Black Hearted - An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Complete)

Black Hearted: Chapter 53

Jack barely moved off his couch, ignoring the world, watching the light crawl across the painted colourless walls of his penthouse.

The stubble on his chin itched but he couldn't find the energy to walk to the bathroom, run hot water and shave. Besides, his razor was in the ensuite off his bedroom and any time he neared the door, it became difficult to draw a breath.

Around him, other memories of Solana floated before him, and he both craved the sensation and hated it. Disgusted with himself and his weakness for being like this. Disgusted, he'd let himself care. Disgusted how he couldn't stop scrolling through her Instagram account, searching for clues. Nothing in the Delgata Racing Group logo, or the picture of her grandmother's cocadas. They'd eaten them one Sunday afternoon with strong coffee. His stomach rumbled at the memory. Buried in his studies, he hadn't noticed his housekeeper enter the penthouse.

"Yikes! Mr. Blackhorne, you scared me." She stood with her hand on her heart. "Should I come back later?"

A mirthless chuckle caught in his throat, and he waved her on. "Ignore me."

Everyone else does.

His voice was scratchy, not having spoken in three days. There was no one to talk to.

She hesitated, then moved to the kitchen, removing empty bottles littered across the counter. Jack gave up on the social media and opened his photos, flipping through the small assortment of snaps he had of Solana. A few from the wedding, her posing in the simple gown she'd selected. An image of her he'd snapped at the motorcycle club, pictures taken in bed the next morning. Each smiling face chipped away at the remnants of his heart.

A notification from Wolfe covered Solana's face, and he flicked it away. Her hazel eyes taunted him, and he longed to see the fire his touch caused. But the photo stayed frozen in place.

The scent of the cleaner used on the granite countertop wafted his way, the citrus tones reminding him of Solana's hair. Jack opened a browser and ordered a case of the brand of shampoo she used online, then canceled it. Nothing could replace Solana.

Parched, he completed his new daily exercise routine of pushing off the couch, shuffling to the kitchen, and refilling his tumbler with alcohol. His hand paused in mid-air as a beam of sunlight shone on the glass. The ray seemed to ask him to stop, pull himself together. Then, as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared.

How fitting.

Darkness was where he deserved to stay.

He snatched the entire bottle, leaving the tumbler behind, and returned to the couch. Around him, the apartment echoed in silence. When had his housekeeper left?

A request to let his private elevator up interrupted his first swig of scotch. Maybe she'd forgotten her key and locked herself out. Without checking the monitor, he pressed the button for the elevator's assent and ambled back to the living room.

Not that he was doing much living.

"You look like hell." Ethan stood in the entryway, a paper bag in each hand.

Jack eyed the parcels. "That better contain bottles."

His friend strode to the kitchen, placed the bags on the counter, and started opening cupboard doors. "The orange juice comes in a bottle, so yes." He pulled two plates from a cupboard and placed them on the kitchen island. "More important, I brought food."

"Not hungry." Jack rubbed his chin, his hand smarting from the bristles of his unshaven skin.

"Can't let this go to waste." Ethan opened a container and Jack's stomach betrayed him with a growl at the aroma of roasted meat that wafted across the room. "Ximena made it especially for you."