Chapter 30
THEO
Theo finds Carter near the side of the stage, listening to Naomi as she goes over the cue cards, one by one.
Jake’s there too, arms crossed, looking amused but skeptical as he watches Carter fumble his way through a line about corporate sponsors and community partnership.
When Theo joins them, Carter grins and lifts his hand like he’s about to high-five the sun. “Look who it is! Prince Theo, my man.”
Theo doesn’t smile. He’s not here for jokes.
He moves in quietly, positioning himself behind Naomi, arms folded, every muscle tense beneath the tux. He watches Carter sway a little too much for comfort as he squints down at the cards in his hands.
“The donor shout-outs are in this section,” Naomi says, tapping the middle of the script. “Keep it light, and please—please—don’t improvise anything.”
Carter squints at the cue card like it’s written in another language. “Got it. No jazz hands. Got it.”
Jake tilts his head, frowns. “You good, man?”
“Peachy,” Carter says, flashing a grin that’s loose around the edges.
Theo’s jaw tightens.
Because now that he’s close, it’s obvious.
Carter’s not tipsy. Not charmingly buzzed. He’s drunk.
He’s trying to hold it together, but the words slur. His posture sags before snapping upright again like he knows he’s being watched.
And Naomi knows it too.
She gives Theo a sideways glance, brows raised in question.
“What is happening right now?” she hisses. “Why would Mila switch to him if he’s like this?”
Theo doesn’t answer. Because the answer is Richard.
Richard, who had to throw his weight around. Who couldn’t let Mila’s success go unpunished.
Theo’s fists curl so tight his knuckles pop, his nails biting into his palms. He imagines, just for a second, how it would feel to drive his fist straight into that smug mouth—teeth rattling under his knuckles, the sharp crack of cartilage and bone.
He’d never do it. He doesn’t get that luxury. Not when everything he’s built can be undone by one “outburst” in the wrong room.
But still. The desire lives in him, white-hot and crawling under his skin, so sharp he can feel it in his teeth. He wants it so badly he can taste blood.
Carter fumbles a line again. “Wait, is this the donor guy with the… ah, what’s his name—he’s the one with the wife who has that thing with the dogs—”
“Oh my God,” Naomi mutters under her breath.
Theo takes a step forward. “Carter.”
He flinches, just barely, and looks up.
They lock eyes.
“How much did you actually drink?”
Carter’s smile wavers. “I told her three.”
“Yeah,” Theo says flatly. “So, what’s the real number?”
Carter squints up at the chandelier like he’s doing advanced math.
Theo exhales through his nose. His heart thuds like a war drum behind his ribs.
It’s not Carter’s fault. He didn’t know Mila would ask this of him.
But he can feel the pressure building—the immense weight of everything Mila put into tonight. Months of work. Late nights. Meetings. Planning. Trying to prove herself in front of clients who don’t respect her, and a man who actively tries to sabotage her.
And now it might all come apart because of this.
Because Richard couldn’t let her win without taking something from her.
Because no one protects her the way they should.
Theo’s jaw grinds as he stares at Carter, barely holding it together.
He wants to say a dozen things. Wants to unload.
But instead, he says simply, “You’re not going onstage like this.”
He doesn’t know what happens next.
But he knows one thing for sure. He will not let anyone ruin this night for her.
Not Richard. Not Carter. Not anyone.