Page 6

Gwen

W hat the fuck just happened? He came to my work, handing me a new cell phone like I’m a charity case. Somehow, he flipped the script on me, and I ended up taking it, nodding my head like some little girl. What the fuck! I can’t tell if I’m pissed off anymore or just horny as hell. I should be enraged grabbing me by the throat, threatening me. My PTSD kicked in for a minute before the need to be dominated overtook my senses. I have never felt what I just felt. Like I should bow down to this overly confident, overbearing, gangster-looking Greek god. I’m at a loss.

I walk back into the diner, a walking emotional wreck. He doesn’t even know me. He has no idea who I am. If he only knew I wasn’t some daddy’s money, mommy’s pageant queen. The last few years, I have been rough, tough, and dirty. If he only knew.

As far as I’m concerned, he never will. My past is dead and gone. I plan on standing on that bitch’s grave and never letting her out.

Handing out another menu and filling another drink, I float through the rest of this day like a deer in the headlights. Lori snaps me back to reality. “Girl, you just going to daydream the day away?”

She is standing right in front of me. I guess I was daydreaming, staring off into the window at the front of the diner. “I have a date,” I tell her. And I’m debating on pissing him off and not doing what he told me to do. Who the fuck does he think he is anyway? Telling me what to wear. Although, I’m a little worried about what will happen if I don’t, considering how he acted out in the parking lot about a stupid cell phone I didn’t want. By the way, I haven't touched it.

Grinning, Lori is trying to get more information. “Who's the lucky bastard taking you out?” she laughs. “Uh, well. His name is Dominic Costello. I don’t really know him like that,” I say. Lori looks at me, and I can’t tell if she is surprised or if she thinks it’s a good idea. Then she smiles and says, “Well, I’m sure it will be great.”

“He’s picking me up and taking me to this gala party thing. Said there’s going to be a lot of important people there.” She nods. “That will be the biggest party of the year in this town. Just walk in there and act like you own the place. Fake it ‘til ya make it, babe,” she says and heads back to the kitchen.

If she only knew how true those words are. That’s what I’m going to do, right? Fake it until I make it. At least for a little while, then I think I’m out of here. Maybe a new city, at least until I know a crazy asshole won’t come to find me. For now, I can be with my mother and keep a low profile. Looking over to where my things are, the box that Dominic gave me sits. Maybe I should just use it. I mean, he did go out of his way to buy it for me. Contemplating, I grab it and turn it on.

It’s nice. Pretty sure this is the newest version. I haven’t had a cell phone since I got here. Before that, I left mine in the apartment with the rest of the useless crap I didn’t want to take with me. Plus, I wanted Jameson to have no way to contact me. It definitely wasn’t a new phone some shitty old phone mostly used for drug deals and the occasional social media check. Something I don’t really care for. If I had taken it with me, he would have probably come to find me as soon as I left.

Watching the screen turn on wow, this thing is nice. Going through it, seeing what was already on it, it dings in my hand. A text comes up on the screen.

Text From Your King: Counting down the minutes until 8 p.m. I hope you're excited, princess.

Seriously? From your king? You’ve got to be kidding me. Maybe he has a sense of humor I don’t get. Hell, I don’t even know what the guy does for a living. Obviously, he makes a killing, he even smells expensive. The man lives lavishly, and it’s intriguing. I’ve never been with a man who could have whatever he wanted with the snap of his fingers. Pulling up the text messages, I start typing.

To Dominic: Not sure if excited is the word for it, but I’m going to give it a try.

To Dominic: Also, not your princess!!

I put my phone down and go back to finishing my shift. Maybe a little mind game with him could be fun. Maybe I can get some information out of him, get to know him better. Right now, all I can tell you is his name, that he’s hot as hell, and a little terrifying. I have a feeling, though. Maybe he’s a bad man.

Maybe I should ask around. He’s apparently well-known. Or maybe I should just go with the flow. Whatever he does is none of my business. It can’t be worse than what I was with before. It’s not like the man kills people or something. Right? He’s probably a CEO or some big-time business owner. Tomorrow, I’ll get dressed up and act the part. I’ll pretend I belong with the important people at this big party. They don’t know me. But they’re going to know the new me.

The next day, Maddie is at my front door, knocking. I bolt down the stairs, flinging it open to find her standing there, effortlessly put together. Her long hair cascades down her back in soft curls, and she’s wearing what looks like a Cinderella-style gown. I take it in, blinking. Shit. I didn’t realize this was full-blown ballroom attire.

