The Aftermath

Chapter 12

The Aftermath

**Daniella POV**

I woke to the soft patter of rain still tapping the windows—like it was tired of screaming.

My body hurt in ways I hadn’t known were possible. Thighs sore. Core tender. Lips swollen from biting them to stay quiet. Between my legs, I was sticky—his release, mine, ours. The sheets were twisted around me like they’d tried to hold me captive all night.

Jeffrey was gone.

The space beside me was cold. No note. No text. Just the lingering scent of him on the pillow—sandalwood, sex, and something darker I couldn’t name.

I sat up slowly, wincing. My gown lay crumpled on the floor, soaked and ruined. I pulled the sheet around myself like a shield and padded barefoot across the hardwood.

The house was too quiet. Too big. Marble floors chilled my feet. Shadows stretched long across the walls. I felt small. Used. And still… so damn hungry.

My phone sat on the kitchen island, screen cracked from when I’d dropped it last night. Three missed calls from Mom. Two texts.

**Mom (2:17 AM):** Where are you?

**Mom (4:03 AM):** Daniella answer me. I’m calling the police if you’re not home by morning.

My stomach plummeted.

It was 6:42 a.m.

I typed quickly, fingers trembling.

**Me:** I’m fine. Stayed at a friend’s. Study group ran late. Coming home now.

I hit send before I could second-guess the lie.

It tasted bitter, but the truth would taste worse.

I found my hoodie on the couch—still damp—and tugged it over the gown. My shoes waited by the door. No underwear. No time to search for them.

I slipped out into the gray morning. The rain had eased, but the air hung thick and heavy. The taxi driver barely glanced at me when I climbed in—just asked for the address.

I stared out the window the entire ride, last night replaying in jagged flashes: his mouth on mine, fingers inside me, the way he groaned my name like it hurt him. The way I begged. The way I came so hard the world went white.

And then… nothing.

No goodbye. No “see you tomorrow.” Just gone.

I hated how much that stung.

By the time the taxi pulled up to the gate, the sun was trying to push through the clouds. Mom’s car sat in the driveway.

I paid, slipped through the side entrance, and crept upstairs like a thief.

The house smelled like coffee and fury.

I showered fast—hot water stinging the marks he’d left on my neck, my breasts, the soft skin of my inner thighs. I scrubbed until my skin was raw, but I could still feel him. Everywhere.

When I came downstairs, Mom was at the kitchen table, coffee untouched, eyes red-rimmed.

“You’re home,” she said. Voice flat. Dangerous.

“Yeah.” I forced a smile. “Sorry. Study group. I texted.”

She stared at me for a long moment.

“You smell like men’s cologne.”

My heart slammed against my ribs.

“It’s… Arnold’s. He gave me a ride last night.”

Another lie. They were stacking up so fast I could barely breathe.

Mom’s gaze dropped to my neck. To the faint purple mark just above my collar.

“Arnold, huh?” She rose slowly. “Funny. Arnold doesn’t wear cologne like that.”

I swallowed.

“Mom—”

“Don’t.” She held up a hand. “I don’t want lies. Not today.”

She walked past me, shoulder brushing mine.

“I’m going to work. You’re staying home. No school. No friends. No nothing until I figure out what’s going on with you.”

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

She paused at the door.

“And Daniella?” Her voice cracked—just once. “Whoever he is… he’s not worth losing yourself over.”

Then she was gone.

The door clicked shut.

Silence swallowed the house.

I slid down the wall, knees to my chest, and cried.

Not because I’d been caught.

Not because of the lies.

But because she was right.

And I still wanted him.

My phone buzzed on the counter.

I crawled over, hands shaking.

One message.

From an unknown number.

**Unknown:**

You left without saying goodbye.

Bad girl.

My breath caught.

Another text.

**Unknown:**

My place. 4 p.m.

Wear the red skirt.

No panties.

And Daniella?

Don’t be late.

I stared at the screen, pulse roaring in my ears.

He wasn’t done with me.

And God help me…

I wasn’t done with him either.

I wiped my tears, stood up, and typed one word.

**Me:**

Yes, sir.

The reply came instantly.

**Unknown:**

Good girl.

I closed my eyes, Confused of how my life is turning out to be,I was changing,I never lie to my mother but......one thing was certain Isony want the clock to turn back

**Meanwhile – Wilson Fashion House**

The Wilson Fashion House stood tall and gleaming in the heart of the city—exclusive, untouchable. Only celebrities, politicians’ wives, and the truly wealthy could afford its designs. At the top sat Agnes Wilson, Daniella’s mother—a woman who’d built an empire from nothing and would burn it all down for her daughter.

A sharp knock on the door.

“Come in,” Agnes called, eyes fixed on the latest sketches spread across her desk.

A man in black entered silently, dropped a thick envelope on her desk, bowed slightly, and left without a word.

Agnes tore it open.

Photos spilled out.

Daniella—unmistakable—kissing a man whose face was half-shadowed. But her daughter’s expression was painfully clear: desperate, surrendered, lost.

Agnes’s hand trembled.

“Sonia!” she barked.

Her PA rushed in, startled by the edge in her boss’s voice.

Agnes shoved the photos toward her.

“Message Daniella. Tell her she’s grounded. No school. No leaving the house. And find out who this man is.”

Sonia swallowed hard. “Yes, ma’am.”

As she hurried out, Sonia muttered under her breath, “She’s so dead.”

Agnes stared at the photo again.

Her daughter.

Her perfect, innocent daughter.

And someone had already started to ruin her.

TBC