Page 13 of Temptation

Steeling myself, I march into my bedroom. The creak of the wooden floorboard beneath my feet echoes through the silent apartment. I barely register the familiar sight of the faded quilt on the bed and the framed photos lining my dresser. Without pausing to think, I fling open the closet door and drag out my suitcase. As I spin around to toss it onto the bed, a startled yelp escapes my lips. Vance is looming in the doorway, his piercing gaze fixed intently on me.

“Could I get a little privacy here?” I demand, trying to keep my tone polite. He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t budge either, simply crossing his massive arms over his chest.

I guess that’s a no.

Under the weight of his unblinking stare, I feel a blush rise to my cheeks as I hurry to open my dresser drawers. I grab clothes at random—socks, panties, bras—barely giving any thought at what I’m shoving into the suitcase. It’s not that I don’t care; it’s just that right now, none of it seems to matter.

As I stalk back over to the closet, I consider asking Vance how long I’ll be gone and what kind of occasions I should pack for.The question is on the tip of my tongue when I swallow it back down.

I don’t want to know. I don’t want to think about it. I just want to get this over with. I’m not packing for a fun night out or a casual day with friends. I’m dismantling my life, one article of clothing at a time, because I’ve been dragged into some kind of twisted nightmare. Because I’ve been taken hostage. From my life. From my reality. From everything I know.

Blinded by tears welling up, I grab a handful of pants, shirts, sweaters, and a few dresses for good measure and stumble back over to the bed. I dump the clothes into the suitcase without any care for neatness or organization. As I reach for the zipper, Vance is there, his large hand closing over the handle.

“Is that everything?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I still need to grab some stuff from the bathroom.” In a daze, I stalk into the bathroom, scooping up toiletries and makeup and shoving everything haphazardly into my cosmetic case.

I think I’ve got it all, but who knows at this point?

As I turn to leave, my gaze falls on the apartment one last time. I take in the sight of the faded armchair, the chipped kitchen counter, and the framed photos on the mantle. Is this the last time I’ll see these familiar things? Will I ever get to come back to this life, to this version of myself?

Without waiting for myself to come up with an answer, I square my shoulders and follow Vance out the door, leaving behind the only home I’ve known for years, silently saying goodbye to a life I’m not sure I will ever return to.

As soon as we step back through the heavy front door of Fabrizio’s home, Vance assumes the role of my personal tour guide, leading me through all the areas of the house to which I am granted access. After seeing the room I’ve been assigned to and the kitchen, I already expected the rest of the house to exudea comparable level of luxury, a dazzling display of unbridled wealth.

Yet, every room I tour surpasses my expectations. Each piece of furniture exudes luxury—sumptuous velvet sofas and gleaming antique wood tables. The rugs, surely crafted from the finest silks, feature jewel-toned colors that beautifully match the heavy drapes adorning the windows. The atmosphere evokes a meticulously designed setting from an architectural magazine, highlighting the refined elegance of each space. Thoughtfully placed pieces of contemporary art adorn the rooms, their vibrant colors and bold brushstrokes contrasting delightfully with the timelessly sophisticated decor. But what strikes me the most is the complete and utter lack of one thing—a soul.

It’s a hollow shell, a monument to excess devoid of warmth or character. However, that’s not a fact that should surprise me, given who it belongs to. Still, the complete absence of personal touches startles me. There are no cherished family portraits adorning the walls, no framed snapshots of Maddy or Flynn.

It’s not a home; it’s a mansion—massive in space and amenities, but nothing more. Vance takes me to the lower level first, where a state-of-the-art home theater, a fully equipped fitness studio, and an indoor swimming pool accompanied by a sleek sauna await. On the main floor, he leads me through the spacious living area, then down a hallway to a small but perfectly equipped classroom for homeschooling the twins. Our tour through the house ends when Vance takes me back to my gilded cage on the first floor, where I am to remain like a good little prisoner. While he showed me around, my suitcase was delivered to my room. Looking at the nightstand’s alarm clock, I realize I probably have more than enough time to get settled into my new home. Laughing to myself, I take a look around the luxurious room. At least my impending captivity promises to be a comfortable one.

Five

Fabrizio

With Oliver, my right-hand man, shadowing my every move with the silent assurance of a seasoned bodyguard, I stride down the dimly lit back hallway of Kings Court. It’s one of many establishments I own scattered throughout the city.

It’s early in the day, so there aren’t any employees around. The hallway stretches out before me, empty, with our footsteps echoing off the walls as the only sound. But the air still carries the lingering scent of cigar smoke and cheap perfume—remnants of last night’s festivities.

Normally, I prefer conducting business from the familiar comfort of my own home, rarely using the office spaces nestled in the back of my most successful, prestigious gentleman’s club.

While I’m perpetually busy, drowning in a sea of meetings and work that stretches from early morning until late at night, at least it allows me to spend a little more time at home with the twins.

But they aren’t at home right now. They’re with their grandfather.

Instead, their teacher, Sienna, is roaming my house, her presence a subtle disruption to my routine. After completely losing control of myself this morning, I figured it might be best to put some distance between us. Her wide eyes, parted lips, and the blush that bloomed across her cheeks—it’s all still too vivid, too tempting, too distracting.

And I can’t afford to be distracted right now. But that’s exactly what I am. The memory of her lingers—the taste of her mouth, hot and sweet on my tongue. The softness of her skin, like silk beneath my fingertips. The sound of her soft moans and whimpers, a symphony of forbidden desire. The scent of her obvious arousal, a primal call to the predator inside me. I can feel myself getting hard all over again, my blood pounding a heavy beat in my ears. I need to get a grip on myself, and fast. Not only do I have business matters demanding my attention, but I also have a score to settle with the bastard who dared to point a gun at my children. And their teacher. My blood still boils at the memory, a cold fury burning in my veins like ice water.

When I find him, I will end him slowly and painfully, make him beg for mercy he will never receive. The thought brings a cruel smile to my lips, a promise of vengeance to come. But first, I need to find him. And there is no doubt I will find him, no matter the time and cost.

As soon as we step into my office, Oliver clears his throat, the dry, rasping sound echoing through the otherwise silent room. I turn to look at him, arching an eyebrow. He chews on his lip, avoiding eye contact—a clear sign that he’s nervous, which can only mean he’s about to say something he knows I won’t like to hear.

“The teacher,” he begins carefully. “Is it a good idea to let her stay near the children?” The question hangs in the air, heavy with unspoken implications and even a hint of accusation. My eyes narrow, and I glare at him, my mind immediately going on the defensive. Even though I know his questioning is motivated by his adoration for Maddy and Flynn, whom he’s watched grow up since the day we brought them home from the hospital, I don’t appreciate him second-guessing my judgment and challenging my authority. “I mean, no disrespect, but are you considering the option that she could be involved in the attack?” he presses on, pushing his luck.

“Do I look like a goddamn idiot to you?” I snap, sharper than I intended.

”Of course not, sir. But then… why are you keeping her close?” His tone now carries confusion rather than accusation.

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