Chloe didn't raise her voice. She didn't need to.
She waited until Antonio stepped away from Melissa—just long enough.
The moment she had him alone near the edge of the terrace, away from prying ears, she turned to face him fully.
"How long," she asked calmly, "were you planning to humiliate me tonight?"
Antonio didn't pretend to misunderstand.
He loosened his cufflinks slowly, a habit he had when irritated.
"You're not humiliated," he said. "You're upset."
Chloe laughed softly. "You brought her."
"I brought an associate."
"You brought a woman you can't take your eyes off," Chloe snapped, the restraint cracking at last.
"Do you think I don't notice? The way you stand with her. Touch her. Protect her."
Antonio's jaw tightened.
"Lower your voice."
"Why?" she challenged. "Afraid someone will realize your fiancée is being replaced in real time?"
That did it.
Antonio stepped closer, towering but composed. "Be careful."
"Careful?" Chloe scoffed. "You pinned her to the center of this room and expected me to smile through it. You let people think—"
"I let people think nothing," he cut in sharply.
"You assumed."
Chloe's eyes glistened—not with tears, but fury. "She's your assistant."
"She is far more than that," he said before he could stop himself.
Silence.
Chloe stared at him, stunned.
"You're in love with her," she whispered.
Antonio didn't answer.
He didn't deny it either.
"Don't be absurd "
"That's why," Chloe continued, voice shaking now,
"that's why you've been distant. The canceled dinners. The unanswered calls. The way you look through me."
"This isn't the place," Antonio said.
"No," Chloe replied bitterly. "But this is the truth."
She straightened, lifting her chin. "You've put me in an impossible position."
"You put yourself there when you mistook arrangement for affection," Antonio said smoothly.
"We were never what you wanted us to be."
Her lips trembled. "You promised."
"I promised stability," he corrected. "Not love."
That hurt landed deep.
Chloe looked away, blinking hard, then back at him. "Abuela won't accept this."
"I'm aware."
"And if she forces you to choose?"
Antonio's gaze drifted instinctively across the room—landing on Melissa, laughing softly with Sunny and Ariana, silver dress catching the light.
His answer came without hesitation.
"Then I'll choose."
Chloe followed his gaze. Understanding dawned.
"This will ruin her," Chloe said softly. "Do you really think she can survive your world?"
Antonio's voice dropped, deadly calm. "She already has."
Chloe exhaled sharply, something breaking inside her.
"If you walk away from this engagement… there will be consequences."
"I live with consequences," Antonio replied. "I don't live with regret."
She nodded slowly, committing the moment to memory.
"This isn't over," Chloe said.
Antonio met her stare. "No. It isn't."
She turned and walked away—back straight, pride intact, fury simmering beneath every step.
Antonio remained where he was for a moment longer, chest tight.
Then he went back to Melissa.
This time, he didn't let her go.
Melissa took a sip from the champagne. Her attentionwas focused on Antonio talking to some influential people.
Almost instantly, heat rushed through her veins—too fast, too sharp. Her skin prickled, her breath came uneven.
The warmth wasn't pleasant—it spread too fast, like a fever under her skin. Her pulse thudded in her ears, drowning out the music, the laughter.
The room tilted. Faces blurred. Her body felt heavy and hollow at the same time, like it no longer belonged to her.
She excused herself and stumbled downstairs, gripping the railing.
When she finally reached the quiet hallway, her knees gave out, and she sank to the floor, trembling.
Back pressed against the cold wall, dress clutched in trembling fists.
Her pupils were blown wide. Breathing shallow. Sweat dampened her hairline.
Panic set in. Something's wrong… this drink…
Antonio, noticing her absence, pulled out his phone.
A quick glance at his tracking app showed her location. His chest tightened as he rushed to her side.
His stomach dropped.
"Melissa… what happened?" he asked, kneeling beside her.
"I… I don't know… I feel… hot, dizzy… my body… it's like it's on fire." Melissa whispered. "I only had one sip… from a champagne glass."
Antonio's jaw clenched. One name crossed his mind.
"Chloe," he muttered.
Anger flared first—sharp, murderous—but it was swallowed whole by something far more dangerous when she lifted her head and looked at him.
Not recognition. Need.
"Antonio…" Her voice cracked. "Please. I don't feel good."
She tried to stand. Failed. He caught her before she hit the floor, her body sagging into his arms.
Too warm. Too soft. Her fingers latched onto his shirt like he was the only solid thing left in the world.
The drug was already working on her—confusion bleeding into desperation.
Her body betrayed her, reacting without permission, and the shame in her eyes nearly broke him.
"Don't—" she whispered, breath hitching. "Please don't leave me like this."
