Chapter 23: The Mistress and the Fiancée

Rafael had never been so humiliated in his life. Security had detained him—wrapped in nothing but a damp towel—questioning whether he even belonged in his own goddamn building. It was only after an excruciating wait, a smirk-laden verification process, and the guards' snide remarks about midnight escapades that they let him go.

By the time he returned to his suite, Blair was still there, lounging on his bed like she owned the place.

"Where exactly did you go, half-naked?" she asked, her brow arching as she stretched, catlike, against the pillows.

Rafael hesitated. His mind spun for an excuse—gym? Sauna? A power outage that required immediate intervention? But his stuttering only made it worse.

Blair rolled her eyes. "Forget it. Just get dressed. We're going out for lunch." She slid off the bed and kissed him quickly, as if she hadn't just accused him of sneaking out on her.

It was a trendy little place, all rustic charm and warm lighting, tucked neatly into the city's bustling afternoon crowd. Rafael picked at his meal, checking his watch too often, glancing around the room like a man being hunted.

He should be with Arabella. It was supposed to be their weekend. Instead, he was here, listening to Blair talk. Does she ever stop? he wondered bitterly. Is she chewing her food or just swallowing it whole?

"Honey? Are you even listening to me?"

Rafael snapped his gaze back to her. "Yes—yes, of course. What did you say again?"

Blair set her fork down with a practiced delicacy. "I said, when are we getting married? We've been engaged for over a year now."

His stomach clenched. "I just need... a little more time."

Her expression hardened. "More time to find someone better than me, isn't that it?"

Before he could protest, she cut him off, her voice lowering into something darker, something far more dangerous.

"You remember what happened to the last girl, don't you?"

A slow smile spread across her lips, but it was all teeth. She lifted her hand, shaping her fingers into a gun, and pulled the imaginary trigger. Rafael's blood ran cold. He forced a laugh, uneasy, reaching for his glass of water. "Cheating? Baby, I've been sober for six months now." He took a long gulp, swallowing hard.

But the memories clawed back.

Six months ago, he had been seeing a waitress—just a casual fling. Blair had found out. She had sent people to egg the girl's house. That was just the beginning. Stalkers, threatening phone calls, a paranoia that had the poor girl looking over her shoulder until, finally, she'd had enough. She had broken things off with Rafael and fled town.

He had learned his lesson. Blair wasn't just a possessive girlfriend—she was a force with an unforgiving nature and an obsession with control. And now, he wasn't just seeing one girl. He was seeing two.

Vivian was nothing serious. But Arabella— His pulse kicked up. Oh God.

Blair smiled, satisfied with his silence. "Good. I'm not the kind of woman you can toy with, Rafael."

He forced another laugh. "Of course not. You're... special."

God, how had he gotten himself into this mess?

A year ago, Blair's mother had caught them in bed. The next day, he'd been forced into an engagement—an agreement cloaked in secrecy. Not even his parents knew. He had tried to break it off a hundred times, but she was like a parasite, clinging.

Four months ago, she had left United States to complete her degree in Paris. Now, she was back.

"Then treat me like I'm special," she said, reaching for his hand across the table. "Let's go to Nantasket. I miss the sea breeze."

He tensed. "I'm busy this weekend. How about Thursday?"

Blair narrowed her eyes. "Strange. Weekends are when most people are free. Why aren't you?"

"I have a client from overseas staying through the weekend." A beat of silence. Blair studied him. Then, slowly, she smiled.

"Alright, then. I'll sleep over for the weekend. At least that way, I can hold you at night."

His stomach dropped. "That's not really—"

"When did you become so modest?" Her gaze sharpened. "Is there something you're hiding?"

Rafael swallowed. "No! Of course not. You can stay."

And then—

The restaurant door opened. Two figures entered, laughing.

Arabella. And Levi.

Fresh from the clinic, still giddy and glowing from inside jokes. They were mid-conversation, walking toward an empty table—until they she saw him.

Arabella's laughter died in her throat. She halted in place, eyes locking onto Rafael like a sniper catching its target. Beside her, Levi stiffened, his easygoing smile twisting into something acidic. They stood there, unmoving, watching. Rafael felt the air leave his lungs.

Then Arabella lifted her chin, turned on her heel, and walked right past him. Like he was nothing. Levi lingered just a second longer. He stared at Rafael—stared through him—then rolled his eyes and followed Arabella without a word.

Rafael's hand clenched around his fork.

Blair, completely unaware, reached across the table and took his hand in hers.

"See? Isn't this nice?" she murmured.

His throat felt tight. His gaze followed Arabella until she disappeared into the crowd.

And for the first time all day, he wished to hell he had stayed in that security office.

Levi sighed, swirling his straw absentmindedly in his untouched sweet tea. He had lost his appetite the second he saw Rafael sitting with that girl—his fiancée.

Arabella, however, was another story. She sat across from him, stiff as a board, fingers curled into the wooden table so tightly that her nails threatened to carve deep grooves into the surface. Levi had seen her angry before, but this was something else.

Pure, unfiltered rage.

"Girl. That woman is hot," Levi murmured, shaking his head in appreciation.

