Page 19 of Sexted By a Stranger

Sheila

"Team Three in position, southwest sniper point clear."

"Copy that, maintain watch."

I was carrying Luca's breakfast down the hallway when the radio chatter drifted clearly into my ears. My steps involuntarily slowed.

Last night, Luca had said those people would protect us, but the scene before me went far beyond simple "protection.

" Through the sheer curtains overlooking the garden, I could see at least a dozen men in black positioned at various points, their movements sharp and professional, the telltale bulges at their waists barely concealing the shape of weapons.

This wasn't a wealthy estate—it was a heavily fortified military compound.

What kind of "business" required this level of round-the-clock vigilance?

Pushing open the bedroom door, I found Luca propped against the headboard, handling documents. At the sound of my entrance, he looked up, and his deep, cold eyes instantly warmed.

"Breakfast is here." I set the tray on the nightstand.

"Thanks, stellina." He set aside his papers, reaching for the spoon I was offering.

I pulled my hand back, scooping up a spoonful of oatmeal. "I'll feed you. Your wound is still healing—the less you move, the better."

He chuckled. "I injured my left shoulder."

"Moving your arm affects your entire upper body." I kept my expression stern. "Open up."

The warm oatmeal slid past his lips, and I watched him swallow with satisfaction, the domestic warmth of the moment temporarily covering the unease in my heart. At least here in this room, in our little world together, everything was still safe.

After breakfast, I pulled out his medication and poured him some water.

"Time for your pills."

Just as the words left my mouth, muffled commands drifted in from outside the window.

"Sector B… changing guard… all clear."

"…infrared… perimeter… fifty meters… blind spots…"

I instinctively turned toward the window, and my hand holding the water glass trembled slightly, clinking against the edge of the tray with a sharp, jarring sound.

"Scared?" he asked quietly.

"Terrified," I met his gaze. "Scared you'll die on me, Mr. Luca Bellomo." I deliberately drew out the syllables like I was settling a debt. "Who's gonna pay my salary for the rest of my life? I'd be working for free."

Luca's expression froze for a moment, then a smile spread from the corners of his mouth.

"Smart mouth." He snorted with laughter, tilting his head back to swallow the pills, chasing them with water.

I was about to take the glass away when he suddenly grabbed my wrist.

He pulled me closer, leaning forward until his hot breath brushed across my face.

"Then keep an eye on me, stellina." His voice carried a strange, hypnotic quality. "Watch your investment."

My cheeks burned beyond my control, and I stumbled backward.

I picked up the tray, trying to keep my voice steady. "Stay put and don't move around—you'll tear your stitches."

I turned toward the door, my steps quick and slightly chaotic. Before the heavy bedroom door closed completely, I caught the sound of his low, muffled laughter.

The hallway air carried the scent of expensive wood polish, crisp with an undertone of coolness. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, letting the heat in my chest gradually dissipate.

Rounding the corner, two men in black uniforms spotted me and immediately stopped, bowing respectfully in greeting. I instinctively returned the gesture, but that earlier sense of unease crept back up my spine.

Stay calm, Sheila, I told myself. Panic won't solve anything. The man in there who almost died for you is still waiting for you to take care of him.

Work.

Right, work.

Harrington had mentioned that the new seasonal haute couture collection needed some innovative elements, and besides, I still hadn't finished Isabella's assignment.

The thought was like striking a match in the darkness—weak, but it gave me direction. My nerves finally settled.

After bringing Luca fresh hot water, I was heading back to his room when I ran into Lennox near the garden.

Seeing me, he immediately approached. "Miss Stella, I'll take that." He moved to take the tray from my hands.

Luca really can't rest for even a moment.

I grumbled internally but handed over the tray anyway. As he was about to walk away, I quickly called out to him.

"Mr. Snyder, there's something I'd like to ask your help with."

"Please, Miss Stella." He immediately stopped and turned back with a smile. "Whatever you need, just tell me."

"I'd like to retrieve some work supplies—drawing tools and materials from both my office and apartment."

I carefully described the items on my desk, in the drawers, and the specific locations of several reference books on the shelves. Lennox pondered for a moment, then looked up.

"I'll have everything delivered within thirty minutes, Miss Stella."

"Thank you."

He nodded slightly and walked away.

I hoped whatever news Lennox was bringing to Luca wouldn't be something that would anger him—his wound had barely begun to heal. I couldn't help but worry.

Soon, my art supplies and design materials were delivered to me. The moment I spread out the drawing paper, my anxious mood calmed—after all, this was territory I could control.

I was just getting absorbed in my sketches when my laptop chimed with an incoming video call. Isabella's name appeared on the screen.

I quickly answered, and Isabella's elegant figure materialized on screen. She was sitting in a beautifully appointed studio, with an entire wall of trophies displayed behind her.

"Sheila, darling," she smiled warmly, "how are you feeling? Adjusting well to the new learning pace?"

"Couldn't be better, Ms. Winston. It's challenging, but I'm enjoying every minute."

"Let me see your latest work." Isabella leaned forward with interest.

I turned the camera around and held up my sketch to the lens—

In the center of the paper, a pink diamond was cut into a rose shape, its facets like tightly embraced petals, the light soft and restrained. A pair of wings curved from both sides, every feather rendered in precise detail, as if protecting that eternal bud in their embrace.

I adjusted the camera angle and held the sketch closer to get a better view for her.

"What was your inspiration?" she asked.

"Protection," I answered. "Someone once stood in front of me and took all the danger upon himself."

