Chapter 6: Two Nights, Too Many

Arabella slammed her bedroom door shut with such force that the old hinges groaned in protest, and for a moment, she almost wished the door would give way. The sound of it reverberated through the silence of the house like a thunderclap. She pressed her back against it, taking deep breaths, willing her heart to stop racing. Her hand flew to her cheek, swiping away a tear that had betrayed her. The audacity of him! she thought, her mind still reeling from Rafael's smirk, that smug, infuriating grin as he'd walked away, leaving her a wreck of raw emotion and humiliation in his wake.

Two nights a week? She shook her head in disbelief. The audacity! As though she would allow herself to be manipulated so easily. As though she would trade herself like some kind of commodity. No, Rafael had miscalculated. He wasn't going to have the satisfaction of owning her, not for a second, not ever.

But even as she vowed to fight him, something tugged at her insides. A strange, gnawing feeling that she could not quite identify. Was it the memory of the way his eyes had sparkled when he'd spoken those cruel words, or was it the shock of her own body's involuntary response to his proximity? She hated how he made her feel—distracted, flustered, and alive in a way she hadn't felt in a long time. But that was irrelevant. He was a monster, an opportunist, nothing more. She wouldn't play his games. She would make sure of it.

Her thoughts, though clouded with rage, turned then, with a dark twist, to Dante. That revolting, lying piece of trash. What a fool I've been, she thought bitterly, pacing the room. For months, she'd allowed him to string her along, playing at romance, while hiding his real self behind carefully crafted lies. She had suspected something, of course—how could she not? His constant evasiveness, the late-night phone calls that stopped when she entered the room, his frequent business trips that always seemed to coincide with her unspoken doubts. But now, all those whispers of instinct had been confirmed. Dante was no saint. No, he was far worse—a man so far into the muck of criminality, it had consumed him whole.

She could feel the bile rise in her throat, but it wasn't disgust that tightened her chest. It was the relief. The clarity.

Dante had always been a shadow on her life, but now, thanks to Rafael—of all people—Arabella could see the truth. She had been right to question him. She had been right to wonder what he was hiding. He would rot in jail for the rest of his life, and she would make sure of it. A satisfied smile tugged at the corner of her lips. She would be the one to expose him. She would be the one to make him pay for all the women he had exploited. That was a promise.

But Rafael? No, he was no savior. As much as she hated Dante for what he was, she hated Rafael more for what he had done to her—exposing Dante's lies only to hold her own future over her head like a sword. Manipulative, controlling, and ruthless. He had taken the opportunity to dig his claws into her, seeing her fear and her vulnerability as his chance to capitalize on both. What kind of man did that? She could see him so clearly now, in all his dark, smoldering glory—a predator wearing a charming smile, luring his prey into a trap.

A sudden ache spread through her chest, and Arabella squeezed her eyes shut. No. Stop. She could not allow herself to feel anything for him. His motives were clear. He wanted to watch her squirm. He wanted to make her submit to his terms and when she did—if she did—he would control her every move, every breath. She would never allow that. No. She wouldn't.

Arabella's gaze fell to the phone she had been clutching, her fingers tightening around it. The weight of it, so solid and real in her hand, grounded her. There was only one person she could trust right now. One person who had been there for her when the world had seemed like a cruel, dark place.

She tapped the screen quickly, her fingers flying over the letters as her breath steadied.

Levi, I need you to come over.

Her voice trembled in the text, but she wouldn't let herself second-guess it. She didn't have time for second-guessing. Not now.

The response came almost immediately. Arabella? Are you okay Honey?

No, I'm not. Just—just come over. I'll explain everything.

She didn't want to say more, didn't want to get into the mess of it. Levi didn't need the details—he had always known how to read her. His presence alone would be enough to help her regain some semblance of control over the chaos swirling in her head.

On my way.

Arabella let out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding. She tossed the phone aside, her hands trembling. She wiped at her cheek once more, though there were no more tears left to shed. It was a strange thing, how quickly everything could unravel. One man had shown her the depths of her own ignorance, and now, another would help her pick up the pieces. But what about Rafael? she thought, bitterness settling in her chest. What about him? What if she couldn't avoid him forever? What if his hold on her, however invisible, was already stronger than she realized?

She sank onto the edge of her bed, pressing her hands to her face as if to shield herself from the overwhelming swirl of emotions. No, she thought fiercely. I won't let him win. Not like this.

But it wasn't only Rafael she feared anymore. It was what he had unlocked inside her. A part of herself she didn't even know existed. A part that longed for something—no, someone—who could take control when she had no answers, who could impose order on the disarray that had become her life. And that frightened her more than anything else.

