Price Of Desires: Chapters 1–5

Isabella

Slap!

My head snapped to the side, a stinging heat blooming across my cheek.

The force of my Father’s palm left me momentarily dazed.

For a second, I thought my neck had actually snapped from the impact.

"You foolish girl!" he screamed, his voice sharp enough to cut through my bones. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

Tears welled in my eyes, spilling down my cheeks before I could stop them.

"Father, please," I whispered, my voice hoarse. "I had no idea Lucas would take that kind of money from your safe. Please, I—"

Slap!

The second slap hit so hard, it knocked me off balance and sent me crashing onto the bed.

I gasped, instinctively shielding my throbbing cheek with my hands.

The tears came faster now, warm and unrelenting, dripping onto the bed.

"You are the adult in this house, Isabella!" my father continued, his voice laced with fury. "You had one task—watch over the house while your mother and I were away. But what did you do? You handed Lucas the safe combination, and he took everything!"

I shook my head, my breath coming in ragged gasps. "No, Father! He told me he needed to check something for you. I—I didn’t know he was going to take the money!"

"Stop lying!" he spat.

I could see the rage on his face in the faint moonlight creeping into my room.

"I’m not lying! Ask him!" My voice cracked as I looked up at him, pleading. "Lucas said you asked him to snap some documents in the safe. I didn’t think—"

"And that's the problem, isn't it?" he sneered. "You never think! Lucas is still young for God's sake!"

"You knew exactly what it meant to give a sixteen-year-old the combination to the safe, yet you did it anyway!" he screamed, his voice shaking with fury.

"And now, the money is gone. One million dollars, vanished—just like that—all because he was scammed online!"

"I'm sorry, please!" I cried out.

"Sorry won't cut it. I'm going to teach you a good lesson, then we are going to find a solution to this problem" he said as he unbuckled his belt.

I swallowed hard, my body instinctively tensing as more tears dripped from my eyes.

The floorboards creaked under his heavy steps, each sound a hammer blow against my fragile composure.

I pushed myself up against the headboard. "Daddy, please," I whispered, my voice barely audible, a broken plea. "Not tonight. I don't feel so well please."

My stomach churned, a knot of dread twisting inside me.

He didn't even pause. His gaze, cold and flat, swept over me, dismissing my words as if they were nothing.

The metallic rip of a condom packet echoed in the small room, a sound that always made my heart plummet.

It was a sound that signaled the start of a nightmare.

"Don't be dramatic," he growled, his voice rough and impatient. "Lie down. You'll feel better after I'm done."

His words were a lie, a cruel joke. I knew there would be no relief, only the hollow ache of violation.

He moved with a brutal efficiency, his hands rough as he yanked my nightgown up, the thin fabric tearing slightly.

My breath hitched, and a silent sob escaped my lips, a whimper lost in the suffocating silence of the room.

He loomed over me, his weight pressing me into the mattress.

I turned my head, trying to avoid his gaze, but it was no use, I could feel him everywhere.

The tears streamed down my face, hot and stinging.

When he moved my panties aside, I squeezed my eyes shut as tightly as I could, willing myself to disappear.

Every muscle in my body coiled, bracing for the inevitable, but nothing could truly prepare me.

I lay there, stiff as stone, counting the seconds in my head as he shoved himself inside me repeatedly. Pain shot through my body.

I fisted the bedsheets, as if they could pull me away from the reality pressing down on me.

His breath was hot and heavy in the silence, each ragged grunt scraping against my ears like nails on a chalkboard.

His sweat clung to my skin, suffocating, making my stomach churn. I wanted to disappear—to sink into the mattress, to become nothing.

I tried to think of something, anything, to take me away from here. Happy thoughts. A safe place. But my mind came up empty.

There was no happy place. Nothing but the faint, blurry memory of the first two years I spent in this house—back when I still believed I was safe.

There was no point in fighting him off. He’d still do whatever he wanted, and I was powerless to stop him.

I had tried before—screaming, kicking, begging—but it never changed anything. The only thing resistance ever earned me was more pain.

I told my mother once. Just once. I remember the way she sighed, almost exasperated, as if I were complaining about something trivial. 'This is a small price to pay', she had said. 'You want your father to be happy, don’t you?'

I was fourteen when it started. The first time, he slipped into my room in the dead of night, reeking of alcohol.

When I finally found the courage to whisper no, he just chuckled, low and amused, as if I were being ridiculous.

