“I’m not getting back with you, Jamie.”Aelia’s voice was firm, allowing no room for misinterpretation.Jamie exhaled, dragging a hand down his face as he turned to look at her. They were in a quieter part of the venue now, away from the prying eyes of high society. The air between them was thick with words unsaid and wounds unhealed.“That’s not why I pulled you away,” Jamie said, though the look in his eyes betrayed him. “I just… I needed to talk to you.”Aelia crossed her arms. “Then talk.”He hesitated. “You didn’t answer any of my calls.”“I didn’t want to.”Jamie let out a bitter chuckle. “That much was obvious.”Silence settled between them. Aelia tapped her fingers against her arm impatiently, waiting for him to get to the point.Jamie sighed. “Aelia, I made a mistake.”Her jaw clenched. “Which one? Not choosing me, or thinking you could fix it now?”His expression faltered, but he didn’t back down. “I didn’t have a choice—”“There’s always a choice,” she cut in. “And you made
The announcement of the dance echoed through the grand hall, and Aelia barely had time to react before Cassius stepped forward, extending his hand.“Dance with me,” he said, his voice smooth yet firm, leaving no room for refusal.Aelia hesitated, but Jamie’s relentless gaze from across the room solidified her decision. Without a word, she took Cassius’s hand, allowing him to lead her toward the dance floor.The moment their hands touched, a ripple of murmurs coursed through the crowd. The sight of the elusive Cassius De Luca, a man known for avoiding public spectacles, willingly guiding a woman into a dance was enough to draw attention.But Aelia barely paid it any mind.What she did notice, however, was Pedro’s reaction.She felt his stare before she even saw it, an oppressive weight against her spine. When she glanced in his direction, it was to find him standing rigid, his expression dark as he barely acknowledged the man speaking to him, a man who had been showering him with prais
The copper scent of blood lingered in the air, sharp and nauseating. Aelia’s breath hitched as she stared at the man who had tried to kill her, now groaning on the ground, restrained by security. But she barely registered him, her gaze was locked on Pedro.His white shirt was ruined, sliced open at the sleeve where crimson seeped through the fabric, painting a damning contrast against the pristine white. He didn’t even look at the wound. His eyes were on her.She felt lightheaded, her body still trembling from the attack, but Pedro’s grip on her was solid. Grounding. Infuriating. She was still dazed from how he swiftly pulled her into his embrace and took the cut in his arm.“You’re hurt,” she whispered before she could stop herself.Pedro’s lips curved, but it wasn’t a smile. “I’m aware, cuore mio.”Her heart stumbled at the Italian endearment, but she refused to acknowledge it. “Let me go now.”His grip didn’t waver. His fingers dug into her wrist just enough to make her pulse jump.
The city lights bled through the massive windows of Derrick’s penthouse, casting elongated shadows over the sleek furniture. Louisa sat on the edge of the couch, swirling the wine in her glass, her fingers tightening around the stem as the alcohol burned down her throat. She wasn’t drunk, just warm enough to let the tension simmer between them, thick and suffocating.Derrick stood across the room, jacket discarded, his white shirt unbuttoned at the top, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He had been watching her in silence for minutes, his dark eyes unreadable, his posture too controlled. It irritated her.“You always do this,” Louisa muttered, breaking the silence. “Pretend like nothing gets to you.”Derrick exhaled, a humorless chuckle leaving his lips. “And you always drink when you’re about to make bad decisions.”She scoffed, standing abruptly, crossing the space between them with slow, deliberate steps. “Maybe I like making bad decisions.”He didn’t move when she stopped in front
The ride to the villa was quiet. Unusually quiet.Aelia sat still in the passenger seat, her fingers curled into her dress, her mind distant yet hyperaware of the man beside her. Pedro didn’t speak either, his focus on the road, though his occasional glances at her and the slight clench of his jaw told her he wanted to. But for once, she wasn’t ready to fight him.The weight of what happened, of nearly dying, pressed heavily on her chest. And then there was Pedro’s arm, his blood soaking into his sleeve, a wound he took for her.She swallowed hard, her gaze flickering to him as he steered them into the villa’s driveway.The same villa.Memories of the last time she was here surfaced, but unlike before, her heart wasn’t hammering in rage. It was something else. Something strange.Guilt. Gratitude.She wasn’t sure which one unsettled her more.Pedro parked and got out without a word, opening her door for her. She hesitated for a fraction of a second before stepping out, her hands smooth
The villa bore witness to their unraveling.Walls that had once been cold and unfeeling now pulsed with the heat of them, with the whispered gasps, the sharp intakes of breath, the friction of skin against skin.Pedro moved her with purpose, pressing her into the first surface they collided against a wooden table, the edge digging into her thighs as his hands roamed, memorized. His mouth claimed hers, dragging every last shred of resistance from her body until she was clinging to him, breathing him in like something she’d been deprived of for too long.She barely registered when he lifted her, when they stumbled through the villa, knocking into furniture, hands desperate, greedy. Aelia’s back hit the cool surface of a glass window, a sharp contrast to the fire coursing through her veins. Pedro’s lips traced down her throat, his teeth grazing, marking, branding her in a way that should terrify her.But she let him.She wanted this. She needed this! Daisy’s mother’s voice rang in her
