CHAPTER 13: Three days Longing

MIA CRUZ

Three days.

Three days, and I hadn’t seen Marco.

I told myself I didn’t care. I told myself I had more important things to focus on—work, my bookstore, my life. But my mind had other plans.

Sitting at my desk, I tapped my pen against my notepad, staring blankly at the emails I was supposed to be responding to. The words blurred together, my focus slipping every time I remembered the way his lips had lingered just inches from mine. The way he pulled away like he was testing me, teasing me. The way I had wanted him to stay.

I groaned under my breath and squeezed my eyes shut. Get a grip, Mia.

“You okay?”

I snapped out of my daze, looking up to see my co-worker, Naomi, peering at me from across the desk. She raised a brow, eyes full of suspicion.

“Yeah. Fine,” I lied, sitting up straighter and forcing my attention back to my laptop.

She smirked. “You sure? You’ve been zoning out all day. Trouble in paradise?”

“There is no paradise,” I shot back, maybe a little too quickly.

Naomi chuckled. “Right. And that blush is because the AC is broken?”

I rolled my eyes and ignored her, pretending to type something important. Anything to distract from the truth—she was right. I was distracted.

By him.

The clock finally crawled its way to closing time, and I wasted no time grabbing my things. I needed fresh air. A reset.

But the moment I stepped outside, my phone vibrated in my bag.

I dug it out, my pulse kicking up a notch when I saw the name on the screen.

Marco Valentino.

I stared at it for a second longer than necessary, debating whether or not I should even open the message.

But who was I kidding?

My thumb swiped across the screen, and his text appeared.

“There’s an event tomorrow night. Come with me.”

Simple. Direct. No question mark.

Like he already knew my answer.

I bit my lip, rereading the words.

I should say no. I should remind myself that Marco Valentino was a dangerous man, one I had no business getting tangled up with.

But my heart didn’t get the memo.

Because the truth?

Marco won.

I sighed, locking my phone and slipping it back into my bag.

No matter how much I tried to deny it, Marco Valentino had a pull on me—one that was impossible to ignore.

The drive home was quiet, save for the hum of the radio in the background. My thoughts were a tangled mess, going back and forth between what I should do and what I wanted to do.

By the time I pulled into the driveway, my decision was still unclear.

I stepped out of the car, adjusting my bag over my shoulder before heading inside. The scent of warm spices filled the air, wrapping around me like a comforting hug.

“Mom?” I called, kicking off my shoes.

“In the kitchen!”

I made my way toward her, finding her at the counter slicing vegetables. She glanced up at me, then reached for something beside her.

“This came for you.”

She handed me a sleek black box, the weight of it heavier than I expected. My brows furrowed as I turned it over, spotting my name written in elegant gold script.

A strange feeling settled in my chest.

“What is it?” I asked, more to myself than her.

She shrugged, going back to chopping. “A man dropped it off. Said it was an invitation.”

My heart skipped. A man?

I carefully lifted the lid, and my breath caught at what lay inside.

A midnight blue envelope with a gold wax seal.

I broke the seal with slightly trembling fingers, pulling out an embossed card. The lettering was elegant, expensive-looking.

You are cordially invited to the Valentino Charity Gala.

The date and time were printed below.

Tomorrow night.

The same event Marco had texted me about.

I swallowed, my pulse hammering against my skin. He hadn’t just invited me—he had made sure I’d have no choice but to accept.

Because now, he had delivered a formal invitation straight to my doorstep.

I exhaled, staring at the card for a long moment.

I had a choice to make.

And deep down, I already knew what my answer would be.

That night, after dinner, I took the black box to my room, setting it carefully on my bed. The weight of it still lingered in my hands, as if whatever was inside held more significance than I was ready to admit.

Slowly, I lifted the lid again, pushing the invitation aside to reveal something beneath it.

Fabric.

I reached in, my fingers grazing over the softest material I had ever felt. I carefully lifted it from the box, and the dress unfolded before me, cascading like liquid midnight.

I sucked in a breath.

It was stunning.

The deep blue fabric shimmered subtly under the warm glow of my bedroom light, the material rich and smooth against my skin. It had a fitted bodice with delicate lace detailing along the neckline, flowing into a floor-length skirt that promised to hug my curves in all the right places.

