Arabella Malik, the lethal American mob boss's daughter.
The beauty of the nineteen-year-old was well-known. Her hourglass figure and glowing grey eyes-which mirrored her father's, had practically everyone praising the ground she walked on.
Arabella...
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✰ Ａｒａｂｅｌｌａ ✰
"𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭"
When I awoke the next morning, my lungs were burning, but my head was lighter and the headache I had expected wasn't there—thanks to the medicine Roman had given me.
Much to my dismay, Roman was also not present when I awakened. He left me a short sticky note stating that he would return in an hour.
I had washed my face and then brushed my teeth with a spare toothbrush. After that, I made it a point to phone my brother and tell him what had occurred.
Mentioning it last night just felt wrong. I didn't want to ruin his night by causing him a heart attack, and I honestly just felt like complete shit after the whole gas thing.
So, when I called him this morning and told him—he was not happy. I told him the whole incident and had to reassure him that I was fine multiple times.
He appeared genuinely grateful for Roman at the time, which made me happy that he was warming up to him.
I had to persuade him not to inform our parents several times as well. My father, together with Roman, were already dealing with the matter. I didn't need to give him anything else to add.
Besides, I would have had extra security and my mother, as well as everyone else, would not leave my side. At this moment my parents thought that I was spending the day with Kara—so they weren't suspicious at all.
When he finally gave in, I thanked him profusely and assured him that Roman was keeping me safe. He believed it and soon let it go.
After a half-hour conversation with him, I decided to take a look around the house.
I invaded upon doors, creeping in the room when I saw nothing but nothingness. My feet scampered up another flight of steps, leading to another vacant corridor.
I skipped down the hall to a large door placed at the end.
The door was open, and when it widened my eyes gleamed when I saw it wasn't just an empty room.
The room had the appearance of an office—his office. I was surprised to see how clean and tidy it was as I walked through.
A big and long oak wood desk sat in the centre of the room. Behind it, a deep-brown leather chair rested.
Papers were arranged in black and white folders down one side of the desk, while a single tin cup had three black, one blue, and one red pen.
I sat down in the leather chair across from me. I spun around it immaturely—I've always appreciated spinning chairs.
When I twirled around, my eyes caught onto something flashing in the corner of the room.
My brows wrinkled when I observed a sheet of glass hiding beneath a tiny table.