I threatened to tell.

That was when he dangled the orphanage over my head, reminding me how easily he could send me back.

He knew that fear controlled me more than anything else ever could. So, in the end, I stopped fighting.

I learned to lie still, to detach, to count the cracks in the ceiling until it was over. He always left eventually, and that was the only mercy he ever gave me.

But now, I’m twenty-two. And it hasn’t stopped. If anything, it’s gotten worse.

The threats, the punishments, the way he takes whatever he wants, whenever he wants it. There’s no escape. No one to save me.

I regretted ever knowing the combination to that damn safe.

Never in my wildest imagination did I think there would be a million dollars in that safe. Never did I think Lucas would touch it.

And now, because of that single moment of trust, my world was falling apart.

.....

The next morning, Mom told me flatly that Dad was threatening to have me arrested if I didn’t come up with the missing money.

My heart plummeted. “Please,” I begged, sinking to my knees. “Talk to him. You know I didn’t take it.”

She stepped back like I was something dirty. “Don’t make a scene, Isabella. It’s your mess. Clean it up.”

I turned to Lucas and Lyra, desperation choking me. “Please. He listens to you. Just help me beg him.”

Lucas rolled his eyes. “Why would we stick our necks out for you?” he asked like he wasn't the one who misplaced such a huge amount of money.

Lyra sighed, inspecting her nails. “Dad said what he said. Our hands are tied.”

I stayed on the floor, drowning in hopeless thoughts, until I heard heavy footsteps.

My body tensed as Dad came down the stairs, his face unreadable stone.

I wiped my tears and stood, heart pounding.

He stopped in front of me, towering like a judge. “The stolen money isn’t mine,” he said coldly. “It belongs to one of my business partners. I’ve been avoiding his calls all day.”

My stomach twisted.

“What do you suggest I tell him, Isabella?” he asked.

“I-I don’t know. Maybe we could sell some properties?” I stammered. “Raise the money?”

“We?” he repeated, voice sharp. “No, sweetheart. This is all you. If you weren’t so stupid, none of this would’ve happened.”

“I don’t understand,” I whispered. “Why do I have to pay for it? I never even saw the money!”

“You’re paying for your stupidity,” he said. “Your carelessness cost us a million dollars. Fix it.”

“How?” I cried. “I’ve never even seen a million dollars before!”

I reached for his shoes, clutching them in desperation. “Please, Dad. Some of Lucas and Lyra’s things cost thousands. We could sell—”

“Shut up!” Mom snapped, making me flinch. “Why should my children suffer for your mistake?”

Tears burned down my face. The worst part? No one blamed Lucas.

They excused him for being young, as if that wasn’t the exact reason he should be held accountable.

They coddled and spoiled the twins, making them feel invincible.

Dad sighed, like he was done with me. “Listen to me, Isabella. I have a way for you to repay the money.”

I wiped my face. “What do you mean?”

“There’s a party tomorrow night,” he said, adjusting his cufflinks like it was just business. “A high-class event. One of the most ruthless mafia bosses in the city will be there.”

A chill ran through me. “S-So… is he going to lend us the money?”

Dad smirked. “No. You’re going to steal from him.”

My breath caught in my throat. “What?”

"You heard me," he said, unfazed. "All you have to do is seduce him and steal his wristwatch."

I gaped at him, shaking my head in disbelief. "No, y-you can’t be serious, Dad!"

"I’m very serious," he said flatly. "That wristwatch is worth 1.5 million dollars. More than enough to settle the debt."

I stared at him, my pulse thundering in my ears.

He wanted me to seduce a mafia boss.

And then steal from him.

A man powerful enough to have an item worth over a million dollars casually strapped to his wrist.

My father was sentencing me to death.

I stared at my father, my mouth dry, my body frozen. He couldn't be serious. He couldn't actually expect me to pull this off.

But his expression told me otherwise. He wasn’t joking. He wasn’t giving me a choice.

"Dad, you’re asking me to steal from a mafia boss," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

"You say that like it’s impossible," he replied, shrugging. "It’s a simple job. Walk in, look pretty, make him want you— hell fuck him if you have to and when he’s distracted, take the watch. That’s it."

I let out a shaky breath, trying to reason with him. "If it’s that easy, why don’t you do it?"

His eyes darkened. "Because he—" he jabbed a finger at my chest, "—won’t be interested in a middle-aged man. But you? You have what it takes to get close to him."