The knock on the door broke her thoughts apart like glass. Arabella stood immediately, pushing herself off the bed, her heart pounding. She opened the door quickly, her eyes still a little swollen from earlier.

Levi stood there, his face an immediate comfort—a familiar, grounding presence that made her exhale in relief.

Without speaking, she stepped aside to let him in, the warmth of his presence enveloping her like a shield. As soon as the door closed behind him, she found herself in his arms, her cheek pressed against his chest. It was rare to none, she had allowed herself to lean into Levi in what felt like forever, and she didn't even realize how much she needed it until she felt his steady heartbeat beneath her cheek.

The two childhood friends settled into the sanctuary of Arabella's room, where the lavender walls seemed far too serene for the storm inside her chest. The room, with its soft colors and delicate accents, felt worlds away from the dark turmoil swirling within her.

Levi sprawled across her bed with the grace of someone who belonged, his long limbs sinking into the plush mattress.

Arabella, no longer pacing but unable to sit still, recounted every maddening detail of the ordeal, from Rafael's smug proposal to Dante's lies unraveling in the cruel light of truth.

"Arabella," he said softly, his dark eyes scanning her face with that quiet concern she had always loved. "What happened? Tell me everything," Levi said, his voice a gentle anchor in the storm inside her.

Arabella swallowed hard, the words spilling out in a rush, sharp and jagged. She told him about Dante—everything. His lies, his business, the truth Rafael had exposed. How she felt like a fool for not seeing it sooner, how terrified she was of what would happen next. And then, of course, she told him about Rafael—about the bargain he had proposed, about the twisted game he had started.

"Two nights a week?" Levi's voice pierced the air, sharp with indignation. He shot upright, his eyes wide in disbelief. "That's... that's obscene!"

"Exactly!" Arabella's hands flew up in the air, her agitation growing with every word. "I mean, who does he think he is? A perverted maniac! He knows what I've just gone through, and he's trying to use it against me!" She began to pace again, her frustration bubbling over. "Exploiting my situation like it's some sort of game. Ugh! And Dante! I was so blind, so... so stupid!"

Levi threw himself back onto the bed with a dramatic sigh, pulling a pillow over his face. "Girl, you're surrounded by perverts."

Arabella snorted, unable to suppress the bitter laugh that escaped her lips. "And to think I actually hugged Dante last week at the studio," she muttered, a shudder running through her. "What was I thinking?"

Levi peered over the pillow, his eyes wide with mock horror. "What? You didn't seriously think about sleeping with him, did you?"

"Shut up, Levi!" Arabella tossed a pillow at him, though the throw lacked any real force. "Of course not! I wasn't in love with him."

Levi rolled the pillow aside, his face shifting to one of curious mockery. "Then why date him in the first place?"

Arabella stopped her pacing, her shoulders sagging under the weight of the question. "I—I was trying to get my parents off my back. They kept pushing me into these awful blind dates. Dante was just... convenient."

Levi shook his head, a playful smirk curling at his lips. "Girl, of all the guys out there, you really hit the jackpot—twice."

Arabella groaned, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "Thanks for the support."

Levi let out a dramatic sigh, sitting up now, his expression growing more serious. "Okay, okay, let's cut through the drama. What's the plan? How do you get out of this mess?"

Arabella's gaze hardened. Her voice, when it came, was steady. "Simple. Once Dante's situation is sorted, I'm buying a plane ticket. To Paris."

Levi's eyes lit up, his grin widening. "Paris? Ooh, international fugitive chic. I love it."

Arabella rolled her eyes, but there was a faint spark of something—hope, maybe?—flickering in her chest. "It's not funny, Levi."

"It's kind of funny," he said, leaning back against the headboard. "But yeah, I'm in. Just tell me when, and I'll pack my bags."

Arabella glanced out the window, her heart beating a little faster. There was a way out, she realized. And maybe, just maybe, it wasn't too late to take control of her life again.

"You're not a fool," he said softly, his voice more resolute than she had ever heard it. "You were in the dark, just like the rest of us. And we'll take care of this, together."

Arabella nodded, her throat tight. Levi wasn't just her best friend. He was her escape. She allowed herself to believe that someone—someone who knew her, someone who didn't see her as a pawn—would stand by her. Someone who cared enough to help her face the fire.

"Whatever happens," Levi added, his grip tightening on her hand, "we'll deal with it. No one, not even Rafael, is going to control your life."

Arabella squeezed his hand, a small but resolute smile pulling at the corners of her lips. He was right. No one would control her. Not even Rafael.

Not if she could help it.

