Camilla Rodrigo:
"Oh, really?" Jennifer arched a brow, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed. "What kind of guy doesn't want to meet his girlfriend's friends? I mean, what kind of guy is Aaron, anyway?"
I froze mid-step, just a few paces from the kitchen. My fingers curled slightly at my sides as I lingered, eavesdropping despite knowing better.
"I'm just saying," Mom replied, flipping a pancake effortlessly. "Camilla is a smart girl. We should trust her judgment, right, sugarplum?"
She turned toward me.
Damn it.
I scowled, embarrassed to be caught listening in. With a sigh, I stepped fully into the kitchen, forcing my expression into something neutral. "Morning, Mom."
Leaning down, I placed a quick kiss on her cheek before grabbing the coffee on the table. I took a sip, letting the warmth ground me.
Jennifer, of course, wasn't done. She tapped her fingers on the counter, watching me with an all-too-familiar smirk. "So, are you ever going to introduce us to this mystery boyfriend of yours?"
I swallowed.
"What's the rush?" I tried to sound casual, but I knew Jennifer could see right through me.
She tilted her head, studying me like I was a puzzle she was determined to solve. "You've been with him for a year, right?"
I nodded.
"And in all that time, he hasn't kissed you? Not even once?"
My grip tightened around the coffee mug.
"We're just taking things slow," I said, forcing the words out smoothly.
Jennifer snorted. "Slow? Camilla, you're not in a Victorian romance novel. What kind of guy doesn't even try to kiss his own girlfriend?" She raised a brow, then suddenly gasped. "Wait. Is he gay?"
My heart lurched in my chest.
"No!" The denial came too quickly, too sharp.
Jennifer's eyes narrowed.
Mom sighed, placing a plate of pancakes in front of me. "Sweetheart, I just want the best for you. Don't let anyone string you along or hurt your feelings."
I nodded, forcing a smile. "Aaron is sweet. He's kind, respectful—"
Jennifer groaned. "Oh, please. You want a guy who treats you like you're made of glass? What about a guy who makes you want more? Makes your blood run hot?"
"Jennifer," Mom cut in, giving her a pointed look. "Enough."
Jennifer rolled her eyes but didn't push further.
I focused on my plate, eating faster than necessary to avoid any more awkward conversations.
As soon as I was done, I grabbed my laptop from the table and made my way to the couch, sinking into it with a quiet sigh.
Jennifer followed, plopping down beside me. "So, come to the club with me tonight."
I glanced at her, already shaking my head. "Not happening."
"Oh, come on." She nudged me with her elbow. "You need to shake off whatever this is. Have a drink. Let loose. You're too young to be this cold and isolated." She smirked. "Or is your so-called boyfriend going to eat you alive if you have fun? Oh, wait—" she snapped her fingers. "I forgot. He's probably somewhere with his real boyfriend."
I rolled my eyes.
Jennifer grinned. "Come on. One night. You need it."
I exhaled, staring at my laptop screen, pretending to consider it.
But deep down, I already knew.
My relationship with Aaron was over. I just hadn't said it out loud yet.
I try to focus on my laptop, tuning out Jennifer's endless chatter. But my fingers slip, and before I even realize it, I've typed Alessandro Giordano into the search bar.
Jennifer leans over my shoulder, peeking at the screen. Then suddenly—
"Oh. My. GOD!"
I flinch as she snatches the laptop from my lap.
"Who is this?" she gasps, scrolling through the images with wide eyes. "Oh my freaking God, he's hot! CEO of—wait, is this real? This man is rich rich."
I groan, rubbing my temples. "Give it back, Jennifer."
She ignores me, clicking on articles, scanning photos. "Tell me right now—who is this? Do you have a sugar daddy? Is this your secret boyfriend?"
I snatch the laptop from her grip. "He's an inmate."
Jennifer blinks. "Excuse me?"
I sigh, closing the screen. "I met him yesterday during a psychological assessment. He's a psychopath."
Jennifer hums, tilting her head. "A hot psychopath."
I shoot her a look. "Seriously?"
She shrugs. "I mean, if I had to choose between dating a boring guy or a billionaire with a little murder problem…"
I shake my head. "You're insane."
Jennifer smirks. "Insane but fun. Which is why you should come to the club with me tonight."
I groan. "Jennifer—"
"Come on, Camilla, you need to loosen up. Drink. Dance. Live a little. Or are you just gonna sit here, sulking over your maybe-gay, probably-distant, boring boyfriend?"
I roll my eyes, but my chest tightens at her words.
Jennifer grins, sensing victory. "You're too young to be this cold and isolated. I mean, are you even alive anymore? Or is your boyfriend sucking the life out of you? Actually—" she gasps mockingly. "I'm pretty sure he's the one getting sucked dry right now. By his real boyfriend."
