~Camila~
"𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒏'𝒕 𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝑪𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒂, 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒇𝒂𝒓 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕"
To the world, Camila is a breath of fresh air; a woman of gentle smiles and a joyful heart. Her charm is her armor, and her intellect is her weapon.
B...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The sprawling mansion felt like a damn maze, and my patience was hanging by a thread.
I'd been searching for Luciano for what felt like hours, my frustration mounting with every wrong turn and dead end.
Where the hell did he expect me to find him in a place this massive?
Storming back to the kitchen, I shoved the door open, my heels clicking sharply against the marble floor.
"Damon," I snapped, my voice laced with irritation. "Where the hell is your boss?"
The man barely flinched, continuing to wipe his knife with the precision of someone who had all the time in the world. Finally, he glanced up at me with mild amusement.
"He should be in his study."
I exhaled sharply, my fingers curling into fists. "And where the hell is that?"
Damon sighed, dropping the knife onto the cutting board before wiping his hands on a cloth.
"Come on, I'll show you."
I followed him through the dimly lit hallway, my footsteps echoing against the marble floors.
The further we walked, the quieter the mansion became, as if we were stepping into a different world entirely.
The air here was heavier. The silence, thicker.
Finally, Damon stopped in front of a set of massive wooden doors at the end of a secluded corridor.
"The last door," he said, nodding toward it.
I cast him a tight-lipped smile, more sarcasm than gratitude. "Thanks for the grand tour."
He chuckled, shaking his head as he walked away.
I turned back to the door and knocked—firmly, impatiently.
No answer.
A muscle in my jaw twitched. If he wasn't in there, I swore I'd start planning his funeral. I raised my fist to bang on the door again when, without warning, it creaked open on its own.
The dim lighting inside cast long shadows across the room, and for a moment, I hesitated.
Then his voice, deep and commanding, drifted through the space.
"Come in, Gem... I'm here."
My breath hitched slightly at the name—his name for me.
I stepped inside, my heels sinking into the plush carpet. He sat at the far end of the room, his silhouette framed by the golden glow of the setting sun.
His back was to the window, but even in the dim light, I could see the sharp lines of his jaw, the slight tilt of his head as if he'd been expecting me all along.
Something about the way he sat—calm, composed, completely unbothered by my storming around the house—only fueled my irritation.
I shut the door behind me, taking slow, deliberate steps forward. He gestured toward the chair opposite his desk, his expression unreadable.