***

The next morning, across town, Rafael sat behind the polished mahogany desk in his sleek office at Velvet Vogue Co., the high-rise windows casting sharp, angular shadows on the floor. He was calm, methodical, as he flipped through the damning evidence he'd collected against Dante. Photographs. Bank statements. Transcripts of hushed conversations. It was all there, laid out like a neatly arranged puzzle. And each piece fit together too perfectly for his liking.

His fingers hovered over a particularly incriminating photograph—Dante, unmistakably nervous, meeting with a man who looked far too comfortable in the shadows of a back alley. The image was clear. Crisp. The expression on Dante's face was one of a man who had much more to lose than he was letting on.

Rafael pressed a button on his sleek desk phone, a low hum vibrating beneath his fingertips as the line rang. It only took one call, one brief conversation to bring in the person he needed most.

Ross. Old friend. Detective with a knack for cracking high-profile cases. A man who had no interest in playing by the rules but understood the value of getting things done. Rafael trusted him. Needed him.

A few minutes later, the door to his office clicked open, and Ross stepped in, his heavy boots making a sound that was far too loud for such a polished, corporate building. His rough exterior contrasted sharply with the upscale environment, a reminder that the world Rafael navigated was filled with shadows and secrets, even here in the heart of Velvet Vogue.

"Nice setup," Ross said with a smirk, scanning the room. He gave a dismissive glance at the clean lines, the designer furniture, as if it was all nothing more than a stage. But his eyes immediately honed in on the papers on Rafael's desk, and a flicker of interest crossed his features. He wasn't here for the decor. He was here for the dirt.

Rafael didn't waste time with pleasantries. "I need you to look over this. Everything you see, it's got to stay between us."

Ross grabbed the file, flipping through it with practiced ease. His sharp eyes skimmed each page before he let out a low whistle. "Man, I could get a promotion with this," he said, his voice a mix of admiration and amusement. "This is huge."

"That's why I called you." Rafael's voice was cool, detached. This was business. Nothing personal. "This guy needs to be taken down."

Ross paused, flipping the file shut and looking at Rafael with a raised eyebrow. "How'd you get mixed up in all this, anyway? You don't just hire a detective to tail someone for kicks."

Rafael hesitated, a momentary flicker of discomfort crossing his otherwise stoic features. He cleared his throat, leaning back in his chair. "Let's just say... he crossed paths with someone important to me."

Ross's lips curved into a knowing smirk. "Important, huh?" He leaned in, folding his arms across his chest. "Well, if this girl's innocent, the law won't touch her. But you better warn her to stay on her toes. Guys like Dante? They don't take betrayal lightly."

Rafael's jaw clenched, the weight of Ross's words sinking deep. He nodded, though the motion felt like he was carrying more than just the burden of this case. It felt like an unspoken promise, one he wasn't ready to face just yet.

As Ross turned to leave, Rafael sat back, the soft hum of the city outside his windows the only sound in the room. Arabella flashed through his mind—her fiery temper, her defiance. She was the kind of woman who made men do foolish things, and she had already done more than enough to make him act without thinking.

But that was the least of it. What mattered now was the danger she was in. If Dante suspected her of turning on him, if he even thought she had betrayed him, he would come for her. No amount of charm or corporate influence would save her from the kind of wrath that man was capable of.

Rafael leaned back in his chair, the smirk creeping onto his lips despite the gravity of the situation. Arabella. She was chaos, she was fire, and damn if that fire didn't burn brighter than anything he'd ever seen. The thought of her—defiant, untamed, caught in the web of something far darker than she realized—made his blood run hot.

Her image danced in his mind unbidden—Arabella in a flash of leopard-print lingerie, holding a bullwhip in one hand, a wicked gleam in her eyes as she stared him down, daring him to step closer. The sheer audacity of it, the way she commanded control without uttering a single word—it was intoxicating.

Rafael's breath hitched, and for a fleeting moment, he was lost in the image. But then, his therapist's voice pierced his thoughts, sharp and reprimanding.

"Pervert addiction rule #3: Do you have an urge to fantasize about holding someone captive?"

He shuddered, the sound of his therapist's voice still echoing in his head, the absurdity of it all smacking him in the face.

"Get a grip, Rafael," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. He stood, raking a hand through his hair as he grabbed his keys. No time for indulgences. No time for fantasies.

But even as he stepped into the hallway, the weight of what he was about to do settled on his shoulders like a heavy cloak.

He wasn't a pervert. He wasn't some obsessive maniac.

He was just... invested. And keeping Arabella close, ensuring her safety? That was the logical thing to do. At least, that's what he told himself.