I flinched.

"You owe us, Isabella," Mom cut in sharply. "You handed Lucas the combination. You let this happen. And now, you’ll fix it."

My gaze darted to Lucas, who was still sitting comfortably on the couch, completely absorbed in his game, unbothered.

Lyra was beside him, scrolling through her phone, her lips pursed like she was waiting for this inconvenience to be over.

I clenched my fists.

"Dad what you're asking for is impossible. How do you expect me to steal from a Mafia boss?" My voice wavered, but I forced myself to look my father in the eye. "What if he catches me?"

"Then don’t get caught," Dad said coldly.

I stared at him, feeling the last shred of my hope crumble. This wasn’t about fixing a mistake.

This was a punishment. They wanted me to suffer for something that wasn’t even my fault.

And the worst part? I had no way out.

I have no money. No support. No one who cares if I live or die. A lump formed in my throat, but I swallowed it down.

"Who is he?" I asked finally, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Rafael Vasquez." My dad said.

My breath hitched. I have heard that name before.

Rafael Vasquez was a legend in the underground world. Ruthless. Unforgiving. The kind of man whose name alone sent shivers down people’s spines.

And I was supposed to steal from him?

I’m going to die.

"The party is invitation-only," Dad continued, as if he hadn’t just signed my death warrant. "But don’t worry—I’ve already arranged for you to be someone’s plus-one."

He pulled out a sleek black envelope from his jacket and tossed it onto the coffee table.

I stared at it like it was a bomb. In a way, it was.

"Tomorrow night," he said firmly. "You’ll wear something stunning. You’ll make him want you. And then, when he’s not paying attention—" he snapped his fingers, "—you take the watch and get out."

I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat.

"What if I refuse?" I asked, my voice was quiet but firm.

Mom scoffed. "Refuse?" she repeated mockingly. "And how exactly do you plan to pay back a million dollars? With your part-time jobs?"

Dad smirked. "That’s the thing, Isabella. You can’t refuse. Or you'll go to jail"

I felt the walls closing in on me. I had no options. If I refused, I’d still be blamed and worse, jailed.

And if I failed…

I didn’t even want to think about what Rafael Vasquez did to people who tried to steal from him.

My hands curled into fists, nails digging into my palms.

I was trapped.

And tomorrow night, I was walking straight into the lion’s den.

I slammed my bedroom door shut, heart racing, tears streaming as I collapsed onto my bed, hugging my knees tightly.

I was exhausted—tired of being blamed for everything the twins did, tired of feeling invisible in the only home I’d ever known.

Before the Quinns adopted me, I lived in an orphanage where loneliness clung to me like a second skin.

I had no friends, no one who cared, but I believed if I was good enough, someone would finally want me.

When the Quinns chose me, I thought my life had changed.

I had a family—a mother, a father, a home.

I loved them with everything I had and worked hard to be the perfect daughter, terrified they’d stop loving me if I made a mistake.

For a while, it worked. They adored me. I felt wanted. But that all changed when my mother got pregnant.

The twins became the center of their world, and I slowly disappeared.

Their love faded, their attention slipped away, and I was left in the shadows.

Still, I kept trying—desperate to be seen, to matter again. But no matter how hard I tried, I remained invisible.

....

My mother took me shopping. It had been so long since she last bought me new clothes.

I had learned early on not to rely on their generosity—I took part-time jobs to provide for my basic needs, making sure I didn’t have to beg for college allowance.

My parents were wealthy, and for that, I was grateful.

They had covered my tuition without hesitation, ensuring I received the best education money could buy.

But everything else? That was on me. Clothes, shoes, books, transport fare, study materials—if I wanted it, I had to earn it myself.

So when my mother announced she was taking me to a boutique, I was surprised. And not just any boutique—an exclusive, high-end designer store where the cheapest dress probably costs more than my entire semester’s worth of textbooks.

The stylist worked with practiced ease, shaping my hair into soft, elegant waves and applying makeup that highlighted my features without hiding who I was.

I watched in the mirror as they sculpted my face with contour, painted my lips a deep crimson, and lined my eyes with a sharp flick of eyeliner.

By the time they were done, I barely recognized myself.

I looked… stunning. Powerful.

For a fleeting second, I almost smiled at my reflection. But then, I remembered the mission.

And just like that, the rush of admiration was replaced by the steady pounding of my heart.

