Hostile Affection

Chapter 17: Left Without Warning

Troye’s POV

I didn’t know what to do.

The video kept replaying in my head like a cruel loop—blurry shadows, skin I knew too well, a voice that sounded heartbreakingly familiar. Nicco’s voice.

It felt like the ground had been ripped from beneath me. My chest ached, not in that pretty, poetic way people liked to describe heartbreak, but in a real, suffocating one—sharp, cold, relentless. Like a thousand tiny needles pricking from the inside out.

No.

It couldn’t be real.

I clung to that thought like a drowning man to driftwood. Maybe it was fake. Maybe someone was trying to destroy him. Maybe this was just another cruel thing the internet did to people who shone too brightly.

But then—what if it wasn’t?

The thought came quietly, like a whisper in the dark, and yet it gutted me.

What if Nicco really did it?

What if he had gone to someone else—for comfort, for warmth, for pleasure?

“Troye, are you okay?” Kiana’s voice broke through the ringing in my ears. She reached for my arm, fingers light but grounding. “That video—it could be fake. You know how easy it is to edit things these days.”

“I keep telling myself that too,” Kent said beside her, though his tone wavered. “But whoever made it... they made it look real. Scarily real.”

Their words were muffled against the pounding of my heartbeat. My vision blurred. My hands were cold. My throat felt tight, as if every breath hurt to take.

“Guys,” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper. “I have to go.”

“Troye, please.” Kiana’s voice cracked a little, worry etched across her face. “Don’t make any rushed decisions. Give Nicco a chance to explain. You owe yourselves that much.”

Kent nodded. “Yeah. Just go home. Let him talk. Whatever this is, you deserve to hear it straight from him.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

I just nodded, gave them a ghost of a smile—something brittle and empty—and left.

The city lights blurred past me as I walked, each one smearing into the next. Neon streaks, car horns, fragments of conversation—none of it reached me. My mind was too loud. Too chaotic. A storm with no clear direction.

Every step toward the condo felt heavier than the last.

I wanted to believe him. God, I needed to believe him.

But that image. That voice. That possibility.

It clawed at me until I could barely breathe.

And in the deepest, quietest part of me—beneath the noise, beneath the denial—something waited. A truth I didn’t want to face but couldn’t escape.

If Nicco admitted it…

If he confirmed the worst—

I wasn’t sure I could forgive him.

Not this time.

***

Nicco’s POV

I was deep into my PowerPoint slides—adjusting transitions, polishing bullet points, syncing the last-minute animations I’d spent hours perfecting. The pitch was in less than three hours, and every slide mattered. Every word. My mind was locked in work mode, sharp and steady, until a voice sliced through the air like a knife.

“What the f**k is this?!”

Venice.

Her tone was sharp, disbelieving—almost panicked.

I froze, fingers hovering above the keyboard.

Jacob looked up first. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Venice didn’t answer right away. She just walked over, eyes wide, her usual calm replaced with something that made my stomach twist. Without a word, she handed me her phone.

“Nicco... you need to see this.”

I frowned, confused, but the moment my eyes met the screen—everything stopped.

It was a video.

A s*x video.

And the man in it—looked exactly like me.

“What the—” My voice cracked before I could finish.

For a few seconds, I couldn’t even process what I was seeing. I didn’t recognize the other guy. The room, the setting—none of it. But the face. My face. The same tattoos. The same voice. The same mannerisms.

It was like looking into a mirror warped by something malicious and deliberate.

Troye.

My chest constricted at the thought. Had Troye seen this?

“Oh my god,” Franco muttered, leaning closer. “Is that really you, Nicco?”

“No!” I snapped, the word bursting out before I could stop it. “That’s not me. I would never—” My throat burned. “I would never do something like that.”

“So... it’s fake?” Jacob asked carefully, doubt flickering in his eyes.

“Yes!” My voice came out too loud, too raw. “Of course it’s fake! Why would I even record something like that? It’s not me. I swear to God.”

Yasser leaned in, brows knitting together. “Then whoever made this... they did a hell of a job. It looks disturbingly real. Someone’s clearly out to ruin you.”

