CH 20

Aisha's birthday party was alive in a way I hadn't expected-music pulsing through the loft, fairy lights strung across exposed brick, laughter cutting through the bass. Tables groaned under platters of jollof rice (spicy, smoky, nothing like anything I'd tasted before), grilled chicken with crisp edges and tender meat, puff-puff dusted with sugar, and bowls of peppered stew that made my eyes water just looking at them. Drinks flowed-cocktails in bright colors, palm wine in clay cups, bottles of chilled Hennessy passed hand to hand. Games broke out in corners: charades, a loud round of "Never Have I Ever" that had people shrieking and drinking.

 

I stayed on the edges. Black dress clinging to my hips, slit riding high on one thigh, neckline dipping low enough to make me feel exposed every time someone glanced over. I sipped water. Smiled when Aisha pulled me into a quick hug and whispered "You look dangerous tonight." I danced a little-awkward, self-conscious-but mostly watched. Watched her glow. Watched her friends orbit her like she was the sun. Watched how easy it looked to belong somewhere.

 

I left after an hour.

 

I told myself I wasn't ready. Told myself the bruises still ached under the makeup, that Ethan's texts were still burning holes in my phone, that Mateo's absence felt like a hole in my chest. But the real reason was simpler: I didn't want to pretend I was okay when I wasn't.

 

Back home I stripped in the dark. Stepped under the shower. Hot water hit my shoulders, my breasts, my stomach. I closed my eyes and let it pour over my face.

 

And then I remembered her. The embarrassment. The way people stared at me. The way she looked like she would drag me across the whole building.

 

"YOU FVCKING CHEAP SLUTTY, HOME WREAKING, LAPDOG CHEAP BITCH!." her voice rang.

 

Valentina Cortez. Mateo's wife. The mother of his child. The woman who'd stood in that restaurant like she owned him. Like I was the intruder. So Lucian was the son?

 

My throat closed. I pressed my palm to the tile. Let the water pound my back while tears mixed with it.

 

All my life I'd sworn I'd never touch a married man. Never be the other woman. Never let myself fall for someone who already belonged to someone else.

 

And here I was-falling so hard for Mateo Rossi I could barely breathe without him. Was that why he didn't say anything when I told him that someone had hurt me? Was that why he seem only interested in sex? 

 

Wait. Was I his beck-on prostitute?

 

I should be angry! My heart hurt and I fear I might do something stupid of I think about this. I would kill. Maybe myself or him if I make it to the office. 

 

"I need to distract myself" I whispered "I need to distract my FVCKING SELF" I yelled as the tear began to steam.

 

His cologne on my sheets. 

His voice calling me Angioletto. 

His hands pinning my wrists. 

His cock stretching me open while he growled *"You're mine."*

 

I slid one hand between my legs. Fingers brushing my clit-still sensitive from last night. I circled slowly. Pictured him behind me-chest to my back, teeth on my shoulder, thick length sliding in deep while he whispered filthy promises.

 

My breath hitched. Fingers moved faster. I pressed two inside-wet, slick, aching. Imagined his hand around my throat. His other hand guiding mine. 

 

Pleasure coiled tight. Sharp. I bit my lip. Came with a sobbing moan-knees buckling, forehead against the wall, water cascading over my trembling body.

 

I stayed there until the water ran cold.

 

Wrapped in a towel I checked my phone.

 

One message from Mateo.

 

**Everything okay?**

 

I stared at it. Thumb hovering. What does that mean?

 

I didn't reply.

 

9:45 p.m. I crawled into bed. Naked. Sheets cool against my skin. Tried to sleep.

 

The doorbell rang.

 

Then banging. Hard. Insistent.

 

My heart slammed into my throat.

 

I grabbed the knife from the kitchen block-blade glinting in the dark-and crept to the door. Phone in one hand. Knife in the other.

 

The banging continued.

 

I checked the ring camera feed.

 

Mateo.

 

Bloody nose. Bruised left face. Knuckles up to his arm raw and split.

 

I yanked the door open.

 

"What happened, Mateo?"

 

He braced himself on the frame. Blood dripped from his nose onto his shirt.

 

I stepped aside. Let him in.

 

He collapsed onto the couch. Wiped his nose with the back of his hand. Smearing red across the cushion.

 

I frowned-irrational, petty irritation flaring-but rushed to the bathroom anyway. Wet wipes, antiseptic, cotton pads. First-aid kit. I knelt in front of him.

 

He watched me the whole time-silent, intense.

 

I cleaned his nose first. Not broken. Just battered. Two solid punches, maybe three. Did he fall ? Or crash?! His eye was swelling but not black yet. Knuckles worse-split skin, blood crusted.

 

"What happened?" I asked again. Softer.

 

Silence.

 

He avoided my eyes. Jaw tight.

 

I finished his nose. Moved to his hands. Dabbed antiseptic. He hissed once-barely.

 

I looked up. Caught him staring.

 

Not at my hands. At my face. At my mouth. At the way my towel had slipped-exposing the top swell of my breasts, the shadowed valley between them.

 

Heat climbed my neck.

 

"I'm afraid I'll have to eat you up if you look at me like that again," he said. Voice low. Warning.

 

I swallowed. Felt the pulse between my legs kick hard.

 

He leaned in. Slow. Intent on kissing me.

 

I pushed back. Gentle. Stood up.

 

"No."

 

His expression flickered-surprise, hurt, then nothing.

 

I walked to the kitchen. Made tea. Honey for me. Sugar for him. Brought both back.

 

He took the mug. Sipped. Grimaced slightly but drank anyway.

 

"I had to get someone," he said finally. "Lucian."

 

I nodded. "I heard you on the phone."

 

He scowled-like hearing his son's name from my lips was a violation.

 

"I'm sorry," I said quickly. "I just... overheard."

 

He relaxed. Barely.

 

"Luci's a naughty kid," he said. "But he's good now."

 

He stood. Walked to me. Pulled me into his arms. One hand on my jaw-gentle this time. Thumb stroking my lower lip.

 

I looked away.

 

He tried again. Kissed the corner of my mouth.

 

I stepped back.

 

"You're allergic to honey," I said.

 

"Says who?"

 

I blinked. I just wanted him away at this point.

 

He smiled-slow, dark. "I lied. I told you it was a joke . So now, come here"

 

My stomach flipped.

 

He stepped closer. I retreated until my back hit the wall.

 

"What happened to you, Sir?" I asked-professional, distant.

 

He looked me dead in the eyes. Smiled again. Sad. Tired.

 

"I'm sorry I left like that," he said. "Had to find Lucian. I ran into trouble. Junkie. Pool cue. I'm here now, Angioletto. well..." He almost rolled shis eyes " A crashed car too. Almost ran over some suicidal fellow that ran into the middle of the damn road. Fell and scraped myself trying to hold him from running unto the next vehicle"

 

I searched his face. Waiting.

 

Nothing about Valentina. Nothing about a wife. Nothing about his child.

 

He sighed. Dropped his head. Walked to the door.

 

"We'll see tomorrow," he said. "And we'll start again. Tomorrow."

 

He left. Again with the starting again tomorrow!!!

 

No explanation. No truth. Just *tomorrow*.

 

Like he got to decide. Like my heart wasn't already breaking.

 

I locked the door. Leaned against it. Slid to the floor.

 

What the fuck just happened?