Sinner's Paradise|| 18+

Deal with it.

                Liliana's POV:

The more I stayed in the room, the more liquor I downed. My head swam in a haze, and by now, it was 11:30 PM. From the silence seeping through the walls, it sounded like everyone had already left. Bored and drunk, I finally staggered out of the room. As I moved, searching for an exit, Celia suddenly appeared beside me, as if conjured from thin air like the Ghost of Christmas Past.

"Where are you going, Mrs. Santos?" she asked with a teasing edge to her voice.

I sighed heavily, the weight of her formality pressing on me, even in my inebriated state. "First of all, don't call me that," I slurred, swaying a bit. "And second, I need to go to a club... I need to dance, Celia."

She squinted at me, her sharp gaze assessing my unsteady stance. "Are you drunk, Mrs. Santos?" she asked, her tone a mixture of concern and amusement.

I took a step closer to her, narrowing the gap between us, and whispered, "Didn't I tell you not to call me that? Hmmm?"

Celia backed up slightly, raising her fists like a boxer preparing for a fight. I gasped dramatically, my eyes widening in mock surprise. "You wouldn't... I'm your boss's wife," I exclaimed, holding a hand to my chest like I was scandalized.

She laughed, realizing I was only playing with her, her guard lowering as her expression softened. Her laughter was contagious, and soon I was giggling too, the absurdity of the moment hitting me in waves. I draped an arm around her shoulder and said with a grin, "Come on, Celia, drink with me." 

After an hour or so, we found ourselves sprawled across my bed, tangled in a haze of laughter and liquor. I was far beyond tipsy, my mind floating in and out of clarity. Celia, who was more sober than me, turned towards me, her eyes shining with curiosity. "How did you meet Mr. Santos?" she asked.

I sighed heavily, feeling the weight of her question. Slowly, I reached down, grabbing my half-empty glass from the floor. Sitting up straight, I took a deep breath before speaking, my voice soft and distant. "It's a long story," I began, the alcohol dulling the sharpness of my words, "but I was kidnapped."

Her reaction was instant. She bolted upright, her eyes wide with shock. "You what?" she gasped, her thick Russian accent emphasizing her disbelief. Her voice cut through the fog of my drunkenness for just a moment.

I nodded, my expression solemn. Without warning, she threw her arms around me, holding me tightly. "A lot of women go through things like this," she whispered into my hair. "You just have to deal with it." After a pause, her grip softened, and she pulled back slightly. "I'm sorry, Liliana," she said, her voice gentler now, almost tender.

I raised an eyebrow at her, trying to inject some humor into the heavy moment. "No 'Mrs. Santos'?" I teased.

She laughed, a bright sound that cut through the lingering tension in the room. As our laughter faded, a sudden knock echoed through the air. We both looked at the door, instinctively saying, "Come in."

And there he was—none other than Luciano Santos, my husband, standing in the doorway like some dark shadow. His presence immediately shifted the energy in the room. Without a second thought, I got up from the bed, my nightgown clinging to me in the dim light, and walked toward him. I was too far gone to care about appearances.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, dear husband?" I said with a sarcastic edge, my voice dripping with false sweetness.

His eyes flicked from Celia to me, but his focus soon locked onto me, his gaze traveling slowly from my feet to my face, lingering. "Celia, could you give me a moment with my wife?" he said, his voice calm but commanding.

Celia quickly gathered her shoes and gave me a playful wave before slipping out of the room. I waved back, feeling her absence immediately as the tension between Luciano and me became palpable. His eyes roved over me again, and I stood there, absently playing with my hair as I watched him.

He cleared his throat, trying to maintain his composure. "Isabelle safely made it to Cuba," he informed me.

I nodded, closing the gap between us until I could feel the warmth of his breath brushing the top of my head. I looked up at him, letting my lips part slightly, my gaze flickering to his mouth. The air between us thickened as I reached up, placing a hand on his chest, and tiptoed to give him a soft peck on the lips. His body stiffened, and he pulled back slightly, his eyebrow arched in surprise.

"How much did you drink, Gata?" he asked, his voice low, almost amused.

I giggled, leaning back slightly, "Just a little bit," I lied.

He sighed, clearly trying to maintain control of the situation. "Tomorrow, we have to move to Rio de Janeiro, but that's in the afternoon. For now, you can rest."

I nodded, watching him as he turned and left the room, his footsteps fading down the hall. I could tell by the way he looked at me that he wasn't expecting this—my sudden boldness, my playfulness. Not after everything he'd done to me. But I had already made up my mind. From now on, I would get my revenge on Luciano Santos. I would break him, just as he had broken me.

With that dark thought lingering in my mind, I climbed back into bed, the liquor still buzzing in my veins, and drifted off to sleep.