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13

VALENTINA

My fingers tremble as I smudge my eyeshadow, highlighting my deep-set eyes with a flared liner. I look exotic, ready for a night out, but my stomach is a jumble of knots.

He was here. My stalker. He was in my room, and he tasted me.

Then, he left a piece of himself on my body.

He said he claimed me, and I would only be his.

I open my phone, scrolling to our messages from the night after.

Your name isn’t Ben, is it?

Stalker: If it’s not?

Just wanted to know your name. Stalker in my phone seems ominous.

Stalker: Don’t change it. I like it.

We continued to talk, explore. I confided in him, allowed myself to open, just a tiny bit, to a complete stranger. It’s the opposite of what I should’ve done. Yet, I’m realizing, if it concerns him, I don’t follow the rules.

Closing the phone, I shut my eyes. I almost begged him to come back. Am I that desperate, or is this fate at work?

Regardless, I can’t let anyone know. If they do, they’ll take him away from me. I can’t have that—I like who I am under his influence.

Tugging down my skirt, I ignore the throb between my legs. It’s been there, an ache that won’t stop, since he left me. He was right about one thing. My body will only know his touch—and it misses him.

Adjusting my hair, I keep the implants hidden and fix the top of my newly purchased dress. It fits as well as it did in the dressing room, cradling my hips and breasts. My long legs glow against the setting sun, and the strappy heels give me more height. Freddie will hate it—but I enjoy being tall. I’m powerful, an equal.

Someone knocks on my door, and I open it before they can finish.

Ello stands there, dressed in black, hazel eyes narrowed at the hem of my dress.

He signs, “It’s short, piccina mia.”

I wink. “I know.”

“Your brother will have words about this.”

“This,” I sign, gesturing to my outfit, “isn’t about him. It’s about keeping Freddie on my side.”

Ello is aware of my plan to dissolve this marriage. He’s not thrilled with it, but he supports it. I suspect that after he confessed to seeing my mother sold into a marriage she didn’t want; he doesn’t want to see me trapped either.

“So, you’ll tempt him with your body, though you never intend to let him have it?”

I pout. “You act as if I want this,” I sign. “That I would willingly tease to get my way, when the world I was born into made this my only option. I would much rather defend myself to Roman, win my freedom, choose who I love, but that is not the world I live in, Ello.”

Softly, he chucks my chin as I look away.

“That is not what I meant,” he whispers. “I understand this is what you must do and how they have placed you in this position. I only worry that Freddie will not adhere to the rules and harm you.” His eyes crinkle at the corners, worry bleeding into them. “He is not to be trusted. Do you have your knife?”

I hold up my small bag, the little Swiss knife buried next to my lipstick and compact mirror. My phone is stuffed in there, too.

“Never leave home without it. You taught me that.”

Ello nods. “Good. Don’t forget what I showed you.” He points to his neck, then to his leg. “These are easy spots with maximum blood loss. If he does anything and I can’t get to you⁠—”