She’s balancing several shopping bags on her arms, her eyes scanning me up and down with a smirk. “Tell me you’ve at least shaved your legs by now?” I cross my arms, feigning offense. “Actually, yes. Thank you very much. I just got out of the shower, currently having a minor panic attack while waiting for you.”

She giggles. “Never fear, Maddie has arrived for a fashion intervention.” I grab her hand and drag her upstairs. Tonight needs to be perfect. It’s been a good minute since I’ve been laid in a man’s bed. At first, I swore I wouldn’t give in, but then I thought one night couldn’t hurt. So here we are. Shaved in every imaginable spot, lotioned, oiled up ready. Physically, at least. Mentally? Not so much. A cold wave of doubt crashes over me. What if I can’t pull this off? What if someone recognizes me? What if they’ve seen my mugshots? What if they know where I came from? My chest tightens. The air feels thinner. Shit. My knees hit the floor as I struggle to breathe, my vision tunneling. Maddie drops in front of me, gripping my face. “Gwen, breathe! You’re okay. Just breathe, dammit.”

She shakes me lightly, forcing me to focus. “That’s it. In, out. Deep breaths.” I mirror her, inhaling when she tells me to, exhaling when she nods. Slowly, my pulse steadies. The crushing weight on my chest lifts, but embarrassment creeps in to take its place. I didn’t want her to see this.

Maddie studies me, waiting. “What the fuck was that, Gwen?” Her voice is softer than her words. I swallow, still catching my breath. “Sometimes I get panic attacks. Especially when I’m nervous.” Saying it out loud feels foreign. Wrong. No one knows. I’ve never told anyone.

I’ve had them since my father died. They got worse when my life with Jameson spiraled when I was doing things I shouldn’t have been doing. Most of the time, I can control them, but the thought of tonight all these people, Dominic everything just crashed down on me at once. “Does anyone else know you do this?” she asks. “No. And I don’t want anyone to.” My voice comes out sharper than I intended. She looks at me, surprised. Maybe I should explain. “I’ve had them since I was a little girl. After my father died, that was the first time I had one. I never told anyone I didn’t want my mother to feel worse than she already did since he was gone,” I confess. I leave out how much worse they got after getting involved with a bum who sold guns and drugs, and how I was pushed into being his accomplice.

“Do you take anything for it? Maybe you could see someone a therapist or something?” she asks, her expression soft with concern. “Nope, just out here raw-dogging life.” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “A therapist is a no-go for me. I don’t trust people that well.” She nods like she understands how hard it is to trust. I can tell she wants to say more, but she doesn’t.

“Well, let’s get back to making you look like Barbie and get this night started,” she giggles. Thankfully, she lets it go. Time to finish getting dolled up and prepare for the night ahead. Tonight, I’m going to show Mr. Owns-the-Town exactly what he doesn’t own. My phone dings, the screen lighting up with a message:

TEXT: Be there soon, princess.

I don’t respond, but I’m ready. My long blonde hair is pinned behind one ear, the rest curled and cascading over my shoulder. My eyes are done to perfection, my lips painted blood red. The crimson dress hugs my body, dipping low on my hips while the neckline has my breasts sitting high, almost overflowing. Black heels strap around my ankles, completing a look that screams 1920s pin-up girl meets modern-day beauty queen all thanks to my best friend, my personal assistant in everything that matters. Car lights sweep across the front of the house. I know it’s him. My nerves are electric, butterflies twisting in my stomach. A knock at the door sends my pulse racing.

Before I can move, my mother steps into the hall, dressed in a gown that rivals mine. I blink, caught off guard. It never even crossed my mind that she’d be attending the gala. Then again, she is the biggest real estate mogul in town. Of course she would be going. She rushes to the door and opens it. Standing there, every bit of six feet tall, is Dominic. Black tux, black dress shirt, hair slicked back. He looks like sin wrapped in silk, and I swear I see a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he takes in my reaction.

“Dominic, what a surprise. How can I help you?” my mother says smoothly. “Hello, Romona. I’m here for Gwen. Might she be ready?” His smirk is effortless. From the top of the staircase, I speak. “I’m ready.” He looks up, and for a second, I swear there’s a damn twinkle in his eyes. I descend the stairs like Cinderella stepping into the spotlight. Cheesy or not, I’m eating this moment up.

At the bottom, I place my hand in his, and he lifts it to his mouth, kissing my knuckles. His teeth graze my skin, subtle but intentional. A shiver rolls down my spine.

