2 ~ Dripping Wet

I blinked. Once. Twice.

How?

One moment, I was standing in that VIP room, glaring daggers at Raphael while clutching that marriage contract. The next, I was sitting in a ridiculously lavish living room, staring at a crystal chandelier so massive it could double as a death trap if it ever fell.

"Is this how kidnappings work nowadays?" I muttered, still wearing my rabbit mask and lace lingerie like some misguided vigilante.

I sat there, frozen, trying to process how I’d gone from the auction stage to 'his mansion' in what felt like the blink of an eye. Did they drug me? No. There wasn’t time. So how?

"Am I... dreaming?" I muttered aloud, gripping the couch’s armrest for stability. It wasn’t comforting. Too soft. Too real.

The absurdity of the situation hit me. Hard. My jaw dropped as my gaze flitted around the room—plush velvet couches, gold-accented everything, and a fireplace big enough to roast an entire cow. Meanwhile, a small army of servants scurried about, setting things in order.

“Excuse me!” I called out to no one in particular. “Did I accidentally fall into a period drama? Where’s the camera crew?”

No one answered, but I noticed a maid glance my way, her expression a peculiar blend of pity and amusement.

Great. Even the help felt sorry for me.

I folded my arms across my chest, as if that would somehow protect what little dignity I had left.

"Could you stop staring?" I snapped, though my voice cracked, betraying my nerves.

A maid approached hesitantly, her hands clasped in front of her. "Miss, your room is ready. If you’d follow me…"

Miss? The audacity of that polite title while I stood there like a confused showgirl still in costume.

She led me through a maze of hallways so grand that I was half-convinced I’d stumbled into a palace instead of a mafia boss's mansion. My heels clicked against the marble floor, the sound echoing uncomfortably loud.

When we arrived at my room—scratch that, 'suite'—I gawked at the sheer size of it. The ceiling stretched so high I thought it might house a second atmosphere. Chandeliers glittered like frozen stars, and the bed was big enough to host a family reunion.

"This is where you’ll be staying," the maid said, her tone devoid of emotion.

"Great," I muttered.

Then came the kicker.

"Please follow me to the bath," she added.

I froze. "Bath? What bath?"

The maid didn’t answer, merely gesturing for me to follow. Before I knew it, I was being herded into a massive bathroom that looked more like a spa. Steam rose from a clawfoot tub filled with rose petals, and the scent of lavender hung heavy in the air.

"Miss, please strip," one of the maids ordered.

"Excuse me?" I crossed my arms, glaring at her. "I’m not stripping for anyone."

"Miss, it’s our job to prepare you—"

"Prepare me? For what? A sacrificial ritual?"

The maids exchanged glances, clearly unimpressed by my sarcasm. I took a step back, raising my fists in what I imagined was a menacing stance. "I’m warning you—I’m proficient in hand-to-hand combat."

That was a lie.

One of the maids arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Miss, please—"

"No!" I barked, flailing my arms as they closed in.

What followed was nothing short of chaos.

Before I could react, three of them grabbed me, their movements faster than I’d anticipated for maids.

I yelped, flailing as they wrestled me toward the steaming bath. "Let go! I swear to God, I’ll—"

I kicked and screamed as they stripped me of my lingerie, tossing them into a corner like discarded candy wrappers.

My curses echoing off the marble walls. "Damn you, Father! Damn you, you freaking witch! And damn you, Mafia devil, you smug bastard!"

I was exhausted and had run out of curses by the time they managed to wrestle me into the tub.

"This is outrageous!" I screamed, “I’ll sue! I’ll—mmph!”

One of them doused me with a bucket of warm, soapy water, silencing my protests. The scent of lavender and jasmine filled the air, and despite myself, I felt my muscles relax.

But my pride? Oh, that was dead and buried.

*****

When I opened my eyes, I wasn’t in my room anymore. Somehow, in the span of a single blink, I had ended up in 'his'.

“What the hell?” I muttered, looking around.

His room was exactly what I’d expected—masculine and dark, with a massive king-sized bed that looked like it belonged to a king. But what caught my attention were the weapons.

Above the headboard was a glass shelf displaying an array of knives, each one more deadly than the last. The blades gleamed under the soft light, calling to me like a siren’s song.

The closer I got, the more I convinced myself I could swipe one for self-defense. Just in case.

The cool glass greeted my fingertips as I reached up. "Almost..."

"Planning to murder me already?"

The voice was smooth, deep, and far too close for comfort. I whipped around, my heart lurching into my throat.

There he was. Raphael Delano. Towering, intimidating, and dripping wet.

Literally.

Broad shoulders, chiseled abs, and a V-line that could cut glass.

I swallowed hard, my brain short-circuiting. I told myself I wasn’t ogling, but the heat creeping up my neck said otherwise.

"My eyes are up here, little rabbit," he drawled, a smirk tugging at his lips as he lifted my chin with a finger.

I gasped, mortified to realize my gaze had been... southward.

"What? No! I wasn’t—ugh!" I flailed, smacking his hand away. "I was just—"

"Drooling over me?" he teased, stepping closer.

"I was 'not'! Don’t flatter yourself!"

He chuckled, the sound rich and infuriating. "Then explain why you’re in my room. And on my bed."

"I—" Words failed me. Hadn’t I just been in my room?

He smirked, leaning closer until his face was inches from mine. "Am I? You’re the one climbing onto my bed, drooling over my knives, and undressing me with your eyes."

Raphael’s gaze dropped, and suddenly, I became acutely aware of how little I was wearing. His eyes darkened, and the air between us grew heavy.

I folded my arms over my chest, suddenly hyperaware of his eyes raking over me. "Stop staring."

"I’m just admiring what I paid for," he said, his lips curling into a wolfish grin.

The nerve. "I’m not a thing, sir. I don’t care how much you paid."

His smile faded, replaced by something more serious. He stepped closer, his hands gripping my wrists and pinning them above my head.

My back hit the bed, and his weight pressed against me. I froze, the sudden intimacy stealing the air from my lungs.

"What are you doing?" I demanded, though my voice wavered.

"Looking for answers," he murmured, his gaze locking onto mine.

"Who are you, Selene?" he whispered.

The question threw me off.

"Why do you care?" I shot back, trying to mask my unease.

His lips curled into a smirk, but there was no humor in it. "Because you’re not just some girl up for auction. There’s something... different about you. Something I can't quite place yet."

His face was so close I could feel his breath on my skin.

Just as his lips dipped toward mine, my knee shot up on instinct, connecting with his groin.

The world froze.

Raphael stumbled back, doubling over in pain, his expression a mix of shock and agony. "Did you just—"

"Oh my God," I gasped, equally horrified at what I’d done. My hands flew to my mouth. "I didn’t mean—"

"You’re insane," he wheezed, clutching himself while getting his footing gradually.

"And you’re a pervert!" I shot back, though my voice cracked. Tears stung my eyes when I looked up at his towering figure once more, realizing I'd stepped on slippery ground.

He laughed dryly. "That's not very ladylike of you, little rabbit."

"Ladylike? Are you kidding me?" I cried. "You're a man who's trying to rape me, and I'm supposed to be ladylike?!"

"Is that right?" He narrowed his eyes, his tone deadly serious. "Would you like me to prove it?"

I shook my head furiously, tears running down my cheeks. "No, please! I made a mistake, sir. Please forgive me!"

He gave me a look that clearly stated I should know better than to mess with him before he pulled me closer and searched my eyes. "What could you possibly offer me, little rabbit?"