words, and I felt the air thicken with her despair.
Impossible. How could she think that?
“No one could ever love you more than I do.” My voice burned with urgent conviction. “You are mi todo 190 , Abigail. Never forget that.”
The moment I came off the phone, Morison approached me and the air felt heavier, as if it knew something I didn’t. As long as my girlfriend wasn’t happy, there was nothing to fucking smile about.
“Good morning, Mr. Suarez,” he greeted me warmly. “How are you today, sir? Sapphire will be out of the office today.”
“Morning,” I replied, barely glancing at him, and I entered my office, the door shutting a little more aggressively than I had intended.
My eyes landed on a brown envelope lying dead center on my desk. There was no indication of its origin or stamp, just my name and office address scrawled in an unfamiliar handwriting. My heart sank, a sickening premonition twisting in my gut.
Have fun with her. I sure as hell did.
Who the fuck was this?
I ripped it open, hands trembling, and pulled out a thumb drive and two glossy photographs. The first one hit me like a punch to the gut—Abigail with Joshua. But this was from the past. Her nails were almond-shaped, not coffin-shaped. Her hair was more burgundy than copper.
But fuck, none of those details made this any easier to stomach.
What kind of man would do something like this to a woman?
I put the thumb drive in my laptop and before it hit the ten second mark, I knew what it was. A sex tape. Then, another small note fell out from between the photos. I unfolded it, my breath catching in my throat as I read the words.
Get out before she finds another cock to suck.
The world tilted, and I grasped the edge of my desk to steady myself. The words seared into my brain, each letter a brand of agony.
I felt an anger so fierce it seared through my veins, leaving a trail of bitterness. But above all, it was the hurt that drowned me, a suffocating wave of anger that left me gasping for air. My office felt like a prison, the walls closing in on me.
“ Tienes que estar de cona , 191 ” I cursed. “ Este hijo de puta . 192 ”
Was this why she was off? Had Joshua threatened her ?
Without thinking, I shot to my feet, the chair screeching against the floor. There was no way I could focus on work while rage burned through me, hot and unrelenting. Grabbing my keys, I stormed out, my pulse pounding so hard it drowned out everything else.
“Cancel everything, I’ll be out of office.”
“Sir,” Morison called after me and I didn’t even stop. I couldn’t stop.
The drive to Xander Tower was excruciatingly slow, and for the first time in my life, I broke every fucking stop sign. My heart raced as my thoughts pounded in my head like a drum. As I finally pulled up outside the building, I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself.
I strode into Dillon’s office, a storm brewing inside me as I saw him, Azzaria and Arnoldo seated. Arnoldo looked up from his phone, his expression shifting from pleasant to concerned in an instant.
“Mikkel? You look—”
“No digas ni una palabra más, Reyes, 193 ” I interrupted, brushing past her.
Dillon leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow at me as he rubbed Azzaria’s stomach. “You’re speaking Spanish,” he said, stating the fucking obvious. “Who pissed you off?”
I turned to Azzaria. “Can you please stay with Abigail?”
She crossed her arms, suspicion flickering in her eyes. “What did you do?”
“ Nada . 194 ” I tossed her my apartment keys, the gesture almost frantic. “Just... please.”
“What happened to my best friend, Mikkel?”
Dillon cleared his throat, sensing the tension. I shot him a look, and he shrugged, his expression unreadable.
“Precious,” he said, looking at Azzaria.
She opened her mouth to protest, but Dillon leaned in. “My love, please. This… this looks se rious.”
Her gaze flickered between us, then she softened, nodding slowly. “I’ll go, but if I find out you did anything to hurt her, there will be one less Hispanic billionaire in the world.”
“I wouldn’t dream of hurting her,” I promised, sincerity pouring from me as she left.
Dillon looked up, his expression now hardened. “Please tell me what the fuck is happening.”
I took a deep breath, glancing at Dillon and Arnoldo then launched into the chaos of the past few weeks: her anxiety, sadness, the sex tape, the messages, the notes. As I recounted each detail, I could feel their disbelief and anger growing. Dillon’s jaw tightened, and when I finished, he ran a hand through his hair, frustration radiating off him.
“The last man who did that with Azzaria is rotting in his grave,” Dillon said, his voice low and fierce.
Arnoldo nodded, processing. “What do you want to do about it?”
“ Homicidio 195 isn’t far from my mind,” I admitted, the rage simmering beneath the surface.
Dillon’s eyes glinted with a dark humor. “Chris!”
His assistant appeared at the door, looking puzzled. “Yes, Mr. Xander?”
“Clear my schedule for the weekend,” Dillon ordered, a dangerous smile creeping onto his face.
Chris blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Uh, all of it?”
“Yes,” Dillon replied, his tone brooking no argument and Chris walked out.
Arnoldo’s brows raised in surprise. “What are we going to do?”
Dillon leaned back in his chair, a wicked grin spreading. “We have a young man to find before he sets foot outside the country.”
Arnoldo glanced between us, skepticism etched on his face. “Are you sure about this?”
Dillon turned sharply to me, intensity in his gaze. “Suarez, what would you prefer? Mope or fucking do something?”
“Option two, Xander.”
“Then let’s fucking go,” Dillon said, his voice a rallying cry.
Arnoldo pushed back his chair, determination creeping into his features. “Alright, then. At least you have the best lawyer representing you.”