Venice swallowed hard, still staring at her screen. “Nicco… it’s going viral. Like, fast. You need to find Troye. Now.”

The air left my lungs.

Panic hit, cold and immediate.

I didn’t even think. I grabbed my keys and my phone, muttered something that might’ve been “I’ll fix this,” and ran.

By the time I got to my car, my hands were shaking. I dialed Troye’s number—once, twice, three times—but each call rang until it died. My texts? Read. No reply.

Every second of silence made my heart race faster.

By the time I reached the café, I could already feel the stares.

The air felt thick—tainted with whispers. People turned as I passed. Some looked at me with pity, others with judgment. A few didn’t even bother to hide their curiosity, whispering behind raised hands.

But I didn’t care. I didn’t stop.

I just needed to find him.

“Kiana!” I called out the moment I saw her near the counter.

She turned quickly, her expression falling the moment she saw my face. “Nicco.”

“Where’s Troye?” My voice broke.

She hesitated. “He’s gone.”

“What?” My heart dropped. “Gone where?”

“He didn’t say,” she replied softly, glancing at Kent who was just coming out from the back room.

Kent crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. “Pretty sure he went back to the condo.”

I turned to leave, but Kiana’s voice stopped me. “Nicco, wait!”

I spun around, barely holding my patience. “What?”

Her eyes searched mine, desperate for an answer. “Was it really you? In that video?”

I forced myself to meet her gaze, steady despite the chaos clawing at my chest. “No,” I said firmly. “It’s not me. I would never do that to him.”

Kent nodded once, his tone softer now. “Then go. Explain it to him before he believes what everyone else is saying.”

I didn’t need to be told twice.

I turned and ran back to my car, ignoring the way people’s eyes followed me as I passed. The drive to the condo was a blur of honking cars and red lights that felt too long. My pulse thundered in my ears, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly they hurt.

Troye wasn’t answering. Not a call, not a text.

The silence was unbearable.

And beneath all the fear was something worse—a sharp, aching guilt for something I didn’t even do. For something I had no control over, yet could cost me the one person I couldn’t afford to lose.

I loved him. God, I loved him.

I would never cheat on him. Never betray him. Never give anyone a reason to doubt how much he meant to me.

And yet, someone—some sick, malicious person—had gone out of their way to tear that trust apart.

My thoughts spiraled between anger and despair, between the need to prove the truth and the fear that I was already too late.

Whoever did this... whoever wanted to ruin me... they were going to pay for it. Legally, publicly, completely. I’d make sure of it.

But right now, none of that mattered.

Not the pitch I’d abandoned. Not the damage control my team would soon be scrambling to do.

All that mattered was Troye.

And making him believe me—before the lie did.

***

Troye’s POV

I’d been crying for what felt like hours.

Curled up on the couch, the silence of the condo pressed down on me—thick, suffocating, merciless. It wrapped around me like a noose, tightening with every thought I couldn’t push away.

I kept trying to tell myself that Nicco would never cheat. Couldn’t cheat. I knew how he loved—fierce, certain, unrelenting. I’d felt it in the way he touched me, in how his arms fit around me like they were made to. In the way he said “Babe”—soft, reverent, like a prayer he never wanted to end.

But no matter how much my heart clung to that love, my mind was a battlefield—littered with doubts I couldn’t silence.

What if he’d grown tired of waiting? Of the walls I kept between us, the moments I held back?

What if he’d gone looking for comfort somewhere else—somewhere easier, warmer, freer?

What if there had always been someone else… someone I didn’t know about?

And then came the name I’d tried so hard not to think about.

Axel.

I’d never even seen a photo of Nicco’s ex, and yet the name alone had carved itself into my insecurities. It hovered like a ghost every time Nicco turned his phone away, or answered a call in another room, or said “It’s just work.”

My chest tightened. Tears welled again, hot and bitter.

What if I was just a chapter, and Axel was the ending he never got over?

I buried my face in my hands, breathing through the ache, wishing for something—anything—that would make the noise stop.

Then came the sound.

The click of a key. The creak of the door.

My breath hitched.

