Larissa's POV
The simple statement hung in the air between us, delivered in that calm, authoritative voice that somehow made it feel like an absolute truth rather than just a polite consolation.
We pulled up to Denise’s building, a modest brick structure that looked shabby compared to the luxury surrounding us. She turned in her seat before getting out, fixing Carson with that bold stare of hers.
“You know, you seem like exactly the kind of man my friend needs right now.” She gestured between us with zero shame. “Successful, protective, clearly a gentleman. Just saying.”
“Denise!” Heat flooded my cheeks.
She held up her hands innocently. “I’m just saying, life’s short. And honey,” she looked at me pointedly, “you deserve someone who sees your worth.”
Carson’s lips twitched slightly—the first crack in his perfect composure I’d seen all night. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You better.” Denise opened the door, then leaned back in. “Larissa, text me when you get home. And forget about Wesley. He’s not worth the tears.”
She slammed the door and bounced up the steps to her building, leaving us alone.
The car felt smaller suddenly. More intimate. I was hyperaware of every breath, every small movement he made as he pulled back into traffic. The silence stretched between us, not uncomfortable exactly, but charged with something I couldn’t name.
“Your friend is… direct,” Carson said finally.
“That’s one word for it.” I stared out the window, watching the city blur past. “I’m really sorry you had to witness all this drama. Your night probably didn’t include rescuing strangers from street thugs and hearing about their relationship disasters.”
“You’re not strangers anymore,” he said quietly. Something in his tone made me look up, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror. “And for what it’s worth, your friend is right. You do deserve better.”
My breath caught. The way he looked at me when he said it, like he could see something valuable that I’d forgotten existed. Like I was worth rescuing.
We drove in comfortable silence after that. The city looked different from inside this expensive cocoon. Cleaner. Safer. Like the ugliness couldn’t touch us here.
When we reached my building—a run-down structure that looked even more modest next to his obvious wealth—Carson turned off the engine.
“I’ll walk you up.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I do.” He was already getting out of the car.
My building’s flickering fluorescent light in the lobby cast sickly shadows on the chipped tile floor. I fumbled with my keys, acutely aware of his presence behind me and the stark contrast between his perfectly tailored suit and my shabby surroundings.
“Thank you,” I said when we reached my door. “For everything. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t shown up when you did.”
“You don’t need to thank me.” He stood there, hands in his pockets, looking impossibly elegant against the dingy hallway. “What happened tonight wasn’t your fault. None of it.”
The kindness in his voice almost undid me. After hours of Wesley’s cruelty, of feeling stupid and worthless, this stranger’s simple compassion hit me like a physical blow.
“Your ex-boyfriend was a fool to lose you,” Carson continued, his voice dropping lower. “Any man would be.”
My heart stuttered. The way he looked at me when he said it—intense, unwavering—made me feel seen in a way I hadn’t in months.
“I should go,” I whispered.
He nodded. “Goodnight, Larissa.”
The way he said my name sent a shiver down my spine. Deep, careful, like he was memorizing it.
I slipped inside my apartment and leaned against the door, listening to his footsteps fade down the hallway. Only when I heard the building’s front door close did I finally breathe.
My apartment felt smaller than usual. Shabbier. The walls seemed to press in around me as the events of the night crashed down all at once.
I kicked off the red heels that had pinched my feet all evening. The dress came next—the tight red fabric that Wesley had picked out, insisting I wear it to make him look good. I peeled it off and held it for a moment, remembering how proud he’d seemed when I’d put it on.
“You look perfect,” he’d said, adjusting the neckline to show more cleavage. “Exactly how I want you to look.”
How he wanted me to look. Not how I wanted to look. Not what made me feel confident or beautiful. What made him look good.
I walked to the kitchen and stuffed the dress into the trash can, watching the red fabric disappear under coffee grounds and yesterday’s takeout containers.
In the bathroom mirror, my reflection looked like a stranger’s. Makeup smeared, hair wild, eyes red from crying. This was who Carson had seen tonight. This broken, desperate version of myself.
I washed my face and changed into pajamas, trying to scrub away the memory of Gold Tooth’s hands on me. Of Wesley’s betrayal. Of my own stupidity for not seeing the signs.
But as I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, it wasn’t Wesley’s face that filled my mind. It was gray eyes and a voice like smoke. The way Carson had looked at those men like they were insects. The quiet authority that made them back down without him raising his voice.
The way he’d said my name.
I’d been working at Gary Enterprises for months now, steadily climbing from intern to junior marketing manager. In all that time, Carson Gary had been a legend—cold, brilliant, untouchable. The kind of man who lived in a different universe from people like me.
And tonight, he’d rescued me. Driven me home. Told me I deserved better than the man who’d thrown me away.
But what did it mean? Was I just another good deed for him? A stranger he’d helped and would forget by morning? Or was there something in those intense gray eyes that suggested otherwise?
I rolled onto my side, pulling the covers up to my chin.
Anyway, I was such a mess tonight. God, I hope he doesn't recognize me the next time we see each other.