MasukSelene never imagined that visiting her best friend’s home would change her life forever. For years, Amaya never spoke of her father. When Selene finally meets him, she discovers the truth—Amaya’s father is none other than Don Mario, one of the most feared mafia Dons in the city. What begins as innocently spirals into something dangerous when Don Mario’s piercing gaze lingers on her a moment too long. Against her better judgment, Selene is drawn into his dark, intoxicating world—one filled with power, danger, and irresistible temptation. But nothing comes without a cost. To protect her fragile friendship, Selene must hide her secret affair with the Don from Amaya. The truth eventually shatters their bond, turning her best friend into her greatest enemy. To love him is dangerous. To resist him is impossible. And once Selene steps into the Don’s world, there is no turning back and together they must both overcome all for their love to prevail.
Lihat lebih banyakSELENE'S POV The ballroom looked different when I walked back in on Don Mario’s arm. I could still see Amaya's face — the disbelief, the disgust, the hurt.I tried to breathe evenly, tried to move with the same grace they’d trained into me, but my chest was tight. Every step felt like a betrayal, and the weight of Mario’s hand on mine was heavier than any diamond he could drape across my skin.“Smile,” he murmured, low enough that only I could hear. “Don’t let them see your nerves.”I did. My lips curved on command, but it wasn’t mine. The smile belonged to him, just like everything else about me now seemed to.I sat where he guided me, at a table near the front where the most powerful men and women in the room gathered. Laughter rang around me, glasses clinked, business flowed as smoothly as the champagne. To them, I was an ornament — the mysterious woman on Don Mario’s arm, polished to perfection.But inside, I was hollow.All I could think about was Amaya storming out, her wrist s
“What are you doing with him?” I demanded, my voice sharp this time, slicing through the noise from the crowd.I saw her flinch. Just the smallest movement, but it was enough to confirm the fact that she was guilty.She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Her hand still rested on my father’s arm, and the sight of it made bile rise in my throat.Gasps spread around us. Someone whispered too loudly, “That’s Don Mario’s daughter.”I didn’t care who heard. I didn’t care what it looked like. I only cared about the way her face had gone pale, how the woman I thought I knew had become a stranger in the blink of an eye.I moved before I even thought about it—cutting through the space between us, ignoring my father’s sharp look. My fingers wrapped around Selene’s wrist, and I pulled.She resisted at first, her lips parting as though to plead, but I wasn’t listening. Not here. Not in front of them.“Come with me,” I hissed, low enough that only she could hear. “Now.”Her eyes darted to my
AMAYA'S POV Being Don Mario’s daughter meant growing up with these types of invitations —galas, fundraisers, exclusive gatherings where power was both flaunted and traded—were nothing new to me. I’d been receiving invitations like this since I was a teenager, when I was too young to understand why strangers with famous names smiled at me as if I were already one of them. Back then, I hated it. I’d wanted to vanish into normalcy, to belong to a world that didn’t weigh so heavily on its own glitter. But this time was different. The invitation had sat on my dresser for weeks, untouched. I had almost decided not to go—until, at the very last minute, I booked a flight, packed the gowns I rarely wore, and told myself I was simply keeping a habit alive. It was easier to lie to myself than to admit the truth: I was restless, and I missed the thrill of the world I once swore off. The flight to Dubai was as smooth as silk, but my thoughts were rough. I thought of Selene a lot. The sile
I sat on the edge of the sofa, twisting the thin chain of my necklace between my fingers, staring at the closed door. A few hours to the event, I was expecting a team of stylists and make-up artists any moment from now to help get me ready. And just then, I heard a knock on the door.Three women stepped inside, with big smiles. One carried garment bags, another a tray of jewelry, the last a case of brushes and powders. They greeted me warmly.“Don Mario has requested that you be styled for tonight,” the oldest said, bowing her head slightly.They fanned the gowns across a rack, hangers clicking against metal. “Which do you prefer, Madam?” the younger one asked brightly.I stepped closer, letting my fingers graze the fabrics. They were soft, expensive and impossibly heavy.“None of them,” I whispered.The women exchanged glances at each other. Then the oldest one reminded that,“Don Mario asked that you be in either one of them. It is symbolic.”“Of what?” I asked“Of the occasion, Mi












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