Arabella's response was immediate. "Shut up."

His lips twitched. "You're not... jealous, are you?"

She scoffed, but it lacked conviction. "Me? Jealous? Of course not."

Liar.

She could feel Rafael behind her. Not just his presence but his laughter, his movements, the way he leaned in toward her—his fiancée. Every now and then, she flicked her gaze sideways, stealing glances. The girl was stunning. Curvy, elegant, exuding the kind of privilege that came with old money and high expectations.

No wonder that perverted bastard is crazy about her. He's even engaged to her.

Her grip on the table tightened, fingertips pressing into the lacquered wood. A muscle in her jaw ticked. Without even realizing it, she was grinding her teeth so hard she could hear the faint creak of tension in her own skull.

Levi, watching the transformation unfold, leaned back in his seat, eyes wide. "Girl. Girl! Snap out of it!" He waved a hand in front of her face.

Arabella jolted upright. "I need to use the restroom."

Levi exhaled, relieved. "Then go."

Arabella stormed down the corridor, her pulse hammering against her ribs. The moment she pushed open the restroom door, she exhaled sharply, gripping the porcelain sink. Her reflection in the mirror glared back at her—flushed cheeks, wild eyes, lips pressed into a tight line.

What the hell was wrong with her?

Her hands curled into fists, nails biting into her palms. It felt like something was about to explode inside her, something raw and untamed, something that tasted like bitterness and betrayal and—

"Bastard!!!"

The word tore out of her throat before she could stop it, echoing against the tile walls.

The door swung open.

"Baby."

Arabella froze.

That voice. That voice.

She turned, slow and deliberate, and met Rafael's gaze. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame like he had all the time in the world, his expression unreadable.

She gave him a smirk, the kind meant to wound. "Why are you following me? Aren't you afraid of your fiancée?"

He barely blinked. "You're right. She might see us." Then, before she could react, he stepped forward and grabbed her wrist.

"Hey—"

He pulled her inside. The door clicked shut.

Arabella yanked her arm free, stepping back quickly, creating distance. "What do you want, Rafael?"

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he studied her, gaze lingering on the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way her lips parted just slightly, as if she'd just run a marathon. Then, finally—

"Let's go out tonight."

She let out a short, humorless laugh. "No. You have a fiancée."

"But we have a deal, remember? It's still Saturday."

Arabella stilled. The words sank in, bringing a flush to her cheeks.

"Our deal wasn't for me to go on dates with you. It was—"

She stopped.

Rafael smiled, slow and knowing. "You're right."

He took a step forward.

She took a step back.

"Stop right there," she warned, hands splayed against the wall behind her.

He didn't.

Now, they were inches apart. The heat of his body radiated against her skin, and the scent of him—warm, clean, masculine—wrapped around her like a snare.

He exhaled, his voice dropping low. "Baby, what am I going to do with you?"

Arabella swallowed.

His eyes were locked onto hers, dark and unrelenting. He lifted a hand, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek, his fingers lingering against her skin.

"Do you have any idea how addicting you are?"

Her breath hitched.

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. Strawberries. The scent of her, the one that had been clinging to his thoughts for weeks. It was intoxicating.

He opened his eyes again, and his voice was barely a whisper. "Baby, it's burning again..."

His fingers skimmed the curve of her jaw.

"Let's go into one of the stalls."

Arabella blinked. "What? No."

"Come on. Just pretend it's a shower stall."

She let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. "Pervert! This is a public restroom. And a ladies' restroom, to be exact!"

Loud voices echoed from outside the door.

Arabella tensed.

Rafael swore under his breath. "Shit. That sounds like Blair."

Arabella raised an eyebrow, mischief dancing in her gaze. "Great. You know what? I've changed my mind. Let's do it in the restroom."

Rafael's brow furrowed. "What—"

She leaned in, lips brushing the curve of his jaw. "Show me the banana."

His breath caught.

Her fingers slid down his chest, slow, teasing, until she reached his belt. She unbuckled it halfway, her lips tracing a path up his neck, placing featherlight kisses along his skin.

Rafael's pulse skyrocketed.

He knew what she was doing. Knew this wasn't about desire—this was about revenge.

She wanted Blair to walk in on them.

A thrill of panic shot through him, colliding with raw, burning lust.

"Arabella..." His voice was hoarse, uneven.

She smirked.

Rafael moaned, his restraint unraveling. He kicked open one of the stall doors, pulling her inside with him. The metal lock clicked into place.

"Shh." His breath was hot against her ear. "If Blair sees you, I swear, she'll egg your house every day for the rest of your life."

Arabella looked up, meeting his gaze. Something shifted between them. She wasn't laughing anymore. Neither was he. For the first time, Rafael saw something else in her expression—something deeper, something raw and unguarded. And that scared him more than anything.

"Hey! What are you doing? Let me go—" Arabella hissed, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Baby, you started this fire" Rafael's breath was warm against her ear. "Now be a good girl and put it out."

Before she could snap back, his lips captured hers in a slow, deliberate kiss. He wasn't just claiming her; he was savoring her. Each soft sip of her lips sent shivers down her spine, and she felt his hands glide down the curve of her thigh.

