Chapter 153: False Alarm
Nico
"I can’t explain everything over the line!" Dami said, his panicked tone sending fresh waves of terror through me. "Just get over here right now, Nico! Please! I’m sending you the location. Don’t waste time!"
Before I could ask another question, the line went dead.
My heart pounded against my ribs like a trapped animal. What could have happened to Alaric? Was he hurt? Was it an emergency? Had he crashed during an unannounced test run? A thousand horrifying scenarios flashed through my mind, each one worse than the last. The lingering bitterness of our argument evaporated instantly, replaced by a suffocating fear. It made me remember the crash that happened two years ago.
Has another happened to him?
I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard, and as I sprinted back to the table, my mind raced with frantic prayers, hoping to whatever higher power was listening that he was going to be fine.
"Nico? What’s wrong? You look pale," Sophia said, standing up immediately as she saw my face.
"I have to go. Something’s wrong with Alaric," I blurted out, not waiting for her reply as I grabbed my jacket and bolted out of the club.
Outside, my private driver was waiting. I threw the door open and gave him the coordinates Dami had just texted me. The car tore through the night, leaving the city lights behind and winding deep into a secluded, private estate surrounded by dark forest.
The moment the car screeched to a halt outside a sleek, ultra-private glass building, I dialed Dami’s number again.
"Come straight up to the top floor. Penthouse," Dami instructed tersely.
I didn’t wait for the elevator doors to fully open before I sprinted down the private corridor. The penthouse door was unlocked. I pushed it open hard enough to bang it against the wall, stepping inside with my chest heaving.
Dami was standing right there in the entryway.
"What the hell happened to Alaric?!" I demanded, stepping up to him and grabbing him by the jacket collar, my voice raw with panic. "Where is he?! Is he conscious?!"
Dami didn’t panic. He simply looked at me, raised an eyebrow, and offered an unbothered expression. "See for yourself," he said quietly, gesturing toward the main living area.
I let go of him and pushed past, my pulse hammering in my ears as I braced myself to see something terrible.
Instead, I froze dead in my tracks.
The image in my head—of a hospital room, of an injured Alaric—shattered instantly.
The entire open-concept penthouse was lit by the soft, golden glow of dozens of flickering candles. The air wasn’t thick with the sterile smell of antiseptic, but filled instead with the aroma of freshly cooked food—garlic butter, seared steak, rich herbs. In the center of the room sat a beautifully set dining table, complete with crystal glasses, a chilled bottle of wine, and carefully arranged plates.
Standing right beside the table was Alaric.
He wore a soft, casual beige sweater, his dark hair slightly messy, holding a serving dish in his hands. Hearing my footsteps, he looked up. His hazel eyes met mine—warm, soft, and completely unharmed.
A small, tentative smile tugged at his lips. "Hello, Nico."
For a few seconds, my brain refused to process the scene. The adrenaline, the fear, the racing heartbeat—it all collided with the calm, unexpected reality in front of me.
Then instinct took over. I crossed the distance between us in two quick strides. I grabbed Alaric by the shoulders, my hands sliding down his arms, checking his hands, his face, his neck.
"Are you okay?!" I gasped out, my voice cracking. "Are you hurt?! What is this?! What’s going on?!"
Alaric stood still under my frantic hands, offering a gentle, reassuring nod. "I’m okay, Nico. I promise you, I’m completely fine."
The moment the words registered, the fear drained away—and anger took its place.
I turned toward the door, where Dami was leaning casually against the frame, watching us with his arms crossed.
"Are you out of your mind?!" I yelled at Dami, my hands clenching into fists. "You called me sounding like he was dying! You made me think something terrible had happened to him!"
Dami held up both hands in mock surrender, grinning without a trace of apology. "Hey, don’t look at me like I’m the villain here!" he said, chuckling. "I just did what had to be done because you two idiots refuse to stop fighting and talk like adults. Look around—you’re in a private penthouse in the middle of nowhere. You’re completely safe here. No media, no cameras, no teammates, no press. So enjoy yourselves, boys. Sit down, eat, and make up instead of staying miserable in separate corners of the world. I am tired of your dark energies around me. Just Kiss and Make up!’’
Dami turned and grabbed the door handle.
When neither Alaric nor I said a word, caught in the tension of the room, Dami glanced back over his shoulder and laughed.
"Wow. Forgot about me already, huh? You’re welcome, by the way."
The front door clicked shut, leaving behind an absolute silence.
The quiet was heavy. The scent of the candlelit dinner drifted between us, but the space between us carried days of unspoken words, unresolved heartbreak, and desire.
I stood there, my back still half-turned from where I’d yelled at Dami, my chest heaving as I tried to pull my scattered emotions back together. My knuckles still ached from where I’d punched the wall in Miami, but the ache in my chest was worse.
I slowly turned back to face Alaric.
My voice was barely more than a whisper, trembling. ’’You scared the hell out of me, Alaric."
Alaric took a slow step closer to me. The tentative smile on his face faded, replaced by an expression of affection and quiet regret. He looked at me with those hazel eyes, taking in every line of exhaustion on my face.
"I’m sorry," Alaric whispered softly, reaching out his hand just enough to brush his fingers against mine, waiting to see if I would pull away. "I’m so sorry, Nico. Please... let’s talk over dinner."