California's night swept fiercely past the high windows of a luxury hotel, but inside room 701, time seemed to surrender to the velvet warmth. Thick drapes swayed gently with the breeze, muffling the world outside. In this cocoon of desire, Scarlett's breath trembled—soft, hurried, urgent.
"Michael… let me go, it's too late," she whispered, voice cracking beneath the charged air. Her body ached, flushed, every sense keen to the shadow at her back. Michael stood so close that she felt his breath, hot and demanding, ghosting along her neck. His grip around her waist tightened, possessive.
"Not yet, my love… just one more time," his voice slipped into command—dark, primal, irresistible.
She turned, searching his eyes. Tonight, there was something new lurking within them—a depth she hadn't seen before, raw obsession shadowed by the beast of secrecy. Her hands pressed deep into the velvet bedding, knees sinking into covers slick with sweat. Every fiber of her being pulsed with anticipation and dread.
Michael seized her hair, pulling gently but firmly. "You know you're mine. Only mine."
His every movement was fierce and intent, the room filled with the music of her moans.
"Fuck… Michael… please…" Scarlett pleaded, her words tumbling out in broken syllables.
"Please what?" he demanded, fingers digging deeper.
"Harder… faster…" Her voice crashed into a scream, helpless.
He laughed—a sound both sinister and wild. His body moved above her, the heat and scent of sweat mingling, erasing every boundary between pleasure and pain. Scarlett's fingers twisted the sheets, her mind drowning in a storm where every instant threatened to consume her.
"You know you look beautiful tonight, Scarlett," Michael growled, intensifying his rhythm.
Her eyes closed, head thrown back, lost in the moment. The world shrank to these precious, uncontrollable seconds.
"Harder… please, Michael… harder…" she gasped, unable to stop herself.
And then it happened. The climax ripped through her, shattering every restraint. She collapsed onto the bed, chest heaving, consumed by exhaustion and sated desire. Michael collapsed beside her, breath matching hers, echoing in the silence divided only by the hotel's distant air conditioner.
They lay together, speechless, until Scarlett's phone erupted with a shrill tone.
She glanced at the screen—"Mia – Big Sister." Heart pounding, she counted fourteen missed calls.
"Fuck," she murmured, springing from the bed. Michael reached for her wrist, eyes still dark and unreadable.
"Why the rush?"
"Michael, please… Mia will suspect something. I have to go."
He released her reluctantly, the darkness holding in his gaze. Scarlett scrambled into her clothes, staring into the mirror—hair tangled, makeup smeared, bruises blooming along her neck. With frantic hands, she fixed herself and knotted her hair.
"Will I see you tomorrow?" Michael asked from the bed.
"We'll see," she replied, not looking back, flipping the door open.
Out in the cold night, the sharp wind slapped her awake. Her sleek black Porsche waited outside the hotel, and she climbed in, engine roaring as she sped out onto Hollywood's moonlit streets. The phone buzzed again.
"Scarlett! Where were you? I've been calling you nonstop!" Mia's voice trembled with anger and worry.
"Sorry, sis, I was at the library. Phone was on silent."
"Library? This late?"
"Yeah, exams are coming up, you know…"
A long pause. "Fine. Just come home soon. Damien's out tonight, and the twins are with their friends."
"Ok, I'm ten minutes away."
She hung up, the tension growing as her car slashed through the night. California after dark was always dangerous.
Suddenly, on a sharp curve, a black SUV veered into her path. Scarlett slammed the brakes—her Porsche skidded to a halt. Her heart thundered.
Two men stepped out, both dressed in black suits and sunglasses.
"Miss Scarlett?" one called, approaching her window.
She rolled it down just a sliver. "Yes?"
"Someone wants to meet you."
"Who?"
He said nothing, just slid an envelope through the window.
Scarlett hesitated. She took it, hands shaking.
"Read it. You have 48 hours."
And then they disappeared.
Scarlett's fingers trembling, she opened the envelope. Inside, she found a photo.
Her photo.
With Michael.
From tonight, outside the hotel.
Below it, one chilling line:
"We know everything, Scarlett. Time to pay the price."
Scarlett's breath came in short stabs.
Who had sent this?
How did they know?
And above all—
What was the price?
Scarlett slowed her Porsche as she reached the wrought-iron gates, hiding the ominous envelope deep within her dashboard. Her heart thumped with dread: "48 hours. We know everything." Those words replayed in her mind with every pulse.
The security guard opened the gates with a swift nod. "Good evening, Miss Scarlett." She drove into the grand mansion, a beacon of luxury wrapped in the night's silence—three stories, a gleaming fountain, manicured gardens, the epitome of California elite living. Tonight, all of it felt like a prison.
She glanced into the rear-view mirror. Her makeup was intact. No marks visible. Perfect.
Scarlett exited the car and entered through the large main door.
Inside, her elder sister Mia sat on the sofa, laptop glowing in her lap, tension lining her beautiful, sharp face. "Finally, you're here. I've been worried sick."
