~ DRUSCILLA ~

I cannot believe I am here.

Laid out on another man's bed, my body open in ways it has never been before, my mind scattered, my senses wrecked beyond repair.

His fingers feel like sin given shape. Every touch sends sparks racing through me, sharp and sweet all at once. My body reacts before my conscience can catch up, arching, trembling, betraying me in ways I did not know were possible.

The sounds slipping from my lips do not even sound like they belong to me. Soft, broken, needy. I barely recognize myself.

God.

Mum must never see me like this. Never know that her well raised daughter is stretched out on a stranger's bed, breathing like this, feeling like this.

Shame burns hot in my chest, but it is tangled tightly with something far more dangerous.

How can I be engaged to one man and wrapped up in another?

A stranger.

A terrifying one.

A man with a dangerously handsome face and eyes that feel like they are stripping me bare, peeling through flesh and bone until they touch something raw and exposed inside me.

He does not even have to try. My body reacts to him as if it has been waiting all its life.

What kind of man does that?

The sensation builds until it is almost unbearable. My thoughts blur. My head spins. I have never felt so aware of myself, of every nerve, every breath, every desperate want.

I had no idea I could feel this way. No idea my body could respond like this. I thought innocence was protection. I thought restraint was strength.

What in the world is this man?

His fingers alone undo me, scramble my senses until even the weight of the diamond on my finger disappears from my awareness. That ring, that promise, that life waiting for me somewhere far away.

What if he goes further?

The thought slams into me so hard I almost gasp.

If he does, then I will...

Oh God.

I catch myself, the shame crashing down all at once.

Oh, Druscilla.

You are shameless.

Dirty.

I scold myself silently, my chest rising and falling too fast.

And yet.

I want him.

I want him so badly it frightens me.

He is heat where my life has always been cold. Fire where everything has been planned, measured, expected. With him, nothing feels controlled. Nothing feels safe.

My back presses into the mattress, and the feeling of his bed beneath me sends another wave of sensation through my body. The sheets smell faintly of him. Clean. Dark. Masculine.

He compliments my pink fold, and heat rushes straight to my face. My cheeks burn, and I know he sees it. I know he enjoys it.

I close my eyes, bracing myself, expecting him to finally cross that invisible line.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he looks at me for a long moment, something unreadable passing through his eyes, and then he speaks.

"I can't."

I blink, confusion snapping through me. "What do you mean?" I ask, a crease forming between my brows.

"You're quite drunk," he says calmly, his voice far too steady for the storm he has stirred inside me.

I stare at him.

Someone please pinch me.

What does a man like this know about restraint? About softness?

"What is this about?" I snap, drawing my legs together instinctively, shielding myself. Heat flares, sharp and angry now. Did he really touch me like that, awaken something reckless and wild in me, only to stop now?

Tears sting the backs of my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall.

"It's part of my principle," he says casually, like he isn't standing in the middle of my undoing. "I don't sleep with drunk women. Besides, I want you sober enough to remember everything. I want you to remember every moment. Every sound you make."

The words hit me harder than any touch.

Heat crawls up my neck, my face burning again.

"I'm not drunk," I mutter stubbornly.

He smiles, slow and knowing. "You wouldn't have let me touch you the way I did if you weren't. You wouldn't be in my bed if alcohol wasn't blurring your judgment."

He steps back and gestures to my hand.

"You're engaged."

Obviously.

I roll my eyes, but the reminder lands heavier than I expect.

Why am I only remembering now?

Shame wraps around me like a thick garment, heavy and suffocating. This moment, this weakness, tells me something I am not ready to face.

I am not a good girl.

I have been pretending. Dressing myself in virtue while something darker lurks underneath. A wolf in borrowed wool.

And tonight, I did not even bother with the disguise.

I smooth my skirt down and turn onto my side, putting my back to him.

He folds his arms, watching me like I am some kind of performance. Like an actress on stage, baring parts of herself she did not know were visible.

