I Don't Regret It

The silence in the study after the storm was heavy, broken only by the crackle of the dying fire and the ragged rhythm of their breathing. Ariana lay across the leather couch, her senses reeling. The smell of Mateo—musk, expensive bourbon, and the sharp, copper tang of her lost innocence—was everywhere.

"Dress yourself," Mateo commanded, his voice returning to that low, authoritative vibration. He was already standing, adjusting his trousers with a calm that bordered on terrifying. It was as if he hadn't just spent the last hour dismantling her soul.

Ariana’s hands shook as she pulled the red silk back over her hips. She felt different. Heavy. There was a dull, throbbing ache between her thighs, a constant reminder of the way he had filled her. When she tried to stand, her knees buckled, a sharp sting shooting through her core. She let out a small, involuntary gasp.

Mateo was at her side in an instant. He didn't say a word as he reached out, fixing the gold chains of her dress and smoothing her hair with hands that were surprisingly steady. He looked into her eyes, his gaze dark and unreadable. "You’re trembling, Nina. Stay still."

He turned the lock and pulled the heavy doors open just as the final echoes of the fireworks faded. They hadn't even reached the hallway before Cami appeared, her face flushed from the night air, her eyes darting between the two of them with a sharp, piercing intensity.

"There you are!" Cami cried, her voice high and strained. "I’ve been looking everywhere. The fireworks are over, the guests are starting to leave... Why was the study door locked?"

Ariana’s heart hammered against her ribs. She felt the warmth of Mateo’s seed still slick against her skin, a secret weight that made her want to shrink away. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

"Ariana twisted her ankle on the terrace," Mateo interjected, his voice perfectly smooth, devoid of any guilt. He stepped forward, placing a firm, protective hand on Ariana’s waist. "I found her sitting on the ground in the dark. I brought her in here to examine the joint and ensure there was no fracture. The door was locked to keep the drunken guests from stumbling in while I worked."

Cami’s eyes dropped to Ariana’s feet. "Your ankle? Which one?"

"The... the right one," Ariana managed to whisper, leaning her weight onto Mateo. It wasn't entirely a lie; she was limping, though not because of her ankle. The soreness in her hips made every step a challenge.

"It’s a Grade one sprain," Mateo continued, his eyes meeting Cami’s with a challenge. "She needs rest. I’m going to carry her up to her room. She’s done for the night."

Before Cami could protest, Mateo swept Ariana up into his arms in a princess carry. Ariana instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck, her face pressing into the cool silk of his lapel. She could hear the steady, powerful thrum of his heart.

"I can walk, really—" she started.

"Be quiet, Ariana," Mateo murmured, his voice a low warning. "You’ve done enough dancing for one night."

He carried her up the grand staircase, past the lingering guests who watched with curious whispers. Cami followed behind them, her silence more deafening than any accusation. When they reached Ariana’s room, Mateo kicked the door open and laid her gently on the bed.

He turned to Cami, who was standing in the doorway. "Go say goodnight to the last of the guests, Camila. I’ll make sure she’s comfortable."

Cami lingered for a second, her gaze fixed on the way Ariana’s red dress was slightly wrinkled at the hem. "Fine. Goodnight, Ari. I hope you feel... better in the morning."

As soon as Cami’s footsteps vanished down the hall, the atmosphere in the room shifted. Mateo didn't leave. He leaned over the bed, his hands bracing on either side of Ariana’s head, trapping her.

"You played your part well," he whispered, his eyes raking over her flushed face. "But don't think the lie makes you safe. You belong to me now. Every ache you feel tonight is a reminder of that."

"I don't regret it," Ariana said, her voice gaining a sudden, unexpected strength.

Mateo’s lips curved into a dark, satisfied smile. He leaned down, his mouth ghosting over hers. "Go to sleep, Nina. I have a long day planned for us tomorrow. And I expect you to be ready for everything I ask of you."

He left the room, the click of the door sounding like a final seal on her life.

Ariana lay in the dark, the moonlight streaming through the window. It was Christmas Eve, and she had just given away the only thing she had left to the one man she should have feared. She reached down, her hand resting on her stomach, feeling the lingering warmth of him. She wasn't the same girl who had walked into this mansion. She was wilder. More broken. And as she drifted into a deep, exhausted sleep, she realized she had never felt more alive.

The next morning, the sun rose over a quiet, snow-dusted Madrid. Ariana woke to the soft sound of a cart being wheeled into her room. Two maids moved efficiently, setting down a tray of fresh fruits, steaming coffee, and warm pastries.

"Merry Christmas, Miss," one of the maids said with a polite bow. "Dr. Lopez has requested that you have breakfast in bed this morning to rest your... injury."

Ariana sat up, the silk sheets sliding down her skin. The soreness was still there—a dull, heavy thrum in her pelvis—but as she looked at the lavish breakfast and the single red rose placed on the tray, she didn't feel like a victim. She felt like a queen who had just been crowned in the dark.