Only one person had the key.

I wiped at my swollen eyes with trembling hands, forcing myself to breathe, to stay still, to not fall apart again. And then, there he was—Nicco—standing in the doorway, chest heaving, worry written all over his face.

“Babe, I’ll explain,” he said, his voice raw, desperate.

I turned away, jaw tightening.

“Babe, please. Hear me out.”

Slowly, I looked at him. My eyes burned, but not just from crying—they burned with anger, with confusion, with heartbreak.

“Fine,” I said, my voice sharp, shaking. “Explain. Why the hell is there a s*x video of you going around? Did you cheat on me, Nicco? Just—just tell me the truth.”

He froze, his throat bobbing. “That’s not me.” His voice was low, hoarse.

I laughed. A hollow, broken sound that didn’t feel like mine.

“You expect me to believe that? It looks like you. It sounds like you.”

“I swear to God, Babe,” he said, stepping closer. “It’s not me. Please, you have to believe me.” His voice cracked on the last word.

“Then why does that video even exist?” My own voice trembled, tears threatening again. “Who posted it?”

“I don’t know.” His breath came fast, uneven. “I don’t know where it came from or who’s behind it, but I swear—I would never do that to you. I love you. Please, just… trust me.”

And somehow, through all the noise in my head, I heard it—the pain in his voice, the fear in his eyes. The way his words shook like they were carrying something real, something helpless.

Something true.

I took a small step forward. Then another. My chest ached with every breath.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I kissed him.

Not to forgive. Not to erase the doubt.

But to say I believe you. To say I choose you.

When I pulled back, my voice was barely a whisper. “I love you. That’s why I’m choosing to believe you.”

Nicco’s eyes softened, wet with relief. He pulled me into his arms, holding me like I was something fragile. He pressed a kiss to my temple, his breath trembling. “I love you too, Babe. Thank you…”

And then—his phone rang.

The sound sliced through the quiet, jarring and unwelcome.

We both glanced down.

My heart dropped when I saw the name flash across the screen. A hospital.

Nicco answered immediately. “What?! Wait—I’m on my way.” His tone sharpened, panic flaring.

I felt my stomach twist. “Babe? What’s wrong?”

He was already moving, grabbing his things. “I have to go.”

“To where?”

“Axel needs me.” His voice was quick, clipped. “I’ll be back later.”

The name hit me like a slap.

Axel.

The air went out of my lungs. Jealousy—hot, sharp, ugly—rushed through me.

“Babe, please… stay.” The words barely left my lips. They sounded weak even to my own ears.

But he didn’t stop. Didn’t look back.

The door closed behind him, and the echo felt like a wound.

He ran to Axel… and left me behind.

Something inside me cracked.

Maybe it was him in that video. Maybe Axel was the one with him. Maybe this—us, our home, our love—had always been built on borrowed time.

I sank to the floor, tears spilling again, sobs tearing through me until I couldn’t tell where the pain ended and the numbness began.

Minutes passed. Or maybe hours. Time blurred when your heart broke this completely.

Eventually, I forced myself to move. I wiped my face, pulled myself together as best I could.

I needed space.

And maybe… Nicco did too.

With trembling hands, I packed a bag. Folded whatever was left of my pride. Changed into clean clothes because I couldn’t stand the way the air still smelled like him.

When I reached the door, I turned back one last time, staring at the place that was supposed to be ours. My throat burned.

“I’m sorry, Nicco,” I whispered.

Then I walked out—taking nothing but a suitcase and the weight of a love I didn’t know how to carry anymore.

****

Nicco’s POV

The sterile scent of antiseptic hit me the moment I stepped through the hospital doors, sharp and unforgiving. It clung to my clothes, to my skin, to the back of my throat, as if the entire place was built to remind you of how fragile life really was.

I didn’t stop at the reception. Didn’t wait to sign in or ask questions. I just moved—fast, unthinking—past nurses, past orderlies, past the sterile brightness of corridors that all looked the same until I reached the ICU.

Then I saw it.

Through the glass wall, chaos unfolded.