I glare at her. "You're insufferable."
She grins. "And you love me for it. So? Are we going or not?"
I sigh, dragging a hand down my face. "Fine. We'll go."
Jennifer squeals, clapping her hands. "Yes! Now, go put on something that screams 'I'm a bad b*tch'—not whatever librarian funeral outfit you usually wear."
I shake my head, but deep down, I know she's right. Maybe I do need this.
Even if I already have a bad feeling about tonight.
_ _ _
The bass of the music thumped through my veins as we stepped into the club. The air was thick with sweat, alcohol, and the promise of reckless decisions. Jennifer had dressed me in something she deemed sexy, but I felt naked. I tugged at the hem of my dress, uncomfortable with how much skin it revealed, but Jennifer was already dragging me toward the dance floor.
"Not gonna lie, this song is a banger," I muttered, my body involuntarily moving to the rhythm.
"That's my baby sis! Shake that ass!" Jennifer whooped, twirling under the flashing neon lights.
Laughter bubbled in my chest despite my discomfort. Maybe this was what I needed—to let loose, to forget, just for one night.
Then everything changed.
A man approached Jennifer, whispering something in her ear. At first, she looked annoyed, rolling her eyes, but before I could react, his grip on her wrist tightened. A second later, he was dragging her toward the exit.
"Hey!" I shoved through the crowd, heart pounding. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Jennifer struggled against his grip. "Let go of me, asshole!"
Before I could reach them, another man stepped in, slamming a fist into Jennifer's stomach. She gasped, doubling over in pain.
Rage flared inside me. Without thinking, I lunged, shoving the man off her. But that was a mistake.
A hand fisted into my hair, yanking me back. "You're gonna pay for your sister's debt," a voice growled in my ear.
Debt? My stomach turned.
"Do you know how much your sister stole?" He spat out a number so large it made my head spin. "I think you should take responsibility."
Hands gripped my arms, dragging me away. Jennifer's shouts were drowned by the pounding music. Panic surged through me—I kicked, thrashed, but they were too strong.
Then—
"Do you mind?"
A voice, smooth and unhurried, cut through the chaos like a blade.
That voice.
My breath hitched as the grip on me loosened. The men stiffened, their fear instant. I felt a presence behind me, powerful, suffocating.
"That's my psychotherapist you're harassing."
I turned my head slowly, barely daring to believe it.
Alessandro Giordano.
The man in the suit. The devil I had met only yesterday. He was here, standing just a few feet away, watching me like I was a mouse caught in a trap he had laid himself.
"S-Sorry, boss," the man holding me stammered, immediately raising his hands in surrender. "Didn't know—"
"Didn't know?" Alessandro hummed, stepping forward. The air shifted, his presence an unrelenting force. "And now that you do?"
The man swallowed hard but said nothing.
Alessandro turned his attention to me, and the smirk that curled on his lips sent a chill down my spine.
"Hello, Camila," he purred. "Did you miss me?"
My throat went dry. Every instinct screamed at me to run, but my legs wouldn't move.
"Well, Doc," he continued, voice laced with amusement. "We need to put on a little show for our friend here. If I let you go now, he'll probably slit your throat for the embarrassment you caused him."
My heart pounded as he stepped closer, so close I could feel the heat of his body against mine. My pulse was a frantic drumbeat as his fingers brushed my waist, trailing up ever so slightly.
"Just a little show, Camila," he murmured. "Shall we make it convincing?"
My breath hitched as his fingers curled into the fabric of my dress. With a swift movement, he tugged, the sound of fabric tearing making my stomach plummet. My exposed skin prickled under his touch, my mind warring between panic and something far more dangerous.
I was supposed to scream. I was supposed to push him away. I was supposed to fight.
But I didn't.
Because as much as fear coiled around my ribs, there was something else—something darker. The way he looked at me, like he was devouring me with his eyes, made my breath come faster, made something hot coil low in my stomach.
God, what's wrong with me?
His hands slid lower, deliberate, teasing. "You know, Doc," he murmured, his breath ghosting over my ear, "I wanted to do this the first day we met."
A shiver ran down my spine. His eyes burned with hunger—dark, possessive, consuming. And somehow, against every ounce of reason, I felt my body respond.
No.
My eyes snapped open, realization crashing over me. Was I really about to let this dangerous man touch me? Right here? In this strip club? Was this how I wanted to lose my virginity—to a mafia kingpin?
Panic seized me. My hands trembled as I reached into my bra, fingers wrapping
around the cool handle of my mother's switchblade.
I yanked it free, my breath shallow.
Then, with every ounce of strength, I screamed and swung the blade—aiming straight for Alessandro Giordano's throat.