She gasped.

Her hands shot up, pressing against his chest, trying to push him away, but he was too strong, too determined. He consumed her, drew her into his world where resistance was nothing but a tease.

Her mind screamed to fight him. To slap him. To shove him away and remind him exactly who was in control.

But her body?

Damn it.

Her body had a completely different story to tell.

And then—

"Excuse me... hello? Excuse me?"

The quiet, yet unmistakably annoyed voice cut through the haze.

Arabella and Rafael froze.

Slowly, they turned their heads to the side... and that was when they saw her.

An elderly woman sat on the toilet, her pants pooled around her ankles, a thick wad of toilet paper clutched in one wrinkled hand. She stared at them over the rim of her bifocals, her expression shifting from confusion to sheer irritation.

Rafael blinked.

Arabella's face burned with horror.

"...Sorry," she mumbled, mortified.

"Just give us five minutes," Rafael said smoothly, as if this was a completely normal request.

The elderly woman didn't flinch. Instead, she pursed her lips, considered their presence for a long moment... and then let out a loud, unapologetic fart.

Arabella choked.

Rafael's eyes widened as the stall was suddenly flooded with the most ungodly scent.

"Oh, my..." The old woman patted her stomach. "Kids, it's gonna take more than five minutes with this one."

Arabella and Rafael simultaneously pinched their noses, gagging as the putrid stench filled every inch of the tiny space.

And yet... they couldn't leave.

Blair was still out there.

They could hear the sink running, but they couldn't tell if she was still lingering or if it was someone else. It was too risky. So instead, they waited—trapped in the stall, turning various shades of blue as the air became increasingly toxic.

Minutes crawled by in excruciating silence.

At last, the elderly woman sighed, flushed the toilet, and pulled her pants back up. She shuffled out of the stall, casting them one last amused glance. "It's safe to come out now, kids."

Arabella practically burst out of the stall, gasping for air. Rafael followed close behind, also panting and fanning himself furiously.

"Dear God," Arabella wheezed, digging into her purse. She yanked out a perfume bottle and sprayed it wildly over herself, trying to erase the trauma of the last ten minutes.

Rafael reached for the bottle and snatched it from her hands. "Baby, let me have some."

Before she could protest, he tilted his head back, sprayed the mist into the air, and walked underneath it like it was some kind of divine blessing.

He inhaled deeply.

Strawberries.

"Damn, no wonder you smell so delicious."

He turned toward her, dipping his head close, his nose nearly grazing her neck as he inhaled again.

Arabella shivered but immediately shoved him back. "Hey! Stop sniffing me, you creep!"

His smirk deepened. "I can't help it. You're like a walking addiction."

She narrowed her eyes. "You want to go back in that stall? I promise you, you can sniff all you want in there."

With that, she brushed past him and stormed out of the restroom.

Levi was already waiting, stirring his drink idly when Arabella returned.

He took one look at her and raised a brow. "Ah, girl! Took you long enough to pee. And damn, that perfume is strong. I could smell it from a mile away."

Arabella plopped down into her seat and muttered under her breath, "Trust me, I smelled worse." She glanced down at her untouched salad and immediately regretted it. The image of the elderly woman on the toilet flashed through her mind.

Yeah.

Her appetite was gone.

Moments later, Rafael returned to his table. Arabella felt his presence before she even looked up. She forced herself to remain still, refusing to acknowledge him, even as she felt the weight of his gaze on her.

She knew he was watching her.

And sure enough, when she finally, finally looked up, their eyes met.

She frowned.

He smirked.

Acting casual, he turned back to Blair, who greeted him with a bright smile. "Honey, the waitress spilled water on my dress—" She suddenly stopped, wrinkling her nose. "Wait. What's that smell? Why you smell like strawberries?"

Rafael didn't hesitate. "There's a lady selling perfumes, she sprayed a sample on me."

Arabella nearly choked on her drink.

Blair blinked. "I just came from the restroom. I didn't see any saleslady. And what took you so long, anyway?"

"Uh..." Rafael rubbed the back of his neck. "I was on the phone with a client. He, um... wants to meet tonight, so I'll be late coming home. Just, uh, make yourself comfortable at the condo."

Blair stared at him, suspicious. "Why are you stuttering? Are you lying to me?"

"Of course not!" he said quickly, forcing a casual smile.

Blair pursed her lips. "Fine. I'll let it go for now. Let's pay and leave." She stood up, reaching into her purse for cash.

Rafael, meanwhile, turned—just slightly—to steal one last glance at Arabella. She was glaring at him, arms crossed, lips pursed in pure annoyance. And yet, despite everything, he felt a tightness in his chest. It had only been five minutes since he last touched her, and he already missed her.

The scent of strawberries still clung to his shirt, teasing him, torturing him. She was so near... yet so far. And it was driving him insane. His eyes softened, pleading for her to look back at him one last time. But she didn't. Arabella lifted her chin, rolled her eyes, and turned away.

Rafael exhaled slowly, his fists clenching.

Damn it, baby.

She was going to be the death of him.