"You don't have to feel..." he begins.

"I want to go home," I cut in, climbing off the bed.

"It's late," he says.

"I don't care."

"You can stay till morning."

He moves away and removes his trousers, standing there in nothing but a dark brief. My eyes betray me, roaming before my mind can stop them. His legs are strong, sculpted, powerful.

Wait.

Is he changing his mind?

Does he want to continue?

"It's not what you're thinking," he says with a smirk that tells me he knows exactly what I was thinking. "I'm going to shower. Do you want to eat something?"

Embarrassment floods me, thick and suffocating.

I shoot him a look sharp enough to cut glass. "God, I hate you."

He grins, that infuriating dimple appearing. "You're hungry. But you can't eat me."

"Proud idiot," I mutter.

"Stop being so hard on yourself, doll," he says as he punches numbers into the intercom, ordering pasta, grilled chicken, and apple juice.

My stomach tightens.

Those are my favorites.

I lick my lips without thinking, anticipation making my mouth water.

Thankfully, his back is turned.

When he faces me again, I straighten instantly.

"Room service will be here soon."

I lift my chin, stubborn and defensive.

He studies me for a moment. Something flickers in his eyes. Guilt. Sadness. Something I refuse to care about.

I cross my arms and plant my feet.

Eventually, he turns and walks into the glass bathroom.

I step back and bump into the bed just as he slips out of the last piece of clothing and turns on the shower.

My breath catches.

Holy shit.

I have never seen a man like that before.

His cock was long, hard and thick.

I closed my eyes, my tongue slowly swiped on my lips as I imagined that thing going inside me. In and out.

I swallow hard, clasping my hands together and squeezing my eyes shut.

"Hail Mary, mother of Jesus Christ, please pray for me," I whisper. "I have sinned against God. I have sinned with my eyes. Please don't send me to hell. Amen."

When I open my eyes, I deliberately face the door. The temptation is too strong.

A knock sounds ten minutes later.

Room service.

I jump up like a child on Christmas morning and open the door.

The trolley rolls in, the scent filling the room instantly.

"Your dinner, ma," the attendant says kindly.

"Thank you."

I close the door quickly after he leaves. I've seen too many movies. Too many stories where the wrong person walks in at the wrong time and shoot the lady with the wrong man.

Focus on your food, Druscilla.

I eat hungrily, savoring every bite.

By the time I finish, he steps out of the bathroom, dressed in a robe, his hair damp. He notices the empty plate and smiles.

He sits, opens his laptop, focused now on something else entirely.

I watch his broad back until the room grows quiet and sleep pulls me under.

~DRUSCILLA~

"Yes... there... oh... my... fuck... me!" I moan, gripping the sheets as that handsome devil digs into me. My body presses against his shoulder, moving in a rhythm so raw, so animal, the bed creaks beneath us.

I feel the edge of my orgasm, teasing me, my body trembling with it. And then... a voice.

"Hey... doll, it's morning."

My eyelids flutter open. He's there-handsome, infuriating, impossibly smug-leaning over me like I'm some rare artifact.

"Oh my God! Oh my God!" I jerk upright, heart hammering against my ribcage

.

Shit. It's just a dream.

I was having sex with handsome devil in my dream. 

Did I actually moan out loud? Did he hear me?

I avoid his eyes, scanning everything else in the room. I scramble to fix my dress, running my fingers through my hair, and reach for the door.

I need to end this-whatever this is-right now.

But his voice curls around my name, stopping me.

"Aren't you forgetting something, honey?"

I freeze, hand on the doorknob.

"What?" I manage to ask, trying to sound calm.

That infuriating smirk is back, that ridiculous, sex-laden smirk that makes my knees weak. He opens a drawer and pulls out a sleek card. He hands it to me. "Here. Whenever you feel like you need me."

I stare at it. Ivanov Rodriguez. So that's his name.

I clear my throat. "Well... I don't think I'll be needing this. Whatever yesterday was... it was a huge mistake." I fling the card at him. "I don't want to see you again. Ever. 