Mia, 28—stunning, brilliant, a hard-driven businesswoman, always haunted by stress these days.
"Sorry, sis… I'm late," Scarlett tried an apologetic smile.
Mia approached, eyes scanning every detail. "You look exhausted. Are you okay?"
"Yeah… just school stress, exams," Scarlett lied, voice barely steady.
Mia stroked her hair, comforting. "Don't let stress destroy you, Scarlett. Your health matters."
Scarlett nodded.
"Hungry? Cook's ready with dinner."
"A little..."
"Let's eat together."
They walked to the massive dining table, beneath a crystal chandelier, laid out with imported cutlery and gourmet offerings. Scarlett's mind wasn't present. Thoughts circled: Who sent the blackmail letter? Who followed her?
Mia served Italian pasta, garlic bread, a glass of red wine.
"Where's Damien?" Scarlett asked casually.
Mia's face darkened. "Business meeting. He's in New York. Won't be back until tomorrow."
"Is everything okay?"
Mia sipped her wine. "Honestly? I'm not sure. The business has complications. Competition's spiking. And there are… other issues."
"Other issues?" Scarlett prompted.
Before Mia could answer, the front door burst open. Laughter and chatter spilled into the room.
"Mom! We're back!" a loud voice called.
Mia's eyes brightened instantly. "Devil and David are home."
Scarlett's heart skipped.
The two entered—tall, athletic, dressed in designer clothes, star athletes in their respective colleges.
Devil—21, with dark brown hair, a sharp jaw, and those gray eyes that could unsettle anyone. A business major. Confident, bordering on arrogance.
David—22, lighter hair, softer features, calm but equally imposing. An architecture student.
"Hey Mom," Devil hugged Mia.
"Hey boys! Have you eaten?" Mia asked.
"Nope, actually starving," David replied.
David spotted Scarlett. "Oh, Aunt Scarlett! You're here?"
Aunt. The word always felt strange—Scarlett was only 18, but technically she was Mia's younger sister, making her their aunt.
"Yeah, I was having dinner with Mia," she replied.
Devil's gaze lingered—a moment tracing her eyes, then her lips. One second. She felt it.
"How was college?" Mia asked.
"Boring as usual," Devil said, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge.
David sat down, serving pasta. "Actually, something weird happened today."
"What?" Mia asked with interest.
"There were strangers on campus. Black suits, sunglasses—total mafia vibe. They were asking around about someone."
Scarlett's breath caught. Black suits. Sunglasses.
"Who were they looking for?" Mia pressed.
David shrugged. "No idea. Security kicked them out."
Devil arrived at the table, seating himself directly opposite Scarlett.
"You've been spending a lot of time in the library, haven't you, Aunt Scarlett?" he asked, casual but loaded.
"Yeah… exams," she replied, forcing a smile.
"Interesting," Devil smiled—yet his eyes refused to participate.
David passed the pasta. "By the way, Aunt Scarlett, I saw your car outside a hotel downtown today. Black Porsche, right?"
Scarlett nearly dropped her fork. "What?"
"Yeah," David said innocently. "My friends and I passed that hotel—you were parked out front?"
Mia looked at Scarlett. "Hotel? What were you doing there?"
Her mind raced. "Uh… A friend from out of state is staying there. I went to get notes."
"In a hotel?" Mia's tone was suspicious.
"Yeah, she came for exams…"
A long silence hung between them.
Devil picked up his wine glass. "Makes sense," he said quietly.
But his eyes challenged her. He knew.
Dinner wrapped up somehow. Scarlett could hardly wait to escape.
"I'm beat. Need to rest," she announced, rising abruptly.
"Okay, take care," Mia said.
Scarlett headed for the stairs. Devil followed.
"I need to get something from my room," he said.
Scarlett slowed her steps. They climbed together, leaving David and Mia chatting in the kitchen.
On the second floor, Devil grabbed Scarlett's arm, dragging her into a shadowed corner.
"Leave me," Scarlett whispered urgently.
"Not until you tell me the truth," Devil insisted, grip tightening.
"What truth?"
He moved closer—so close she could feel the heat of his breath.
"What were you doing in that hotel, Scarlett?"
"I already told you—"
"Bullshit," he snapped, clutching her wrist harder. "Don't lie to me, I know you."
Their eyes locked. Those gray eyes, intense as ever, made hiding anything impossible.
"Devil, please—"
"Who were you with?"
"No one—"
"Liar."
His other hand slammed against the wall, caging her in.
"You have a mark on your neck, Scarlett."
She froze. Immediately tried to hide her neck, but he caught her wrist.
"Don't," his voice fell. His fingers softly traced over her skin—exactly where Michael had left those bruises.
"You covered it with makeup. But I can still see."
Scarlett's breaths came faster and faster.
"Devil… this isn't your concern—"
"Everything about you concerns me," Devil replied, voice glittering with anger, possessiveness, and something deeper.