“Gwen, you didn’t tell me you were going to the gala,” my mother questions, her tone measured. “Dominic invited me to be his plus one for the night,” I answer evenly. “I insisted she spend the evening with me,” Dominic interjects smoothly. “It may be late when I bring her home.” His tone drips with something darker, something possessive.

My mother studies us, her gaze flickering between the two of us. She nods, but she doesn’t look thrilled. Odd, considering she lives for nights like these. “Care if I have a minute with Gwen before you go?” she asks. Before I can answer, Dominic tightens his grip on my waist. “If we don’t leave now, we’ll be late.”

And just like that, he ushers me out the door. Madeline has already left for the gala. Her family is high society, so she needed to be there early. As gorgeous as she is, she’s going alone which still shocks me. Walking toward the gate, I spot his car parked under the streetlights. A white 1970 Buick convertible. Spotless. Shining. The chrome gleams so brightly I can see my own reflection in it.

Dominic steps beside me, opens the door, and waits. "Princess, your chariot awaits," he says, flashing his teeth. There's something predatory about it like a vampire toying with his prey, savoring the moment before the kill. A terror of the night, waiting for the perfect strike.

I slide into the car, and he shuts the door behind me. The top is down. The evening air is warm, the sky streaked with the last traces of sunset. It’s the perfect night for a drive. Dressed in our finest, we look like we belong in a different era one of whispered promises and dangerous men.

He walks around to the driver’s side, and I take the moment to really look at him. His features are striking, carved with an effortless masculinity strong jawline, broad shoulders, a body built for control. His honey-colored eyes seem to glow in the dim light, as if holding secrets no one else is meant to uncover. The tailored suit clings to him in all the right places, the crisp fabric doing nothing to hide the power beneath. His hands tattooed and capable flex over the steering wheel as he shifts into drive. As we pull away from my house, he glances over, a slow, knowing wink. Heat pools in my core, sinking into the white leather seats. "So, you know my mother, do you?" I ask, watching him.

He keeps his eyes on the road, giving a slight nod. No elaboration. "Okay," I press, "how do you know my mother?" His fingers tap against the wheel, measured, deliberate. "Darling, I’m a well-known man. There aren’t many people in this city who haven’t heard my name." A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. "But if it puts your mind at ease, we had a mutual friend."

Mutual friend. I don’t like the sound of that, but I let it go. For now. The wind whips through my hair as the city lights flicker to life around us. The drive isn’t long, but I enjoy every second of it. The quiet tension. The promise of something waiting at the end of the night.

As we approach our destination, my decision is already made. Tonight, I’ll enjoy myself. After tonight, I’ll give him one night in my bed. And then whatever this is it’s over. He pulls up to the entrance of an enormous building, lights glittering across its elaborate exterior. The valet rushes forward. He shifts into park, hands off the keys, and rounds the car to my side. When he opens my door, he offers his hand, pulling me effortlessly to my feet straight into his chest.

The scent of him, dark and expensive, wraps around me. Everywhere I look, the city’s elite are draped in wealth, their gowns shimmering under the glow of chandeliers. He slides my arm through his, and just like that, we become part of the picture. A perfect image of power and possession.

The venue is bathed in whites and gold, a vision of opulence. Every table is adorned with pristine white roses, their vases shimmering with what looks like crushed diamonds. The entire space is furnished with elegant seating, polished tables, and an air of effortless grandeur. This isn’t just a party it’s a spectacle, something fit for royalty. As we move deeper into the room, the murmur of conversation and the clink of champagne glasses fill the air. Laughter drifts from every corner, mingling with the soft hum of a live orchestra. I’ve never seen anything like it.

A few men in sleek tuxedos approach us. The first one shakes Dominic’s hand, but I barely register the exchange. My attention is stolen by the sheer extravagance around me. The chandeliers, the delicate scent of roses, the gleam of gold-trimmed décor it’s intoxicating.

"This is Gwendolyn. She’s new to town. Her mother is Romona Riviera." The name drops like a stone into still water. My mother’s name spoken in a place like this sends a ripple through me. One of the men extends his hand toward me, his touch surprisingly gentle as he shakes mine. "Nice to meet you, Gwendolyn," he says smoothly.

"It’s my pleasure," I reply with a polite smile, my voice measured, careful. Dominic places a hand on my lower back, a silent reminder of his presence. "Well, let’s grab a seat. Ladies first, Princess," he says, guiding me toward the elegantly set tables.