I'm getting married in two weeks."

His face darkens. Disappointment flickers across his perfect features.

I unlock the door and run. Outside, I press a hand to my chest, exhaling slowly.

The taxi ride is a blur. Manhattan speeds past in neon streaks and headlights. I lean back, trying to relax, but my heart refuses to settle.

I can't believe I spent a night in a stranger's bed. I can't believe I almost... gave myself to him. I even begged, in my dream, for his touch.

How cheap.

But damn it, if the sex in that dream wasn't fire...

Whoever Ivanov Rodriguez is, I need to avoid him. At all costs. Never see him again. Never cross paths with that dangerously handsome face.

But my body betrays me. My mind betrays me. Even two minutes away from him, I feel his hands, his lips, his heat. The way he held me, like I was precious, like I belonged entirely to him.

Every nerve in me is alive, every part of me burning. That mismatched-eyed devil is a fever I've never caught before.

The soft hum of the car stereo does nothing to soothe me. I roll down the window, letting the cold February breeze whip through my red hair, momentarily blurring my vision. I don't care.

One name keeps running through my mind: Ivanov Rodriguez.

When I finally arrive at the family house, the security guards are driving out, scanning the streets for me.

"Miss Druscilla!" Jake, head of security, comes running, relief written all over his face. "Where have you been? We've been-"

"I'm fine," I interrupt, slipping on my sunglasses.

"But your mother doesn't know that," he says, worry lacing his tone. "She's been worried sick!"

"Panicking won't solve anything," I reply smoothly, striding through the front door.

My step falters the moment I enter the living room. Mum stands near one of her abstract pieces, arms crossed, scolding Issac, Kaila, and Avery about-well, who knows? Safety, probably.

"Come on, Mum. You don't need to be this dramatic," I say, announcing my presence.

All eyes snap to me.

"Oh, there she is! The rebellious child!" Mum exclaims, hand raised theatrically.

I exhale sharply. Drama. Always drama.

Her gaze sweeps over my outfit: mini skirt, corset blouse-the remnants of last night's club attire.

"What is this?!" she yells. "Clothes? You call these clothes?!"

I shrug. "Clothes."

Her face twists in disgust. "When did you start wearing such... disrespectful outfits?"

I ignore her, letting my eyes land on Issac, my dear fiancé who abandoned me outside when I needed him most.

Surprisingly, Avery, who had been sitting far too close to Issac, moves to another couch. My brow lifts. Since when are they cozying up like that?

"I'm talking to you, young lady!" Mum snaps, pulling me back into focus.

I turn to her, rolling my eyes. Mum is aging, and she needs to stop yelling and carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

"Stop giving me that look!" she shouts. "Who put you up to this?"

"Uhm...," Kaila clears her throat.

I blink my lashes at her to keep quiet but she ignores my body language.

"I did," Kaila blurts nervously before I can stop her.

Mum's frown deepens. "Kaila?"

"Yesterday was Cilia's   birthday," Kaila explains, rubbing her hands together. "And since she's getting married soon, I thought... Maybe we could have a little fun." She laughs nervously.  

"So we went to a Spanish club downtown."

Mum's face softens briefly, then hardens again. "So you decided to go to a club without telling me?"

"I'm not a child anymore," I shoot back, striding toward the stairs. "You don't get to control every little thing I do."

"Really?" Mum's voice follows me, sharp with disbelief.

"Yes. Why can't I have a little fun? You decide everything for me, all the time," I say, my shoulder stiff as I climb.

"Because I know what's good for you!" she shouts. "And you know the rules of this house."

I groan inwardly, pressing a hand to my forehead.

"You won't be allowed to see Kaila henceforth," she says, dropping a bomb.

I spin around, anger coiling in me. "Why?"

"She's a bad influence," Mum replies, as if that explains everything.

Kaila's sweet face looks terrified, eyes wide and pleading.

