Camilla Rodrigo:
My pen slipped slightly against the paper.
His voice was calm. Too calm. The kind that curled around your spine and squeezed without touching you.
I looked up—and he was already watching me.
Not in the way patients usually did.
No, this was different.
Measured. Intentional. Like he was cataloguing every blink, every breath, every crack in my confidence.
"I, uh…" I cleared my throat, forcing a smile that felt like paper. "Let's begin with a few questions."
Aaron's father is the mafia king of our city. That explains the bodyguard, the expensive watch, the way he moves like the world belongs to him. That's why he—
I pause, my gaze flicking back to Mr. Alessandro. That's why Aaron is hiding his sexuality. No mafia king coming from a deeply conservative family would accept a gay son—especially an only son.
I push the thought aside and focus on the papers in front of me. "Name and date of birth?" My voice is steady. Professional.
Alessandro leans back in his chair, studying me like I'm something to be dissected. "I believe you're fully aware of my history."
I lift my gaze to meet his. He's rude, blunt—nothing like Aaron, who always fidgets, always looks over his shoulder. Maybe he learned that from watching his father.
I jot down his response quickly, but as I glance at him again, I can't help but notice the resemblance. The sharp jawline. The same piercing gaze.
I clear my throat. "As per state law, I am required to inform you that this psychological assessment is mandated to evaluate your mental and emotional state during incarceration. Your cooperation is expected, and your responses will determine—"
"Little girl."
His voice is low, edged with something dark and amused. I freeze, my pen hovering over the paper.
"What gives you the right to question me?" He leans forward, eyes locked onto mine. "The state of my mind is no concern of yours."
I take a steady breath. "The state has hired me to administer this examination."
He chuckles—deep, slow, like he finds this amusing. "Do you even have a certificate, or are you just here for decoration?"
Without missing a beat, I reach into my bag and pull out my credentials. I set them down in front of him with a firm hand. "Here. Take a look."
His gaze flickers downward, but instead of picking them up, he grabs my wrist.
Not too tight. Not too loose. Just enough to make my breath hitch.
I freeze. My eyes widen, my pulse hammering beneath his fingers.
He tilts his head, lips curving slightly. "Jasmine and vanilla."
I blink. "What?"
"Your perfume." His grip remains steady as he breathes in subtly. "Soft. Innocent." His thumb brushes over my wrist, a ghost of a touch. "You must be a virgin."
Heat rises to my cheeks. My body tenses.
I yank my hand back, heart pounding. "That's inappropriate."
His smirk deepens, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "Just an observation."
A loud crash jolts me.
The door swings open, and a guard storms in. "Hands off!"
But Mr. Alessandro is already leaning back, his hands raised lazily in surrender, a smug smirk playing on his lips. He looks entirely unbothered.
"Are you alright, miss?" The guard's voice is firm, but his concern is real.
I nod quickly, forcing a calm expression even as my pulse thrums. "Yes, it's nothing."
I dart a glare at Alessandro, making sure he knows I'm not shaken. Men like him—criminals like him—prey on weakness. I won't give him the satisfaction.
Alessandro chuckles, his gaze never leaving mine. "Sorry," he drawls, his tone anything but apologetic. "It won't happen again."
I don't believe him for a second.
Shaking off the tension, I straighten my shoulders and focus on my notepad. "Let's continue. What crime did you commit to be here?"
His smirk widens. "Oh, so many. So, so many." He leans forward slightly. "Do you want to hear the most interesting one?"
I press my lips together but say nothing.
He exhales, as if savoring a memory. "There was a man—he thought he could deceive me. That was his first mistake. His last mistake?" He tilts his head, watching me too closely. "Well, let's just say he didn't leave the room with all his parts intact."
A chill runs down my spine.
"I started with his hands," Alessandro continues, his voice almost thoughtful. "One by one. I wanted to see how long he could last before he begged me to end it." He watches me, gauging my reaction.
I grip my pen tighter, willing my face to remain neutral.
"Then his tongue," he adds, almost as an afterthought. "After all, he was such a liar. It only seemed fair."
"Enough!" My voice cuts through the room, sharper than I intended. I swallow hard, clearing my throat. "That's not necessary."
Alessandro grins, as if I just entertained him.
I take a steadying breath and glance at my notes. "Moving on. Do you have any history of mental illness?"
He doesn't answer right away. Instead, his gaze drops to my blazer, then lower. His expression shifts, something darker curling at the edges of his mouth.
I don't like that look.
"You know," he muses, his voice dropping, "you have the kind of legs that—"
"What?" My spine stiffens.
He shrugs, unapologetic. "Long legs. They'd fit perfectly wrapped around—"
"Sir!" My voice is ice. "I demand absolute respect during this process."
He watches me for a beat, then chuckles. "I apologize. Truly." But there's amusement in his eyes, like he enjoys pushing me just to see what I'll do.
I grit my teeth. "This is an important evaluation—"
"I understand, Doc." His smirk fades slightly, but his gaze stays sharp. "I'm here, aren't I?"
I exhale slowly, trying to regain control. Focusing on my notes, I start documenting his case. But as I write, I feel the weight of his stare, almost hypnotic.
My fingers tighten around my pen.
I glance away, breaking eye contact.
Big mistake.
"You looked away first." His voice is quiet, yet triumphant. "On the battlefield, that means you'd already be dead." His gaze flickers over me, assessing. "Weak."
I force myself to meet his stare again, my heart hammering.
He grins, slow and deliberate. "Good," he murmurs. "I like my girls with a little fight in them."
My face burns—red with rage, pale with shock. I fell for his trick. Damn it. My body betrays me, a shiver rolling down my spine. And worse, I feel it—my nipples tightening beneath my bra.
His eyes flick downward, and something in them shifts. He knows.
I grab my pen in a flash, pressing it so hard against the paper that the tip nearly tears through. I scrawl furiously:
Constantly defiant. Ruthless sociopath. No remorse. Recommend continued imprisonment without parole.
"We're done for today." My voice is clipped as I gather my papers, shoving them into my bag. My hands tremble—not with fear, but with fury.
When I stand, I smooth my dress, straightening it like armor. I shoot him a warning glare.
But he smirks, lazy and infuriating.
"Oh, Doctor." He leans back in his chair, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. "I'll be seeing you soon."
A slow, taunting wave follows his words, and my stomach knots.
I spin on my heel, my breath shallow, cheeks burning with embarrassment and something worse—something I refuse to name.
Not if I have anything to say about it.
I hiss under my breath, clutching my notes tighter. I'll file my report first thing tomorrow. Recommended eternal imprisonment. No chance of rehabilitation.
I will never see him again. Not if I have anything to say about it.
But the way my hand trembles says otherwise.