I turned to face my mother. She studied me carefully, eyes sweeping over my appearance with critical precision.

Instinctively, I tugged at the hem of my dress, but she smacked my hand away.

"Don't touch it," she scolded. "That's the beauty of the dress. You want to attract his attention, don’t you?"

I swallowed and nodded.

"Good," she said. "Now chin up, stand straight, and smile."

I obeyed, straightening my posture as she circled me like a sculptor admiring her finest work.

"You’re very beautiful, Isabella," she said at last. "And as my daughter, you must be successful in this mission."

A chill ran down my spine. I had known this moment was coming, but now that it was here, the weight of it settled heavily on my shoulders.

"Mom, I have a bad feeling about this," I admitted quietly. "If I get caught… Rafael Vasquez will kill me."

My mother didn’t flinch. She met my gaze with a look so firm, so unyielding, that it left no room for doubt.

"You must not get caught, Isabella," she said sharply. "As my daughter, you must succeed—because I do not raise failures. Do you understand?"

I swallowed hard and nodded.

"Good." Her lips curled into a satisfied smile. "Then go make me proud."

And just like that, my fate was sealed.

I arrived at the party with Mark—one of my father’s wealthy business partners. It wasn’t my choice to be here with him. Dad had arranged for me to be his plus one, and refusing hadn’t been an option.

As we stepped out of the sleek black car, I took in the scene before me. Rows of luxury vehicles lined the grand entrance, each one more expensive than the last. Guests moved with effortless grace, exuding wealth and power. Their designer gowns sparkled under the chandelier-lit entrance, and their conversations dripped with importance.

This place was like something out of a movie—lavish, breathtaking, and completely out of my league.

“Shall we?” Mark offered his arm.

I hesitated for a fraction of a second before looping mine through his. He was around my father’s age but carried himself with the energy of a much younger man. Thankfully, he didn’t ask me any questions—I suspected Dad had already filled him in on why I was here.

As we entered the ballroom, I had to remind myself not to let my mouth hang open. The sheer opulence of the space was overwhelming.

Crystal chandeliers dangled from the high ceiling, casting a golden glow over the elegantly decorated room. A grand staircase curled at the far end, leading to a second-floor balcony where more guests lingered, sipping expensive wine. Every detail screamed luxury, and every person here belonged—except me.

No one would guess I was just a broke college student. Not with this designer dress hugging my curves or the way my heels clicked against the marble floor. But I knew. And if I wasn’t careful, they would too.

A waiter approached with a tray of wine.

“Wine?” he offered.

Mark took two glasses and handed me one. He clinked his glass against mine with a smirk. “Good luck.”

And just like that, he disappeared into the crowd, off to mingle with men whose wealth and influence dictated the world.

I swallowed hard, gripping the delicate stem of my glass.

This was it.

I needed to stay sharp, to keep my focus on why I was really here.

My father had sent me a photo—one I had studied relentlessly on the drive over. The more I stared at it, the more anxious I became. And now, standing in the middle of this extravagant ballroom, surrounded by strangers who played a game I barely understood, the anxiety felt suffocating.

I drained my wine in one gulp, hoping it would settle my nerves. It didn’t.

For what felt like hours, I stood at the edge of the room, ignoring the men who tried to engage me in conversation. I wasn’t here for them.

Then, suddenly, the air changed.

A shift—subtle yet undeniable.

Conversations quieted. Heads turned. Women straightened their postures, smoothing their expensive dresses and tossing their perfectly styled hair.

A ripple of whispers spread through the ballroom like a wave.

I followed their gazes—and there he was.

Rafael Vasquez.

I didn’t need to check the photo to confirm.

He stood at the entrance, exuding authority and danger. Dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit, he looked every bit the powerful man he was. His dark hair, styled to perfection, only accentuated his sharp features—strong jawline, piercing eyes, and an expression that left no room for nonsense.

He was attractive, no doubt. But it wasn’t his looks that made the room hang onto his presence—it was the sheer power he commanded without speaking a word.

I grabbed another glass of sparkling wine from a passing waiter and gulped it down, but the alcohol did nothing to calm my nerves.

Because the man standing across the room wasn’t just another wealthy guest.

He was the Rafael Vasquez.

The man I was supposed to steal from.

The man who could end my life without hesitation.

And he wasn’t alone.

Three men flanked him, their presence as intimidating as his own.