I smirk despite my fury, letting my gaze settle on Mum's calm, unflinching face.

"Yes," she says, finality ringing in her tone.

I turn to Issac, who has been silent the entire time. My chest rises and falls rapidly, fury and disbelief warring in me.

"Then I'm not sure I still want to marry Isaac," I say, voice low, dangerous, and trembling with fire. "Let's postpone the wedding date."

~Isaac~

I froze, replaying her words in my head like a bad echo. No way. I must have misheard. Druscilla's voice cut through the air again, sharp and steady, as if she were ordering coffee instead of dropping a grenade in the middle of the room.

"I want the wedding date postponed," she said, her arms folding across her chest like a shield.

My eyebrows shot up, my pulse kicking up a notch. "How? Why?"

"Because I don't think marrying you is the right thing, right now." She shifted her weight, her eyes locking onto mine with a cool detachment that sent a chill down my spine. "I need to clear my head."

"No. No. No." I shook my head, the denial spilling out before I could stop it. This wasn't her. This wasn't the Druscilla I knew, the one who planned every detail of our life together like it was a perfectly wrapped gift.

My mind raced. "Is this because of the little argument you just had with your mom?" Frustration bubbled up inside me, hot and insistent, tightening my chest.

"Oh... so now you can talk. I thought you lost your tongue." She tsked, the sound dripping with sarcasm, her lips curling in disdain. "After all, you were so quiet when my mom was speaking to me in a very bad way. This wouldn't have happened if you had come to pick me up last night."

I stepped closer, trying to keep my voice even, though my hands were clenching at my sides. "See... I know you're angry right now. But you have to calm down."

"Yes, honey. You've got to calm down," Mrs. Patricia chimed in from across the room, her tone smooth as silk but edged with that maternal authority she wielded like a weapon. "Stop taking your frustrations out on the innocent young man."

"Innocent my foot," Druscilla grumbled, rolling her eyes so hard I could almost hear it.

"You can't just postpone your wedding with Isaac just because I reprimanded you," Patricia pressed on, her voice rising a fraction, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against her arm. "You know what that marriage means for you and all of us..."

"Oh, yes. I know," Druscilla hissed, the words slicing through the tension like a knife. "The marriage is Dad's last wish and the only means for me to access my inheritance. Ya da ya da."

Patricia's face flushed, sweat beading on her forehead despite the cool air from the AC humming softly in the background. Her eyes widened like saucers, shock rippling across her features. "Is this how far you've gone mad in one night?"

The room felt smaller, the air thicker, charged with an electricity that made the hairs on my arms stand up. I bet no one saw this coming. Hell, even I was stunned. Where had Druscilla dug up the guts to stand up to Patricia like this? For the first time ever? Had the night out flipped some switch in her brain?

Has she gone nuts? The thought looped in my mind, a mix of worry and irritation.

"Come on, babe... you don't have to take it this far," I groaned, rubbing a hand over my face, feeling the stubble scratch against my palm. "You were wrong. You just have to apologize to your mom and let things be. Instead of threatening our relationship just to get to her."

"Oh Jesus!" Druscilla sighed, her shoulders slumping for a split second before she straightened up again.

"Isaac, when did you become this dumb? Do you think this is still about my mom's drama?"

"Then what is it? Why the sudden change of mind at this point?" My voice edged up, louder than I intended, frustration coiling in my gut like a spring ready to snap.

"I called you to come pick me up at the club. You came and left without me! Explain that!" She lifted her shoes in the air, dangling them like evidence in a courtroom, the heels glinting under the chandelier light.

Damn... she saw me? The realization hit like a punch to the stomach. I'd told Avery we should look for her last night, but Avery was impatient, her foot tapping restlessly on the pavement, her eyes pleading to just get out of there.

I'd been kicking back with the boys, the bass from the speakers vibrating through the bar, when Avery's call came in right after Druscilla hung up. They were all at the same spot.