Axel’s body convulsed violently on the bed while doctors and nurses crowded around him, trying to hold him down. Machines screamed in erratic beeps, wires tangled like vines, voices barked orders I couldn’t hear through the glass.

My breath hitched.

“Please,” I whispered, pressing a trembling hand to the cold barrier. “Not like this.”

No one else was there. His family still didn’t know. He never let them see him like this—too proud, too stubborn to admit how bad things had gotten. And now, it was just me. The one person who shouldn’t have been here, standing helplessly on the other side of the glass, watching the man who once broke my heart fight for his life.

Then, just as suddenly as it began—everything stopped.

The convulsions ceased. The flurry of movement slowed. I could see the doctor’s shoulders sag, the nurse pressing a hand to her chest. The steady beeping from the monitor softened to something hauntingly slow.

My body went cold.

Moments later, the doors hissed open, and the attending physician stepped out, her face lined with exhaustion.

“Doc,” I said, stepping forward. My voice came out rough, unfamiliar. “What happened to him?”

She looked at me—kind eyes, but heavy. “He had a severe seizure. Unfortunately…” She hesitated, and I already knew what was coming. “…he’s now in a coma.”

I stared at her, unable to process the word. “What?”

She nodded gently, her tone quiet, deliberate. “He could wake up at any time… but he could also slip away. We don’t know. You need to prepare yourself.” She placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. “I have to go.”

And then she was gone.

Coma.

The word echoed in my skull until it didn’t sound like a word anymore—just a hollow ringing that refused to fade.

They handed me a PPE set and ushered me to a changing area. I put it on with numb hands—gown, gloves, mask, face shield—all of it. By the time I stepped inside the ICU, silence had reclaimed the room.

Axel lay motionless, his skin pale, his chest rising only because machines told it to. Tubes, IV lines, monitors—they surrounded him like a mechanical halo. The air hummed softly, sterile and cold.

I stood there, unsure if I should even move closer.

For a long time, I just looked at him. The same face I once loved, now still and colorless. We had shared laughter, bad coffee, dreams we never fulfilled. We had also hurt each other in ways that still left scars. But looking at him now, none of that mattered.

The anger, the betrayal—it all dissolved into something smaller. Something like forgiveness.

“I forgave you a long time ago,” I whispered, voice barely audible under the sound of the machines.

My throat ached, my chest heavy. There was nothing left to say. Just the low, mechanical rhythm of life being kept alive.

Thirty minutes passed before a nurse gently motioned for me to leave.

I nodded and stepped closer to Axel’s bedside one last time. Carefully, I took his hand, avoiding the lines and needles. His skin was cold but familiar.

“Ax,” I murmured, my voice cracking around his name. “I have to go. But I’ll come back tomorrow, okay? You have to fight. Please… fight.”

My vision blurred, and I blinked it away.

When I finally stepped out of the ICU, I felt hollow. Like something inside me had been quietly scooped out.

By the time I reached the condo, the silence hit me harder than anything else.

Scarlet meowed softly from the hallway, tail brushing against my leg. Piper barked once, small and unsure, before trotting closer.

I crouched down, rubbing their heads. “Hey, girls… where’s your Dada?” I asked softly. My voice trembled, half hoping, half knowing.

But there was no answer.

“Troye?” I called, moving through the condo. The living room was empty. The kitchen too. The bedroom door stood ajar.

My pulse quickened.

I opened the closet—and froze.

Half-empty. His clothes. His things. Gone.

For a moment, I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.

Then my phone buzzed in my hand.

A message.

I’m sorry. I think this is where we end.

The words blurred as my vision did. The phone slipped from my hand, landing on the floor with a dull thud that sounded far too final.

I sank onto the edge of the bed, staring at the screen as if I could will it to change, to say something else. Something that didn’t feel like the end of everything.

I thought we were okay.

I thought you believed in me.

My chest tightened until breathing hurt.

“Why, Troye?” I whispered, the sound breaking somewhere between my lungs and my throat. “Why did you leave me?”

The silence that followed was absolute—so thick, so cruel—that for a moment, I almost wished I was back in that hospital room.

At least there, something was still fighting to live.