Chapter 278: His Kind Of Love

Carlos Foran stood tall beside the horse, his back straight and his expression carefully blank as he steadied his young son on the horse.

From the outside, he looked completely composed.

But beneath that calm exterior, he was painfully aware of one thing: her.

He could smell Alena’s familiar scent on the breeze. He could feel her presence without even looking in her direction.

He had missed her.

God, he had missed her more than he cared to admit.

But he would rather die than give her the satisfaction of knowing it.

His jaw tightened.

He still couldn’t understand why powerful men like Julian Foster, Morgan Foster, and that woman, Dawn Amali, had gone to such great lengths to force him to set Alena free.

At first, Carlos had refused. After all, he had grown attached to Alena.

More than attached.

He cared about her far more than he cared about his own wife—that cold, arrogant woman who had never given him the warmth or affection he wanted.

He had never given him a child.

Then Julian and Morgan had threatened him.

They threatened to expose his affairs, destroy his reputation, and drag his private life into the public eye.

Carlos had laughed in their faces.

"Which politician doesn’t have an affair?" he had scoffed. "People now judge politicians by their performance, not their private lives."

Julian had merely stared at him.

"Try me, Mr. Foran." His voice had been dangerously calm. "You’ll find out exactly how quickly a scandal can destroy a man like you."

Dawn had stepped forward, her expression hard.

"You’re lucky we don’t have enough evidence against you. Otherwise, I could have taken you to court for the violence you’ve inflicted on women."

Carlos’s expression had darkened instantly.

He hated that word.

Violence.

Because he had never wanted to hurt Alena. He never intended for things to go that far.

But every time she tried to leave him, every time she looked at him with those eyes filled with hatred and fear, something inside him would snap.

He would lose control and he would hurt her.

Not merely hurt her.

Sometimes, when his anger and possessiveness consumed him, he would humiliate her when he forced himself on her.

And afterward, when the anger finally faded, Alena would lie there in silence.

She would turn her face away from him.

Sometimes she would cry. Sometimes she wouldn’t.

Those were the moments Carlos hated most.

Because when Alena stopped crying, when she stopped fighting and simply stared at the ceiling with empty eyes, he knew she had retreated somewhere he could no longer reach.

She learned that there was no point begging him to stop. No point telling him that he was hurting her. No point asking him to let her go.

And that realization haunted him.

Afterward, when she was too exhausted to do anything but curl into herself and eventually fall asleep, Carlos would carry her to the bathtub and clean her himself.

She rarely woke, or perhaps she pretended to be asleep.

He didn’t know which was worse.

His chest would tighten whenever he saw the bruises he had inflicted on her. He would apply ointment to each one with careful fingers, afraid of causing her even more pain.

But sometimes Alena would flinch even in her sleep, and every time she did, his hand would freeze.

Because even unconscious, her body was afraid of him. There was no tenderness in that.

Only damage.

He knew that. He knew exactly who had caused it.

Him.

And so before morning came, he would leave before she woke.

No, not leave but flee.

He would stay away for days, telling himself that he was giving her space when, in truth, he was avoiding the look he knew he would find in her eyes.

Fear. Resentment. Disgust.

He was too proud to apologize.

His ego wouldn’t allow him to admit what he had done to her.

But Alena didn’t need another explanation. She didn’t need his regret. She needed him to stop, to free her from his gilded cage.

And that was the one thing he had never been willing to give her.

Perhaps that was the ugliest truth about him.

He loved Alena.

But whatever he called love had become something she had to survive.

...

The young girl riding beside him suddenly burst into delighted laughter as the carousel horse began to move.

"Mommy, look! I’m galloping!"

Yana’s laughter rang through the air.

Carlos glanced toward Alena.

Her face had brightened.

For the first time in what seemed like forever, there was genuine happiness in her eyes. She looked even more beautiful when she smiled.

His chest tightened. When was the last time he had seen that smile? His memory dragged him back to three years ago.

Alena had been sitting by the window, cradling Kai in her arms while nursing him. Her hair had fallen loosely around her shoulders, and she smiled down at their son with a tenderness Carlos had never forgotten.

That was the last time. Because soon afterward, he had taken Kai away from her.

After that, her smile had disappeared.

And somehow, instead of realizing that he had been the one to destroy it, Carlos had only become angrier.

...

His gaze lingered on her.

"You’re still beautiful when you smile, Alena."

His voice was low, controlled, almost cold. It was almost drowned by the happy song being played as the carousel go round and round.

Alena was startled and looked up.

Their eyes met.

For one brief second, Carlos thought he saw something flicker in her eyes.

Then her smile slowly faded.

His brows drew together.

Why did she always look at him as if he were someone she needed to escape from?

He wanted to say something—anything.

But before he could, Kai’s excited voice rang out.

"Daddy! Daddy! Look!"

The little boy pointed toward the other side of the carousel.

"Mommy and Auntie are over there!"

Carlos’s gaze shifted in that direction.

But he didn’t notice the way Alena froze.

He didn’t see the pain that flashed across her face.

Kai had called another woman Mommy.