𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐤 | 𝘙𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘊𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘯

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐤 |
𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

RAFE'S POV

I leaned back in the chair by the pool, the glass of whiskey cool against my palm as I took another sip. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the water. Lucas sat across from me, looking as relaxed as ever.

"She's such a bitch," I muttered, my thoughts circling back to Catalina yet again.

Lucas laughed, shaking his head. "I know, bro, but she's so hot."

I had to admit, he wasn't wrong.
Catalina was undeniably gorgeous, but there was something else about her that got under my skin.

"Hot, sure. But there's something more. She's not as innocent as she pretends to be. I can see it in her eyes-there's something darker there."

Lucas raised an eyebrow, smirking.
"Sounds like someone's obsessed already."

I didn't even bother denying it.
Maybe I was obsessed, but not in the way he thought. Catalina wasn't just another pretty face-she was a challenge. "Maybe. But she's the type who thinks she's untouchable. Someone needs to knock her off that pedestal she's put herself on."

"Good luck," Lucas said, chuckling.
"Girls like that don't go down easy."
I smirked, the idea of breaking through Catalina's facade only fueling my interest. "We'll see."

CATALINA'S POV

The club pulsed around me, lights flashing in neon pink and blue, the beat vibrating through my heart as I moved. Adriana was beside me, but I was barely aware of her, too lost in the moment. I let the music drown out everything else.

I looked perfect tonight. The tight pink dress hugged my body in all the right places, my heels adding inches to my height, making me stand out even more. A pink choker wrapped around my neck like a constant reminder of who I had to be in front of everyone else—perfect, untouchable. But here, under these lights, I wasn't Catalina, the girl everyone wanted to be. I was something else. Someone else.

And it still wasn't enough.

I craved something darker, something that made me feel seen—really seen. Not just for my looks, my name, or the wealth that surrounded me like a prison.
No, I needed to feel something raw, something intimate. But every time I did this, I hated myself a little more.

That's when I felt them. Hands on my hips, firm, possessive. I didn't need to turn around to know what he wanted. It was always the same. My breath caught for a second, but I didn't stop moving.

He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. "Wanna get a room? I'm paying really good."

There it was—the validation I craved and despised all at once. I glanced back at him, and in that moment, I felt the rush I was looking for. The thrill. The control. And yet, at the same time, the disgust twisted in my gut.
I hated that I needed this.

Without a word, I nodded,the club lights blurring as I walked out, the man trailing close behind me.

He wasn't special—none of them ever were. His hand slipped into mine like he owned me, but I knew better. Men like him thought they were in control, but they were all the same. He reeked of cologne, probably trying to cover up the stench of a long day spent behind a desk, running some business that didn't matter.

He probably had a wife at home. Kids, too. The kind of man who lived in a mansion, with a perfect family that looked good in photos but was hollow on the inside. They came here because their wives weren't enough, their lives weren't enough. They needed their dirty little secret, the escape to feel alive again.

I didn't need their money. Hell, I could probably buy their whole life, their business, and the expensive suits they wore. What they gave me wasn't worth anything—not to me, at least. But that wasn't why I did this.

The truth was, I could walk into any store and buy whatever I wanted without thinking twice. I could hop on a plane and disappear for months if I wanted to. Money wasn't the issue. It never was. This wasn't about that.

These men—they gave me attention, a twisted kind of intimacy I couldn't find anywhere else. They looked at me like I was their secret, something dangerous, something forbidden. And in those moments, I felt powerful, like I had something over them. But then, as soon as it was over, the disgust crept back in, and I hated myself for needing it.

We reached the hotel, and he didn't even hesitate. This wasn't his first time, and it wouldn't be his last. His wedding ring caught the light as he pulled out his wallet, paying for the room like it was just another business transaction. Maybe it was, to him. Just another deal, another escape from the life he'd built.

I followed him up to the room, heels clicking against the floor, the sound too loud in the quiet hallway. As we walked, I wondered—did his wife know? Did she suspect? Or was she too wrapped up in her perfect little life to even care? Maybe she turned a blind eye because she didn't want to face the truth of the man she married.

None of it mattered, not really. He wasn't here for her, such as I wasn't here for the money.

But as the door clicked shut behind us and I slipped into the role I knew so well, I wondered if I'd ever find someone who could pull me out of this. Someone who would see the real me beneath the layers of perfection and darkness.

Maybe one day. But until then, I'd keep playing this game. I didn't need their money. I didn't need their approval. I needed their attention, their desire, the twisted intimacy that made me feel alive—if only for a little while.

But the truth was, I cared too much. And every time I left a room like this, I felt a little more broken.