Every instinct in him screamed two opposite commands.
Take. Protect.
He scooped her up into his arms.
"Antonio… people will see me like this!" Melissa whispered, her voice a mixture of fear and embarrassment.
"I don't care," he said firmly, covering her with his jacket as he carried her to the car. "We're getting you somewhere safe."
As they drove, Melissa pressed her legs together—instinctively seeking comfort, safety, and warmth.
Antonio kept his eyes on the road. Trying hard not to glance at her.
Both his hands were on the wheel, his mind racing.
"I… I feel so wet," Melissa murmured, her head resting against the window.
"You're going to be okay," Antonio reassured her, his voice low and steady.
"Just breathe." He said without glancing her way.
Melissa slid her hand underneath her dress. The moment her hands touched the right spot she let's out a whimper.
"Fuck." She breathe
"Melissa please don't do this" Antonio pleaded.
"I can't.... help it. It feels... sooo good" She whispered.
Antonio stopped the car too abruptly.
The engine idled, impatient, filling the silence he couldn't breathe through.
He stared straight ahead for a second longer than necessary, hands locked around the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him anchored to reality.
He took off his seat belt.
"Where're you going?" Melissa asked still restless in the seat, unfocused, overwhelmed by sensations she didn't understand and hadn't asked for.
"I'm afraid if i stay here much longer, I'd regret my actions." Antonio said with clenched fists.
"Don't leave me" Melissa pleaded.
"I won't be far away. I just want this to blow over"
Antonio opened the door and stepped out.
The cold night air hit him hard—but not hard enough.
He shut the door with too much care. As if any sudden sound might shatter the last fragile piece of control he had left.
He walked a few steps away from the car and stopped.
Breathe.
He pressed his palms against his thighs, grounding himself. His heart was racing, blood roaring in his ears.
He told himself not to look back.
He failed.
Through the window, he could see her body trembling—her shoulders exposed.
The way she bit her lips. Her face pinched with confusion and need, her movements unguarded, instinctive.
Antonio turned away sharply. Don't watch.
But the image burned anyway.
His body responded before his conscience could intervene, and the realization sickened him.
Desire—raw, undeniable—coiled low in his gut, unwanted and unwelcome.
This is exactly why you stepped away. He squeezed his eyes shut.
This wasn't attraction. This was something uglier.
Something born from proximity, vulnerability, power he never asked for and never wanted.
The fact that his body didn't care about the difference terrified him.
You could hurt her.
The thought was enough to make his stomach twist.
He paced once, twice, then braced his hands against the hood of the car, head bowed.
He counted his breaths like a man defusing a bomb.
She trusts you. She's not herself.
You ruin everything the second you let this happen.
Inside the car, Melissa murmured his name—soft, broken, unaware of what it did to him.
Antonio swallowed hard.
He hated himself for the way it sounded like an invitation.
Hated himself more for knowing he would never forgive himself if he answered it.
"This is not who you are," he muttered—to himself, to the night, to whatever part of him was slipping.
He straightened slowly, forcing the desire down, locking it away behind discipline and guilt and the weight of every promise he had ever made.
By the time he turned back toward the car, his face was calm again.
Controlled. Empty.
He opened the door gently.
"I'm here," he said quietly.
He meant it in the only way that mattered—by staying in control, even if it tore him.
He drove to his penthouse.
He carried her into the bedroom and set her on the bed—but he didn't sit beside her.
He moved away. Putting distance between them like it was a lifeline.
Melissa tried undressing herself.
He clenched his jaw until it hurt.
"Don't... take it off"
She reached for him blindly. "Help me," she pleaded, tears sliding into her hair. "Make it stop. I beg you"
That was a blade to his throat.
If he touched her now—really touched her—it would be unforgivable. Even wanting to was.
"You're not in your right mind," he said tightly, forcing his voice steady. "And I won't be that man. Never."
She shook, confused, humiliated by her own body. "It hurts," she sobbed. "I don't know what's happening to me. I want you"
He turned his back to her for a second—just long enough to breathe through the violence of his thoughts.
To remind himself that wanting didn't give him the right.
When he turned back, his eyes were dark, resolved.
"I'm here," he said. "But I won't touch you like that. I'll get you through this. Even if you hate me for it."
She cried then—not from rejection, but from fear. From the loss of control.
He knelt beside the bed, close enough for her to hear him, far enough to stay safe.
"Look at me," he said softly.
She did.
"Stay with my voice," Antonio continued. "This doesn't own you. You still belong to yourself. And I won't let anyone—including me—take that from you."
Her fingers curled into the sheets instead of him.
And in that moment, the real battle wasn't the drug in her veins.
It was the man who loved her enough to refuse her.