I ran my fingers over the lace, my mind racing.

Marco had sent this.

Not just an invitation—he had chosen a dress for me.

The thought made my stomach flip.

Was this his way of making sure I had no excuse to say no? A way to see me exactly how he wanted?

I exhaled, holding the dress up against my body in front of the mirror.

It fit the kind of events his world was used to. Elegant. Sophisticated. A world I didn’t belong in.

And yet…

A part of me wanted to step into it.

To step into his world, even if just for a night.

The Next Day

The morning passed in a blur.

I tried to focus at work, but my mind kept drifting back to the dress, to the invitation, to him.

Marco Valentino.

A man who didn’t just ask—he expected.

And somehow, I was letting myself get swept up in it.

By the time I got home, the sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in warm hues of orange and pink. My mother was in the kitchen, humming softly as she prepped dinner, but she didn’t question me when I immediately made my way to my room.

The box sat exactly where I had left it, the invitation resting neatly on top.

I hesitated for only a moment before I reached for it.

Tonight, I would step into his world.

I would wear the dress.

And I would find out just how dangerous Marco Valentino truly was.

That Evening

The deep blue fabric shimmered subtly under the warm glow of my bedroom light, the material rich and smooth against my skin. The fitted bodice hugged my torso perfectly, the delicate lace tracing along the neckline adding an air of quiet elegance. From there, the dress cascaded down into a floor-length skirt that moved fluidly with every step, promising to accentuate my curves in all the right places.

I exhaled slowly, smoothing my hands over the fabric. This was unlike anything I had ever worn before—sophisticated, striking… chosen for me by Marco.

As if on cue, my phone vibrated on the dresser.

Marco: The driver is outside.

No pleasantries. No small talk. Just a statement, like he already knew I’d be coming.

My heart drummed a little faster.

Grabbing my clutch, I stepped out of my room. My mother was in the living room, pretending not to watch me, but her knowing smile gave her away.

“Have fun,” she said simply, her gaze dipping to my dress before meeting my eyes.

I gave her a small nod before heading outside, where a sleek black car was already waiting at the curb. The driver stood beside it, holding the door open, his expression neutral.

I took a slow breath, steadying myself.

Then, with a single step forward, I slid into the car.

The ride to the gala was smooth and quiet, save for the occasional hum of the car’s engine. The city lights blurred past the tinted windows, a soft glow casting shadows across my lap as I smoothed my dress for the hundredth time. My fingers curled around my clutch, trying to steady the nervous energy thrumming beneath my skin.

I didn’t belong in Marco Valentino’s world.

And yet, here I was.

The car slowed as we approached the venue—a grand, towering building lined with pristine glass windows reflecting the golden glow of the chandeliers inside. A red carpet stretched from the entrance, leading into a space teeming with luxury. Valets in crisp uniforms opened car doors, guiding guests out one by one. The moment the driver parked, he stepped out and opened mine.

I inhaled deeply before stepping out, heels clicking against the smooth pavement.

The entrance was flanked by towering floral arrangements, their fragrance blending with the expensive perfumes in the air. Inside, the ballroom was nothing short of breathtaking—an opulent blend of gold and ivory, chandeliers dripping from the high ceilings, their crystals refracting light across the marble floors.

The space was filled with prominent figures—business moguls, politicians, celebrities—all dressed in their finest attire, their conversations a delicate hum of wealth and power.

I felt the weight of it immediately.

I didn’t belong here.

Then I saw him.

Marco stood near the grand staircase, clad in an impeccably tailored black tuxedo that fit him like a second skin. His presence commanded attention, his dark hair styled with just the right amount of effortlessness, his sharp jawline even more pronounced beneath the warm lighting.

And then his eyes found me.

The noise around me faded, the world narrowing to that single moment as his gaze raked over me slowly, appreciatively.

Something dark and unreadable flickered in his expression before he started toward me, his stride confident, purposeful.

L

I swallowed, heat creeping up my neck.

I had spent days thinking about this man. And now, standing here in his world, feeling the weight of his gaze like a brand on my skin…

I knew one thing for certain.

I cannot resist this man.