The warm glow of morning seeped through the penthouse windows, but it did nothing to dispel the haze of last night. My body still hummed, my skin still carried the ghost of his touch, and my lips, swollen, tingling—ached from the way he had kissed me into oblivion.
I barely moved, still sprawled on the expanse of Luca's bed, tangled in sheets that smelled like him—dark spice, danger, and something utterly intoxicating. He wasn't beside me. I felt the absence immediately, a chill settling over my bare skin despite the warmth of the sun.
For a moment, I let myself lie there, let my fingers drift over my throat where his lips had traced fire, down my stomach where his hands had lingered, worshipping me with slow, deliberate reverence. He hadn't taken me, but he had unraveled me piece by piece, a slow-burn seduction that had left me panting, needy, desperate.
Yeah! Ryan!!
I suddenly remembered that I met Ryan last night and he was trying to tell me something. Something in the line of 'he is not who you think he is'. Who was he talking about? 'Luca'? Does he know Luca and how? I thought to myself.
I know I mentioned earlier that Ryan was someone I "just knew" but I think I've known him for a while. I could still remember the first time I met Ryan. It wasn't that long ago. Two, three years ago, maybe.
It had been one of those brutally cold winter days, the kind where the wind slashed at your skin, biting through layers of clothing like it had something to prove. I had been in my first year of university, standing outside a café, fumbling with a busted umbrella, my fingers numb from the cold. The damn thing refused to open properly, and after struggling with it for what felt like forever, I had been two seconds away from throwing it into oncoming traffic when a voice had cut through the rain.
"You look like you're about to murder that thing." I heard someone talk, my age or maybe slightly older than I am. I had looked up, and there he was...
Ryan Calloway.
Tall, lean, wearing a hoodie that was soaking wet from the rain, yet somehow, he had still managed to grin like the weather was irrelevant. He had been holding a coffee in one hand and a half-eaten croissant in the other, and when I hadn't responded right away, he had simply stepped closer, taking the umbrella from my hands without asking.
"Let me see."
I had watched as he fiddled with it for a second, brows furrowed in concentration, before casually smacking the damn thing against the side of the café door.
It had popped open instantly.
I had just stared, half in disbelief, half in annoyance, because of course that would work.
Ryan had smirked, handing it back to me like he had just solved world hunger.
"See? Sometimes things just need a little tough love."
And that is how I knew Calloway. That was how it started. A stupid, broken umbrella on a freezing day. A stranger with an easy smile.
And then, somehow, Ryan became my person, well my person at least. He is a good person.
At first, we were pretty close. He was the one I studied with until ungodly hours at the library. The one who brought me coffee when I was running on three hours of sleep. The one who would watch bad movies with me and then complain about the plot holes the entire time.
We had clicked effortlessly—no pretense, no expectations. Just Bella and Ryan, against the world. But recently, before my third year, before my internship, we started drifting away. I didn't know why though. I've always wanted to ask 'what happened' but procrastination got the best of me.
Aside us drifting away, it appeared to me that he has changed. I had a mental note that I was going to ask him what the problem was and hoped that everything was well with him.
I sat upright and faced the mirror that was just in front of me. My hair was in a mess, my lips were chapped, dry. I looked like a mess. I found the a mark on the side of my neck and instantly, I got reminded of how heated the previous night was. I swallowed hard, pushing myself upright, the silky sheet sliding down my body. My dress was draped over the chair by the window, and my heels lay discarded near the door. Luca must have placed them there, another reminder of just how in control he was—of me, of everything.
I should have been embarrassed by how easily I had fallen under his spell. But I wasn't. I wanted more. I wanted everything.
A soft knock at the door snapped me out of my thoughts. Before I could respond, the door eased open, and Luca stepped inside. Dressed in dark slacks and an open-collared shirt, he looked sinfully good, effortlessly powerful. His eyes locked onto mine immediately, dark and unreadable, sweeping over my bare shoulders, my tangled hair, my parted lips.
Something flickered in his gaze. Heat. Possession.
"You're awake," he murmured, voice low, rough.
I swallowed, nodding. "You left."
His lips twitched, a ghost of a smirk playing at the corners. "You needed rest."
A beat of silence stretched between us. Tension, thick and unyielding, coiled in the space between us, crackling like a live wire.
"I need more than rest, Luca," I whispered, my voice barely audible.
Something dark flashed across his face, a muscle in his jaw flexing as he exhaled slowly. He crossed the room, stopping at the edge of the bed, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from my face.
"You have no idea what you're asking for, Bella." His voice was pure gravel, laced with restraint.
I held his gaze, refusing to back down. "Then show me."
His nostrils flared, and for a second, I thought he might break, might lose himself in the same storm that had nearly consumed us last night. But then, his phone buzzed in his pocket, snapping the moment in half.
Luca muttered a curse, pulling the device free and glancing at the screen. His entire demeanor shifted. The raw intensity in his gaze cooled, replaced by something hard, something lethal.
I stiffened. "What is it?"
His lips pressed into a thin line. "I have to take care of something."
A prickle of unease crawled up my spine. "Something… or someone?"
He hesitated for the briefest moment before exhaling sharply. "I need you to stay here, Bella."
A warning. A command.
But I wasn't stupid. I knew what kind of man he was, what kind of world he lived in. And deep down, I knew that whatever—or whoever—was demanding his attention had the power to shatter whatever fragile thing we had begun to build.
Still, I nodded. "Okay."
Luca studied me for a second longer, as if debating whether to say more. Then, with a sharp tilt of his head, he turned and strode toward the door.
The moment it clicked shut behind him, I felt it—that cold, gnawing sense of something being terribly, horribly wrong.
And I was right.
Because an hour later, I found myself staring at the screen of my phone, at a picture that made my stomach drop and my pulse hammer against my ribs.
Luca. With her.
Victoria.
It was Victoria! The Victoria! She was the talk of the town.
I thought Ariana was Luca's only mistress. Oh, how foolish of me. Victoria wasn't just a mistress, she was something to Luca.
The woman draped over him like she belonged there, lips dangerously close to his ear, her fingers resting on his chest, a sultry, satisfied smirk playing at her painted lips.
A scandalous moment captured and sent directly to me.
My breath caught in my throat, my hands tightening around my phone as my chest constricted with something ugly, something I didn't want to name.
The woman draped over him like she belonged there.
Her lips dangerously close to his ear. Her fingers resting on his chest, a sultry, satisfied smirk playing at her painted lips. A scandalous moment captured and sent directly to me.
My breath caught in my throat, my hands tightening around my phone as my chest constricted with something ugly, something I didn't want to name.
I knew what Victoria was doing. I wasn't stupid. She wanted me to see this. She wanted me to hurt.
And God help me, it was working.
My phone buzzed again. A message this time.
Ryan: 'You deserve better than him, Bella'. I blinked at the words, a strange chill washing over me.
Something about them felt… off. Calculated. Ryan had always been protective, always lingering just close enough to remind me that he was there, waiting. But this felt different. More than concern. More than friendship.
I exhaled shakily, fingers trembling as I set my phone down. It's probably the Victoria stress.
---
I should have walked away.
I should have buried the image in the back of my mind, swallowed the rising tide of jealousy clawing at my ribs, and pretended it didn't affect me.
But I couldn't.
Because it wasn't just any woman wrapped around him like she belonged there. I had heard whispers of her before, had seen her name **intertwined with Luca's** in articles that painted her as his former flame, the woman who had once had him wrapped around her manicured finger. And now, she was back.
I made up my mind and decided that I needed to see Luca. I needed to hear the truth from his lips.
Even if it destroyed me.