I bolted, excusing myself with a quick nod, the guys' laughter fading behind me as I jumped in my car.

When I pulled up, Avery was outside, her hair tousled from the night wind, running up to me with that urgent look. I swear, I wanted to hunt for Druscilla. But Avery wasn't having it, her hand tugging at my sleeve, her voice a low whine about needing to bail fast.

"I thought you left there already..." I mumbled, the words tasting lame even as they left my mouth, my eyes dropping to the floor where the polished hardwood gleamed under the morning sun filtering through the windows.

"Oh! You thought! Assumption assumption all the time! I was still fucking there! Fucking watching you..."

"Language, Druscilla," Patricia warned, her voice stern, but it bounced off Druscilla like water on a duck's back.

Druscilla was on fire today, her cheeks flushed, her breath coming in short bursts. I hoped to God she wasn't piecing together any suspicions.

"Do you know the kind of danger I would have been in," she barreled on, her voice cracking just a hair, "if not for a...." She blinked, trailing off abruptly, like she'd slammed into a wall mid-sentence, her eyes flickering with some unspoken realization.

"You know what? Just forget it," she waved her hand dismissively, the motion sharp and final.

She turned and headed back to the stairwell, her heels clicking against the steps like ticking bombs.

"Cillia..." Patricia called after her, the nickname hanging in the air, laced with exasperation. "You know you're being silly right now."

Druscilla paused at the top, sighing heavily, the sound echoing down. "I need to rest."

Her footsteps faded, punctuated by the loud bang of her door slamming shut, vibrating through the house like a distant thunderclap.

She's angry. I know that for sure. The knot in my stomach twisted tighter.

"Uh... Isaac," Patricia touched my shoulder, her fingers warm and firm, grounding me back to the moment. "Don't be offended at her behavior. She'll come around. I'll talk to her."

"It's alright, Mom."

Kaila rose from her seat on the couch, the leather creaking softly under her. "I'll go talk to her."

"No. You stay," Patricia stopped her, her tone leaving no room for argument. "We need to talk."

"Oh." Kaila's shoulders fell, deflating like a punctured balloon.

"I think I should go see her instead," Avery said, her voice light but her eyes meeting mine in that secret glance, a silent code only we understood.

We held the look for a beat too long, the air between us humming with unspoken things, before she headed up the stairs, her steps measured and graceful.

"Oh yes, please, Avery. Talk some sense into your friend," Patricia said, her words following Avery like a benediction.

"I will, ma," Avery smiled, that perfect, polished grin she flashed like a shield.

My chest heaved, a deep breath escaping me. I hoped Avery didn't spill too much up there, didn't let slip any threads that could unravel everything.

We'd been sneaking around for six years now, Avery and me. It started innocently enough, back in my final high school days, with that smile of hers lighting up the hallway like a spark. Avery had this spectacular way about her-bold, beautiful, zero fucks given about what anyone thought.

It began with small talks in the corridors, the scent of her strawberry shampoo lingering after hugs, then it snowballed into something wild we couldn't control. Stolen kisses behind the bleachers, secret dates under the radar, and yeah, she gave me her virginity one humid summer night at the back of my old car, the air thick with promise and risk.

Avery loved me, no question, but we couldn't go public. Couldn't shatter Druscilla like that. And me? I couldn't torpedo the deal my dad had sealed with the Hayes family. It was all too tangled, like vines choking a garden.

"Isaac?"

Patricia was staring at me, her brows drawn together, concern etching lines on her face that even Botox couldn't fully erase.

"Yes..." I blinked, snapping back, the room coming into focus again-the faint smell of fresh coffee from the kitchen, the tick of the grandfather clock in the hall.

"Is everything alright... you seem...?" Her voice trailed with genuine worry, her hand still on my shoulder.

"Uh... yes. I am alright."

"Oh, you better be." She turned, walking over to the side drawer with that sway in her hips, the wood scraping softly as she opened it.

"I thought I saw you giving Avery the look?"