They weren’t just bodyguards—they were enforcers. Their sharp gazes scanned the room, warning anyone who dared get too close. No one approached Rafael Vasquez unless he allowed it.

I clenched my glass, my heartbeat hammering in my ears.

How the hell was I supposed to get close to him with those three men hovering around him like shadows?

I could turn around. Walk out of here. Go home and tell my father that this was a mistake, that Rafael Vasquez was too dangerous, too unapproachable.

But then what?

Dad would kill me for missing such an opportunity. And if he didn’t, he’d probably hand me over to the authorities himself.

The thought of prison suddenly didn’t seem so bad. At least there, I wouldn’t have to worry about getting caught stealing from a mafia boss.

But then again… if I could pull this off… if I could succeed…

I would make my parents proud.

I inhaled deeply and forced myself to focus.

Rafael was speaking to a group of businessmen, his expression unreadable. He barely moved two feet before another guest approached him, eager to gain his favor.

Time was slipping away.

If I didn’t make my move now, he could leave, and I would lose my chance.

I squared my shoulders and started toward him.

Every step felt heavier than the last, my heels clicking against the polished marble floor like a countdown to my fate. I maneuvered through the crowd, weaving between guests lost in conversation, the scent of expensive cologne and perfume thick in the air.

As I neared Rafael Vasquez, I felt the weight of the three men flanking him—watching, assessing, prepared to eliminate threats before they even formed.

Relax.

You’re just another guest. Smile, breathe, don’t look like you’re planning something illegal.

Rafael’s deep voice rumbled through the conversation, smooth yet authoritative. The men around him laughed at something he said—but he didn’t.

My window of opportunity was closing fast. I needed to act.

I stepped forward—just as someone else made their move.

A tall, elegant woman in a skin-tight emerald dress.

She slinked up to Rafael, placing a manicured hand on his arm, tilting her head with a smile that had clear intent.

I hesitated.

I wasn’t as bold as she was. I hadn’t really considered this possibility.

Of course a man like Rafael Vasquez attracted attention—especially from women who thrived in his world.

I glanced at the woman again—her dress, her confidence, the way she looked at him like he was the only man in the room.

If I wanted to get close, I had to match her energy.

Or be even bolder.

I should have walked away.

I should have pretended I was just another guest, admiring the chandelier or whatever it was that rich people did at parties like this.

But no.

Instead, my survival instincts shut down, and my dumb, nervous hands stretched out for a handshake before my brain could stop them.

I didn’t think.

I just acted.

“H-hi, I’m Vivian,” I lied, forcing a smile so wide my cheeks hurt.

Rafael Vasquez did not move.

Did not blink.

Did not care.

His dark eyes barely acknowledged me, staring at me the way someone might look at a fly that landed on their dinner plate. Not exactly disgusted, but very much in the way.

His expression was unreadable, cold—the ever-present scowl making it feel like the oxygen in the room had suddenly run out.

My hand hovered in the air like an idiot, just hanging there—an offering no one wanted.

Beside him, the gorgeous woman in the emerald dress—practically a supermodel—gave me a slow, disdainful once-over. One perfectly sculpted brow arched as if silently asking, 'What exactly do you think you’re doing?'

I should have taken the hint.

I did not take the hint.

Instead, I made it worse.

Because my mouth—oh no—my mouth had other plans.

“I—I saw you from afar,” I blurted out, my voice an embarrassing mix of high-pitched panic and regret. “And I thought, uh, I should… come say hi. Because, um… you’re here. And I’m here. And it would be weird if I didn’t, right?”

Shut up, Isabella. Shut up now.

Still, nothing.

Rafael just stared.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t even acknowledge my existence beyond the impassive look that made me want to sink into the marble floor and never resurface.

I laughed—too loud, too awkward—before realizing no one else found this funny.

Panic surged.

“Do you, uh… like parties?” I asked, grasping at straws. “Or are you more of a sit-in-a-dark-room-and-stare-moodily-into-the-distance kind of guy?”

Silence.

Painful.

Agonizing.

Soul-crushing silence.

I laughed again. Not because anything was funny—because my anxiety had officially overridden my common sense.

“What about wine?” I blurted out. “Uhm, do you… do you like wine?”

The woman next to him actually chuckled, but not in a haha, you’re charming kind of way. More like 'wow, you’re pathetic'.

Abort mission.

Abort mission NOW.