Louisa woke up to an empty space beside her, the warmth of Derrick’s body replaced by the cold sheets. Her heart clenched, disappointment settling deep in her bones. For a brief, foolish moment last night, she had let herself believe things could be different. That after all these years, Derrick might finally stop pretending.She closed her eyes, inhaling sharply. ‘You knew better, Louisa.’Sighing, she sat up, the ache of last night lingering in her body. But before she could wallow in her thoughts, the scent of something sweet and buttery drifted into the room. Her stomach twisted, not from regret, but from something entirely unexpected.Curiosity won over pride. She slipped into a robe and padded out of the bedroom, following the scent into the kitchen.Derrick stood by the stove, sleeves rolled up, his broad back turned to her as he flipped what looked like French toast onto a plate. His presence, so effortlessly domestic, threw her off balance.For a moment, she just watched him,
Aelia’s breath came in ragged bursts, her wrists burning against the restraints Pedro had fastened above her head. She was shaking, fury and something dangerously close to panic creeping up her throat. Pedro stood in front of her, shirtless, the sheets pooling at his waist, his dark gaze dragging over her form like a predator surveying its prey.“If I wanted to tie you to my bed and take whatever I wanted from you, I would have done it a long time ago.” His voice was low, calm—too calm. A cruel contrast to the erratic beating of her pulse. “But I didn’t. Because I never wanted to.”Aelia let out a sharp laugh, bitter and venom-laced. “Oh, should I be grateful, then?” she sneered. “Should I thank you for not being the monster I already know you are?”Pedro’s jaw flexed, but he said nothing. His silence infuriated her.“What do you want from me, Pedro?” Her voice cracked, her restraint unraveling. “Is this supposed to make me see you differently? Am I supposed to believe you have a he
The moment Sola stepped outside, she knew something was wrong.The air felt too heavy, too watchful. The street was too quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic. Then came the sharp sound of a car door slamming.Two men in suits approached. Not just any men, law enforcement.“Sola Spencer,” the taller one said, voice clipped. “We need you to come with us for questioning.”Sola’s brows furrowed. “What?”A flash of a badge and a formal tone. “You’re a suspect in an ongoing investigation. Please come with us.”The world shifted on its axis. She felt it in the pit of her stomach, the kind of freefall sensation that came with being caught off guard. She barely had time to react before firm hands took her by the arms, guiding her toward the unmarked car.Her mind raced. Investigation? What the hell were they talking about?Then she saw them, reporters. Cameras flashing, microphones extending.(“Sola Spencer, do you have any comments about the allegations?”“Are you responsible for Aelia
The room was too quiet. The kind of quiet that made Darcy’s skin crawl.She sat beside the bed, hands clasped together as she stared at Aelia’s face. Peaceful. Unmoving. It didn’t suit her. Aelia was never still, never silent. She filled spaces with her presence, with her sharp wit, with the reckless gleam in her eye that always warned trouble was around the corner.Darcy swallowed the lump in her throat.She hated this. Hated how pale Aelia looked under the hospital lights. Hated the slow, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor, each sound reminding her that Aelia was still here but only barely.“You idiot,” she whispered, fingers tightening in her lap. “You absolute idiot.”She exhaled, pressing her palm against her forehead. “You promised, Aelia. You promised me. And now you’re just lying here—” She sucked in a shaky breath, her chest heaving. “I can’t, I don’t know how to do this without you.”The words scraped against her throat, raw and aching.“I should be angry,” she admitted,
Something touched her, warm, damp, seeping into her skin like a silent plea. Aelia couldn’t see it, but she felt it. A drop of something, liquid, heavy, and full of sorrow breaking through the veil of unconsciousness that held her.And then, she could hear him.At first, it was just a murmur, distant and hollow, like an echo traveling through an endless void. But the more she focused, the clearer it became.Pedro.His voice cracked and raw, whispering words between ragged breaths. She couldn’t grasp all of them, but the pain in his tone tightened something in her chest. It felt tight, suffocating. He was crying. Crying because of me? The thought alone sent a ripple through the darkness. She wasn’t angry. She should be, she knew she should be. But all she felt was… grief. A terrible, gnawing grief.And then, Penelope.Aelia’s breath…if she had any in this state, hitched. The memory of her promise came crashing down. ‘I told her I would come back. I told her I’d visit every day.’ The
