"Prepare yourself. We leave at 8."
Don Pedro's voice cut through the silence.
I didn't look up from my food. "I don't want to go anywhere..."
The with you lingered on my tongue, but never escaped.
"I don't care what you want."
He wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood. "Your stylist will come to you. Pick something... elegant."
And just like that, he left—no glance back, no mercy.
Evening swallowed the sky, and I stayed buried in bed like a corpse waiting to rise.
A knock cracked through the stillness.
That must be the stylist. My stomach turned. Every step toward that door felt like a step toward surrender.
I opened it slowly.
A flamboyantly dressed man beamed at me. "Hi! You must be Lily. Wow… you're even more gorgeous in person." He moved his body in funny rhythms.
I blinked, then forced a smile. Nothing more.
"I'm Shirley, your designer. May I?"
I stepped aside. He breezed in with a portable rack lined with shimmering gowns that whispered of money and power.
I sat in front of the mirror. He ran practiced hands through my hair, smoothing it into waves. I bathed. He painted my face like a porcelain doll—lips red, eyes smokey, skin luminous.
"Damn, he's good," I thought bitterly. Too good. I was becoming someone else in the mirror, someone who could survive a man like Don Pedro.
Shirley moved to the dresses. One by one, he held up gowns more expensive than anything I'd ever touched. I didn't care for any of them. Then I saw it.
A floor-length, scarlet silk siren of a dress. Backless. Sleeveless. A slit high enough to whisper sin. I touched the fabric like it could cut me.
"What about this one?"
Shirley hesitated. "It's stunning… but Sir won't like it."
"Perfect," I said, taking it from his hands.
He tried to offer a fur coat. I declined with a single glare.
I undressed alone. Slipped the gown on like armor. It clung to every curve, the slit teasing my thigh, the blood-red silk hugging my pale skin like it belonged there.
A knock. "Ma'am, your driver is outside."
When I stepped out of the car, every pair of eyes outside the grand ballroom turned to me.
Men stopped mid-conversation.
Women paused mid-sip.
Even the moonlight took a second look.
Don Pedro's gaze snapped to me—predatory, possessive, furious.
He stormed over.
"What the fuck are you wearing?" he growled in a low voice.
"You didn't mention it was a masked ball."
"I asked you a question," he repeated, grip tightening around my arm.
"Let go of me." My voice was cool, but my heart stuttered.
He let go, jaw clenching. Then he handed me a black velvet mask. "Don't leave my side."
The ballroom looked like something out of a royal dream.
Crystal chandeliers bathed everything in golden light.
Champagne towers sparkled like liquid diamonds.
Music swelled—a full orchestra playing something tragically romantic.
Don Pedro handed me a glass of champagne. His eyes didn't ask for obedience. They demanded it. Then he turned to schmooze with politicians, and monsters in tuxedos.
Everywhere I went, stares followed.
Some men smiled like they wanted to devour me.
Some women glared like they wanted me dead.
I didn't care.
Then the orchestra shifted. A softer, darker tune.
"Come. Dance with me."
Not "May I?", not even "Would you?"
Just "Come."
He pulled me onto the floor. One hand gripped mine. The other claimed the bare skin of my back like he owned it.
I froze. Every nerve twisted.
I think he saw through my tension, and he loved it.
Loved that I was scared. Loved that I knew I belonged to him.
His fingers slid lower, possessive. My breath caught.
I looked away. Past the crowd. Searching for escape. And I found him.
Damien.
In a corner, deep in conversation with a raven-haired woman.
His jaw clenched. Her hand grazed his chest.
I looked away quickly—my heart betraying me with a twist.
The music ended.
"I have a meeting at the VIP lounge. Now."
Don Pedro's voice snapped me back. His hand already gripping mine.
"I want to stay here," I said, quietly.
"I don't care what you want."
We said it at the same time. Cause I already knew that would be his next line.
I softened my tone. "Please. I'll be bored stiff in there. Just… let me stay."
Something flickered in his eyes. Guilt? Emotion? He killed it quickly.
He summoned a man. Whispered.
Minutes later, I was handed a black tailored jacket.
"Wear this."
" Don't take it off."
"Stay visible."
I nodded.
Then, the moment he disappeared, I peeled it off and tossed it aside.
"You look... sinful," a voice said behind me.
I turned. Damien.
His eyes drank me in.
"Thanks," I whispered, trying to walk past him.
He stepped in front of me. "Stop."
"Stop what?"
"Everything you're doing to me."
I blinked. His stare burned into me.
"You told me to stay out of your life. I'm doing just that."
"I was angry. You saw something I didn't want you to see and I lashed out."
"Doesn't matter. You were right."
I turned to leave. His voice followed.
"You're driving me insane, Lily."
I didn't look back.
The night air hit like a slap. I welcomed it.
I walked aimlessly, the distant sounds of music growing faint. Then I turned a corner.
A dimly lit private lounge. Men gathered in a tight circle. Cigar smoke curled through the air.
One of them spotted me. Nodded to his guard.
A man approached.
"Boss wants a word."
"Not interested."
He flashed the gun tucked into his waistband.
My pulse exploded.
He grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the lounge.
"I belong to Don Pedro!" I cried out.
Silence.
And then:
"We don't see him here," one sneered.
Laughter.
Fingers—filthy, greedy fingers slid into the slit of my gown.
"Please—stop—"
"Motherfuckers!"
The shot came before the scream.
The man who touched me dropped like a sack of meat.
Don Pedro stormed in; eyes wild, gun hot in his hands.
Chaos exploded. His men surged behind him. More shots. More screams.
Damien burst through the side door. Eyes locked on mine.
He moved straight toward me.
Don Pedro grabbed me, shielding my body with his. Another shot fired behind us.
He snarled.
Then he looked down at me,not to scold or threaten–but to check if I was hurt. No, not just my body….
Damien covered us from the rear as we slipped out through the chaos.
Blood. Screams. Smoke. Gunpowder.
The price of disrespect in Don Pedro's world was paid in full.
And I had never been so terrified…
or protected.