I had fully embarrassed myself, and yet my nervous brain refused to shut up.

“I mean, obviously you look like you like wine, because you have one in your hand, haha,” I forced out. “But, uh, like—do you drink it? For fun? Or, wait, not fun, because drinking isn’t—well, I guess it can be fun, but I meant, like, do you—”

Rafael turned.

And just like that, he walked right past me.

Like I didn’t exist.

Like I was a chair.

The woman on his arm smirked, throwing me one last amused glance, shaking her head ever so slightly—almost as if she pitied me—before disappearing into the crowd with him.

And me?

I stood there, mouth slightly open, looking like a complete and utter idiot.

Fuck.

A waiter passed by, and I instinctively grabbed another glass of wine—because clearly, I needed something to drown the secondhand embarrassment I had inflicted on myself.

I had just humiliated myself in front of the most dangerous man in the room—the very man I was meant to seduce.

The man I was supposed to steal from.

This couldn’t be it.

This couldn’t be how my mission ended.

Not after all the effort.

Not after the uncomfortable heels.

And definitely not after my mother’s pep talk— which, in true mom fashion, was less “succeed or I’ll be proud of you anyway” and more “succeed or disown yourself.”

I watched as Rafael Vasquez strolled over to the bar, his presence commanding, the walking fashion ad still clinging to him like a damn parasite.

I groaned internally. Seriously, woman? Let go of him. He’s not a handbag.

What did she have that I didn’t?

Besides flawless skin, long legs, and an aura of wealth, power, and sophistication?

…Okay, so maybe she had a lot that I didn’t.

Focus, Isabella.

Just as I was about to accept my tragic defeat and retreat, something miraculous happened.

Another woman approached Rafael’s date, whispered something in her ear, and just like that—she got up and left with her.

He’s alone.

This was my chance.

I took a deep breath, straightened my posture, and walked toward him with as much confidence as my anxiety allowed.

And then—I did the stupidest thing possible.

Without thinking, I grabbed his glass—the expensive amber liquid still half-full—and gulped it down in one go.

…And instantly regretted every life choice that led me to this moment.

The drink burned like I’d just swallowed Satan’s tears. My throat went numb. My soul briefly left my body.

The warmth burned down my throat, instantly making my eyes water. Holy hell, what was that? Gasoline? Liquid fire? A potion brewed specifically to ruin my life?

Through my watery vision, I noticed Rafael staring at me.

Like I had two heads.

Or like he was considering calling security.

I barely managed to suppress a cough and set the glass down with a dramatic exhale, trying to pretend my lungs weren’t dissolving.

Blinking away the sting of the alcohol, I plopped onto the barstool beside him.

“I—I was talking to you, and you just left,” I blurted, my voice a little too high-pitched. “Like—w-who does that?”

Rafael didn’t even hesitate. Didn’t even blink.

“I do,” he said flatly, then pulled out his phone and started scrolling, completely dismissing me.

Oh.

OH.

So that’s how we were playing this?

I glared at him, my brain scrambling for something, anything, that would salvage my already doomed attempt at seduction. Unfortunately, my mouth had other plans.

“Uh—uhm—what I was trying to say earlier is… you’re… good-looking,” I blurted, mentally punching myself.

Wow. Riveting, Isabella. Absolutely legendary.

Rafael didn’t look up. “I know.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

Now, finally, he turned his gaze to me. Those dark, unreadable eyes locked onto mine as he tilted his head slightly, looking vaguely amused.

“I said, I know.” he repeated casually. “I assume you weren’t expecting me to be surprised over that revelation?”

I opened my mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again. No words came out.

He smirked. “Would it help if I gasped dramatically and pretended to faint?”

I clenched my jaw. “It would help if you had some manners.”

Rafael raised an eyebrow. “Says the woman who just stole my drink.”

Shit. Right. I had done that.

I cleared my throat, trying to regain some dignity. “It was a, uh, power move.”

Rafael hummed. “Interesting strategy. Anything to get my attention, huh."

I nearly choked.

My fingers started tracing invisible patterns on the bar counter, and suddenly, I was very invested in studying my own hands, too scared to look up and meet his way-too-intense eyes.

My nervous system was already on life support.

“N-no! I mean, yes! Wait, no! I mean…” I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut. Pull it together, Isabella!

Taking a deep breath, I decided to just go for it. If I was already making a fool of myself, I might as well commit.