Pedro’s POVThe doctor stood stiffly behind his desk, fingers twitching against the clipboard he held. The room was too quiet, except for the ticking of the wall clock, slow, agonizing ticks that did nothing but fuel the storm building inside me.“She’s stable,” he said, voice careful, controlled, like he was stepping through a fucking minefield. “But… waking up is entirely up to her.”I stilled.“What?”The doctor swallowed. “We’ve done everything we can. The surgeries were successful. There’s no internal bleeding, and her vitals are steady, but—”“But?” My voice dropped, lethal.He hesitated. “But… at this point, we can only keep her stable and monitor her progress. We can’t force her to wake up.”A sharp, seething breath pushed through my teeth.The clipboard in his hands trembled slightly, his knuckles white. He wasn’t a fool. He knew who I was, knew what I was capable of. But that didn’t change the fact that I was hearing the same fucking words I had heard once before, words that
The hospital air was thick with antiseptic and despair.Pedro stood at the edge of the chaos, rigid and silent, his presence a storm contained within flesh. The emergency ward was alive with urgency, doctors barking orders, nurses rushing between rooms, the rhythmic blaring of heart monitors filling the space. People moved around him, but he remained still, watching through the glass as the team of surgeons fought to keep Aelia tethered to the world.His breath was slow, deliberate, but his mind was anything but calm.Aelia.Lifeless.The moment he had seen her car—no, what was left of it, something in him had cracked. The twisted metal, the shattered windshield, the streaks of blood smeared against the crumpled hood. It looked less like an accident and more like an execution.His phone had vibrated in his hand then, a message flashing across the screen like a blade drawn across his throat.“You should’ve said goodbye when you had the chance.”The sender was unknown. Of course, they
“What if—what if…they don’t come back?” Penelope’s muffled voice invaded Aelia’s ears like a nightmare. She lifted Penelope’s face and carefully cleaned her tear-streaked face, flashing a smile she forced to reach her eyes. “Don’t say that, they’d definitely be back, Penny. Or have you forgotten how resilient Sam is or even how Annabel can’t stay a day without Mr. Bunny? that means she would wake up soon to cuddle him so you don’t have to worry. Kimberly will never let you have all the snacks so she would certainly be back for them.”Penelope giggled, “You’re right, Kimberly would definitely be back for my snacks.” Her eyes had a rare gleam as she added “I don’t mind giving them all to her, if only she returns… I wish I had given them to her without fighting.” her voice cracked and Aelia’s heart broke. Aelia held Penelope tighter, cradling her as though she could shield her from everything. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. The orphanage, the only home they had, now a crime s
Pedro sat in the back of the car, fingers steepled beneath his chin as he listened to the report. His shadow man’s voice was level, but the words hit like a blow.Aelia had left the villa.And worse, he now knew why.“The children,” Derrick muttered from the passenger seat, brows furrowed as he read the incoming messages on his phone. “Food poisoning. All of them except one. The police are involved. It’s being called a targeted attack.”Pedro didn’t move, but something cold slithered through his veins. He knew how much those orphans meant to Aelia. If she had rushed to the hospital without thinking, she was vulnerable.More than that, this wasn’t just an accident.Someone was pulling the strings.Pedro exhaled sharply through his nose. “Get in touch with the hospital director. I want the best doctors on this case. No excuses.”Derrick nodded, already dialing.Pedro turned his gaze out the window, watching the streets blur past. His heart burned at the thought of those children, innoce
Aelia didn’t sleep well, but she refused to acknowledge why. She lay in a different room, the space around her feeling unfamiliar, suffocating, yet better than the alternative—waking up next to him again.She had just started to drift off when a knock at the door pulled her back to reality. Pedro’s voice followed, low and serious.“I have business to take care of. Don’t go outside. No matter what.”She blinked, staring at the ceiling. Business. The word carried a weight she didn’t want to unpack. She didn’t answer at first, but the silence stretched between them like a taut wire until she sighed and finally turned her head toward the door.“Alright,” she murmured, voice hoarse from exhaustion.He didn’t move. “Promise me.”Her gaze flickered toward the dark outline of his shadow under the doorframe. Even from here, she could tell he was waiting, testing her, maybe. Aelia swallowed, then glanced toward his arm, where she knew the injury still rested beneath his shirt, still healing.“…
The scent of blood and iron thickened the air, stale and suffocating. The dim light barely reached the corners of the abandoned warehouse, where a man sat slumped against a metal chair, his face battered beyond recognition. His breaths were wet, labored, rattling like a dying engine struggling to start.Pedro stood before him, sleeves rolled up, a cigarette burning between his fingers. His shirt was still crisp despite the chaos that had taken place here before his arrival. The man was barely conscious, but his body told a different story—deep bruises, lacerations, and the telltale signs of bones that had been forcefully bent in the wrong directions.Derrick stood nearby, watching the pitiful excuse for an assassin with cold detachment. “He’s tougher than expected,” Derrick murmured. “But he’s slipping. Another hour, and he’ll break.”Pedro exhaled a slow drag of smoke, watching the assassin’s swollen eyelids flutter. “We don’t have another hour,” he said, flicking the cigarette to th