Emily
I should never have let him in.
The door closes behind him with a heavy silence, but his scent lingers in the air—a intoxicating mix of leather, tobacco, and danger. My heart is still racing too fast, my lips tingling with the memory of his kiss.
I hate myself for having responded to that kiss.
I head towards the bathroom, my legs slightly trembling. In front of the mirror, my reflection shows an image I don't recognize: flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and that troubled gaze betraying the turmoil inside me.
— What are you doing, Emily? I murmur to my reflection.
The answer doesn't come. Because I already know.
I am losing control.
I turn on the faucet, letting the cold water run over my fingers before splashing my face. But the coolness does nothing to soothe the burn that has settled beneath my skin.
Victorio is not like other men.
He has this unsettling power over me. This way of seeing through my defenses, piercing my lies without me even saying a word. And worse still, he knows I am starting to give in.
— Don't let him break you, I murmur to my reflection.
I grip the edge of the sink, my knuckles whitening under the pressure. It's not just a matter of desire. It's a matter of power. Of control.
And Rafael?
His name brutally invades my mind, bringing a wave of guilt. He doesn't trust me, but he protects me, in his own way. He warned me of Victorio's intentions. He told me to stay away.
But it's too late.
A noise in the hallway makes me jump. My heart skips a beat. I straighten slowly, breath held. A shadow passes under the door.
I reach for the drawer under the sink, retrieving a small defensive knife. The cold, smooth blade glides against my palm as I move toward the door.
— Emily.
Victorio's deep voice penetrates the wood.
My heart pounds against my chest. I don't answer.
— Open the door.
I tighten my grip around the knife's handle.
— Go away, Victorio.
The silence that follows is electric. Then I hear the sound of the latch turning. The door slowly creaks open, revealing his massive silhouette in the doorway.
I raise the knife.
— I'm serious, I murmur.
His gaze slowly drifts down to the blade, then back up to my eyes. He casually leans against the doorframe, hands in his pockets.
— Do you really think I'm going to hurt you? he asks in a low, lingering voice.
— You're not giving me a choice.
He steps forward, and I instinctively back away.
— Put down that knife, Emily.
— No.
He steps closer.
— Do you really think you can stop me with that?
I grit my teeth.
— Just try.
His smile widens, but his gaze darkens.
— You don't want to play this game with me.
— This isn't a game.
He lunges forward, and before I can react, he grabs my wrist and slams my arm against the wall. The knife clatters to the floor with a metallic sound.
— Let go of me!
He presses against me, his warm breath brushing my cheek.
— No.
— Victorio…
I struggle, but his grip is unyielding. His dark eyes burn into mine.
— Why do you resist me? he asks softly.
— Because you're dangerous.
He leans in, his mouth brushing my ear.
— Yes. But you can't run from me.
My breath is ragged, my fingers clutching his sweater.
— You think you have control, I murmur.
— I know I do.
He slowly releases my wrist but stays dangerously close to me. His gaze drops to my mouth, and I feel an intense warmth coiling in my stomach.
— If you don't want me, say it now, he whispers.
I remain silent.
— Emily.
I swallow hard.
— I hate you.
He smiles darkly.
— You're lying.
He brushes my cheek with his fingertips, a touch both sweet and cruel.
— Rafael told you to stay away from me, didn't he?
I shiver.
— That's none of your business.
— Then why did you listen to him?
— I…
I don't have time to finish. He kisses me abruptly, his lips crashing against mine with controlled brutality. I try to push him away, but my hands clutch his chest, my fingers desperately holding onto his sweater.
I hate him for making me feel this way. This total loss of control.
His hands slide into my hair, pulling me closer. I let out a weak whimper, my lips parting under the pressure of his tongue.
When he finally pulls back, I am breathless.
— It's you who chooses, Emily, he murmurs against my lips.
I close my eyes, breathless.
— I… I can't.
He steps back slowly, but his gaze doesn't leave mine.
— You can.
I watch him walk away toward the door. His dark silhouette disappears into the hallway.
When the door closes, I collapse against the wall, my heart racing wildly.
I am losing the game.
And the worst part of it all?
I'm not even sure I want to win.
—
The next morning, a black envelope is slipped under the door of my apartment.
I pick it up, my heart racing, and slowly open it.
Inside, a simple card with golden letters reads:
Tonight. 8 PM. Be ready.
No signature. But I know exactly who it's from.
I clench the card in my hand, a dull tension coiling in my chest.
Victorio wants to play.
So I will play.
But this time…
I will win.