“It’s just that—ugh, okay, fine! Yes! I wanted your attention, but can you really blame me? Look at you! Actually, don’t look at me while I say this—just… exist passively for a second.”

I waved my hand vaguely in the air, still very focused on my fingers.

“You’re just—you know—unfairly good-looking. Like, scientifically illegal levels of attractiveness. I mean, what is this jawline? Did you carve it out of stone yourself? Is there a Greek god in your family tree?”

I let out a dramatic sigh. “And don’t even get me started on the whole mysterious, brooding, I-could-destroy-your-life-with-a-single-glance thing you’ve got going on. It’s annoying how well it works and It’s—ugh, it’s unfair! No one should be this attractive while looking like they might casually ruin your life.”

I huffed, finally glancing up. “And another thing—”

I froze.

The seat beside me? Empty.

The brooding mafia boss I had just poured my soul out to?

Nowhere. To. Be. Seen.

Oh. Oh no.

My breath hitched as I turned my head ever so slowly toward the exit—just in time to see Rafael Vasquez casually walking away, already halfway out the damn ballroom with his bodyguards.

I blinked.

I had been talking—rambling—to myself.

For how long?!

Shit.

I should have just let him go.

I should have swallowed my pride, accepted my humiliating defeat, and gone home to wallow in self-pity over a tub of overpriced ice cream before I zoomed off to jail.

But no.

Because apparently, I was committed to making the worst decisions possible tonight.

I stood up and chased after him.

The brooding Mafia boss had just left me to keep rambling to myself. How nice.

I dodged through the sea of wealthy socialites, trying not to bump into people as I followed Rafael and his guards. He moved with purpose, disappearing past the ballroom’s grand doors.

Oh, no, no, no. He couldn’t leave yet. I hadn't even started my secret mission.

The cool night air slapped my face as I stepped outside.

I scanned the rows of sleek, expensive cars, searching for him, but Rafael Vasquez was nowhere to be seen.

What the hell?

Did he just vanish into thin air? Was that one of his mafia superpowers? Because honestly, at this point, I wouldn’t be surprised.

I took hurried steps, looking around like a lost child in a shopping mall.

Still nothing.

Breathe, Isabella.

I was about to give up when movement in my peripheral vision caught my attention.

A group of men dressed in black strode purposefully toward the back of the building.

My stomach twisted.

I should not follow them.

I should not do this.

But then again, I should’ve kept my mouth shut earlier, and look how that turned out.

My brain screamed for me to turn around, but my feet?

Oh, no. My feet had other plans too.

I trailed behind them, careful but determined, my heels clicking too loudly against the pavement.

If I go back now, I’ll fail.

If I fail, I go to jail.

If I go to jail, my parents will disown me.

And after years of fighting for their approval, that was just not happening.

I arrived at a heavy wooden door and watched as the men disappeared inside.

My palms were sweaty as I reached for the doorknob.

What if I walked into a crime scene?

What if they were smuggling drugs?

Or worse—what if I walked into a room filled with dead bodies of girls who had tried to steal from Rafael Vasquez before?

A violent shiver ran down my spine.

I needed to leave.

I turned around, fully prepared to run—

And then stopped.

“Fuck it.”

I spun back around, inhaled sharply, and barged inside like a crazy woman on a mission.

And instantly regretted it.

The room fell silent.

Six extremely scary men with guns snapped their heads toward me, their weapons immediately aimed in my direction.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

No.

That honor belonged to the bloodied man tied to a chair in the center of the room.

His mouth was gagged, his expensive suit torn, his face bruised and swollen.

My breath hitched.

I froze.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t process.

What. The. Hell.

A slow, chilling realization crept over me.

I had just walked into a literal interrogation scene.

This was not a casual 'Hey, let’s discuss stocks over whiskey' kind of room.

This was a —people-get-killed-here— kind of room.

My heart tried to get itself out of my chest.

As if things weren’t already bad enough, my gaze landed on him.

Rafael Vasquez.

Seated casually on an expensive leather couch, one arm draped over the backrest like he owned the entire world.

Which, in hindsight, he probably did.

His cold, piercing eyes locked onto mine, his expression unreadable but clearly unimpressed.

For the third time tonight, I had completely and utterly humiliated myself in front of the most dangerous man in the room.

Holy. Fuck.

I swallowed. Loudly.

One of the guards cocked his gun, and I swear my soul left my body.