His Contracted Temptation; Velvet Lies

VALERIA

One minute, Dante’s eye-fucking me from across the seat. Chances are he knows I can see him and doesn’t care—or maybe he's clueless I'm aware. Either way, I play along, laughing harder, rolling my shoulders until my sleeve slips... and the next—the call, and then...

"I'll see you later," that’s all Dante says before rushing off. Taylor starts the car, and I crane my neck toward the chaos outside,but aside from flashing blue and red lights and a growing crowd, I can’t make out much.

The drive home is quiet. I’m halfway to sleep when the door opens and Taylor taps my shoulder.

“We’ve arrived, ma’am.”

“So soon?” I yawn, covering my mouth. He nods and holds the door open. I thank him and head inside.

Silence greets me. My heels echo against the marble floors, each step emphasizing just how empty this place feels. I think of those big houses I used to deliver to back in Colombia—towering pillars, million-dollar art on every wall, and still, the same hollow quiet. They always had one thing in common: the resounding absence of happiness and satisfaction. Now I’m living in one of them.

Dante's emergency leaves me with no choice but to call it a night.

I don't bother locking the door. A small smile tugs at my lips in satisfaction as I take in the room—queen-sized bed, feathered pillows, a well-furnished and beautiful, well-stocked walk-in closet, and my own personal mini spa of a bathroom. For someone who grew up scraping by, what more could a diva like me want?

A lot, actually. But this will do for now.

I sigh, peeling off my clothes slowly, each piece landing to form a small heap. My body cracks as I stretch. Me time, finally. Rihanna's essential playlist blares from my phone, and I heat up the jacuzzi. Warm, scented water wraps around me as the bath bomb fizzes, turning the water dark green and filling the air with jasmine and rose.

Just as I grab the soap, my phone rings. I roll my eyes and reach for it. My mood lifts when I see the name flash on the screen: Diego.

A lump forms in my throat and I gulp, placing my phone against my ear.

"Hello," I whisper, switching to Spanish.

"I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me, Camila," Diego’s voice drops, irritation lacing his tone.

Here we go.

I bite my lips, scrambling for an excuse. “Didn’t think I was supposed to call so soon. You’re the one who said only in emergencies, remember? The two-week rule?” I snap, eyes scanning the room suspiciously.

Diego sighs, voices chattering in the background. "You always have an answer, don't you, Camila? Are you in?"

I smirk. "What do you think?"

I can already picture his frown, and it makes me grin wider.

"Was it that easy? Or is there something I’m missing?" I can tell he's both surprised and suspicious.

I twirl a strand of hair, toes peeling through the bubbles. "Guess you'll just hear the juicy parts when we meet. Told you I could get any man I want, didn't I?"

"You can get anything you put your mind to, Valeria," he corrects dryly. I roll my eyes. Typical Diego—always my hype man.

"Semantics," I click my tongue.

Diego scoffs, mumbling something incoherent in Spanish. "Don't just disappear like that, Camila, you had us worried for days." There it is—the protective nature of my friend resurfacing.

"Tell them I'm sorry," I say in a small voice, letting out a deep sigh. "I didn't have much of a choice, you know. I thought about calling, but it was too risky."

"Do you think he believes you?" Diego asks.

Does he believe me? I ask myself. I try to remember any time Dante has acted suspicious of me or questioned me, and nothing comes to mind.

"He should. I mean, I'm going to be Mrs. Romano soon," I say defensively, surprising both myself and Diego.

There's a brief silence, and I slap my forehead. There, I've done it again... in five, four, three, two, o—

"I remember you sounding this way with a certain Raphael—"

"Shut up, Diego," I bolt upright in the bathtub, water sloshing. I grip the side of the bath rail tight enough to hurt. "You don't have to remind me of that fucker every time I've got something good going."

"You sounded a bit too happy, if you ask me," Diego mutters. Then softer, "I don't want you to get hurt again, Camila."

"Well, I'm not," I bite out.

"If anything goes wrong, you let me know, okay?"

"Sure thing, Dad."

"I'm serious," he says sternly, and I roll my eyes. God knew what he was doing when he took my dad and gave me a twenty-seven-year-old best friend with a fifty-year-old’s personality.

"I know, I know," I groan, dragging my hand along my face.

"Good girl. We send greetings from here. Take care, Camila."

"You too, Diego. I send my greetings with love." The line goes dead immediately, and so does my mood.

The quiet returns—until a ping. A Fox News alert lights up my screen:

“Blue Cyber Systems Hit by Major Cyber attack Amid Breach Allegations.”

I tap it instantly. So that was why he'd left in a hurry. In one night, both his inheritance and business have been threatened. He seemed confident earlier, maybe too confident—but one can only reach a breaking point.

I tap on the phone app, about to ring him, but I can't bring myself to tap on his number.

My thumb hovers over his digits. Should I call? What if he doesn’t pick up? Would I be interrupting? Maybe tomorrow morning’s better.

He’s already had a rough day as it is. I give my phone one last look, thumb hovering over his name like it’s a trigger.

“Don’t be that girl,” I whisper to myself. Then I tap call anyway.

It rings once. Twice. Then voicemail.

I give my phone one last look before hitting play. Rihanna's voice fills the air, drowning out every sound—but my thoughts are louder