Chapter 15
Calhoun’s POV~
My shoulders slumped the second I saw her step in. Not Elodie. Not even a glimpse of her, not even a single chance to fix what I’d broken. Just Carmela, striding in with that ugly, twisted expression. My chest turned sour, and I sank back into my chair, staring past her like she wasn’t even there.
Her face was red, like she’d been hit. I didn’t need anyone to tell me what had happened. She’d overheard. She knew. That heat in her eyes, that sharp glare, I recognized the storm.
She rounded the table, slowly, and planted herself in front of me. Her voice cut through the office. “Seriously? Calhoun? Seriously? Elodie, again? What the fuck is wrong with you and her? Tell me the truth, you have a thing with her? Why do you keep mentioning your Gamma’s name every single time?!”
I didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t answer. This moment wasn’t hers. It wasn’t for her. My spirit had already left my body the second I realized it wasn’t Elodie. Nothing made sense anymore. Carmela was air, annoying, meaningless air but I wanted her gone all the same. I sighed, slowly, deep, and frustrated. She didn’t care. She still pressed on.
“Calhoun! Answer me! Are you into her?!” Her yelling grew desperate.
I parted my lips, tried to speak, but nothing came out. My voice had abandoned me. I closed my mouth again, sighing, again, and again.
Then she lost it. Her hands knocked over the chair beside her. Tears streamed, her words spilling. “Elodie is a nobody! Why the hell are you still clinging to her? You love her? She’s a gamma! Not even up to wash my feet! Is she the one that has caught your interest now? I knew it right from the moment I saw her. She always wanted to be in your pants! But she’s gone now, Calhoun! Why can’t you get your mind off her now!”
I didn’t flinch. Didn’t react. Her rage, her accusations, they were not meaningless to me. She had always expected me to bow, to panic, to care. Not today. Not now. Not anymore. I watched, distantly, coldly, as her fury consumed her, my chest tightening at the thought of Elodie instead of her.
Carmela’s hands flew across my desk, pushing papers, knocking pens and folders to the floor. She screamed, cried, banged her fists against the wood. And I remained eerily calm. Watching. Waiting. Detached. She stopped only when she noticed I wasn’t panicking, that my gaze had pinned her like prey.