Thinking of Luca's silhouette in that moment, my voice couldn't help but tremble slightly.

Isabella picked up on the change in my emotion. "Sheila, the most precious quality in a designer is the ability to weave genuine feeling into their work. I can sense powerful emotional tension in this design."

"Thank you."

"However, there's still room for improvement in technique." She pointed to the pattern on the screen. "The wing lines could be more three-dimensional—try using gradient strokes to show the play of light on metal. And here…"

We discussed for a full thirty minutes, and Isabella's professional guidance was invaluable. Just as I was getting absorbed in the lesson, I heard soft footsteps behind me.

"Sheila?"

The familiar voice made me whip around.

Standing in the doorway was my mother, whom I hadn't seen in so long.

She wore a brand-new, perfectly tailored dress in soft, muted colors, her hair elegantly pinned into a chignon.

Her face glowed with a healthy radiance from within, her mouth naturally curved upward in a warm, happy arc.

Her eyes, looking at me, were full of pure joy.

Oh my God! It really was Mom. Enormous joy exploded like fireworks in my chest, blood racing joyfully through my veins as warmth flooded my entire body.

"Are you on a call with your mentor?" she asked softly. "I'll come back later."

"It's fine, we were just finishing up." I said to the screen, "Ms. Winston, thank you for your guidance."

"I look forward to seeing your revised work, Sheila." Isabella smiled as she ended the call.

After closing the video, I immediately stood and walked toward Mom. "How did you get here? You look completely different."

Mom placed both hands on my face, her eyes brimming with maternal love. "Mr. Bellomo's people brought us here yesterday. He said you were here taking care of him, and was worried you might be homesick." She paused, smoothing her dress with slight embarrassment. "These clothes were also from him."

Warmth surged through me. Luca hadn't just brought my family here—he'd thoughtfully provided appropriate clothing for Mom too.

"Where's Leon?" I asked.

"In the garden, painting." Mom's face was wreathed in smiles.

Just then, Leon appeared in the doorway, his face glowing with healthy color, a drawing board clutched in his arms.

"Sheila!" he said excitedly. "I'm painting this garden—it's so beautiful."

I crouched down in front of him. On the canvas, watercolors bled into brilliant splashes—fountains, roses, arched moon gates, every flower bursting with vibrant life.

"Your technique has improved so much." I ruffled his hair.

"Mr. Bellomo said he's getting me the best art teacher." He was practically bouncing in his wheelchair with excitement.

Mom sighed with emotion. "Leon's recovery is all thanks to Mr. Bellomo."

Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, falling across their faces—the fine lines around Mom's eyes smoothed out, and my brother's eyes reflected a light I hadn't seen in far too long.

At that moment, I suddenly understood that no matter what secrets Luca was hiding, no matter how complex and dangerous his world was, at least the stability and dignity he'd given my family were real and tangible. This kindness carried more weight than any words ever could.

When I returned to Luca's room, he was resting against the headboard with his eyes closed. At the sound of the door opening, he slowly opened them.

"Did you see them?" he asked.

I walked closer and kissed the corner of his mouth. "Thank you."

"For what?" He wrapped his arm around my waist, drawing me into his embrace.

"For bringing my family here, for everything you've done for us."

"It's what I should do." His voice was gentle. "You're my woman. Taking care of you and the people you love is my responsibility."

We held each other quietly, savoring this peaceful intimacy.

"I've already arranged for Leon's art teacher," he said suddenly. "They'll be here tomorrow."

"Really? Who is it?"

"A professor from the New York Academy of Art who specializes in classical painting techniques. He's seen Leon's work and says he has real talent." Luca's voice carried a note of pride, as if he were bragging about his own family.

My heart warmed. "Leon's so lucky."

"His talent shouldn't be wasted." Luca smiled. "As for your mother—if she wants work, I can arrange a light position; if she prefers rest, that's her call." He met my eyes. "Which do you think she'd choose?"

"Mom's the type who can't stay idle, but she might need time to adjust to this new rhythm of life."

"Then let her settle in with rest first," he decided.

Evening fell, and dinner at the estate was especially lavish. Mom and Leon were both dressed up, their faces glowing with long-absent joy.

"Mr. Bellomo," Mom raised her wine glass, "thank you for everything you've done for us."

"Please, call me Luca, Mrs. Black." Luca's voice was warm. "Sheila's family is my family."

Leon said excitedly, "Luca, is the art teacher really coming tomorrow?"

"Of course." Luca smiled. "Professor Smith will personally instruct you. He says you have excellent color sense."

"I'll work really hard." Leon's eyes shone even brighter.

Mom watched her son's excitement, her eyes full of gratitude. "Luca, we really don't know how to repay you."

"Just make yourselves at home here," Luca answered seriously. "Sheila's smile is the greatest reward I could ask for."

Watching this warm scene, I felt a powerful surge of contentment.

This was the life I wanted—family together, my loved one beside me, everyone healthy and happy.

After dinner, Mom and Leon were settled in the guest rooms. After seeing them off, Luca and I strolled through the garden.

"Today was really wonderful."

"I could tell." He held my hand. "You've been glowing all day."

"Luca," I suddenly wanted to ask him something, "have you ever thought about the future?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, after you heal, after… everything settles down." I looked up at him. "What kind of life do you want?"

Luca gazed at me, complex emotions flickering in his eyes. "What about you?"

"A small jewelry studio where I can create my own designs; Mom not having to frown over bills anymore; Leon painting freely at the best academy…" I took a deep breath. "And you, coming home for dinner every night."

Luca was quiet for a long time—so long I thought he wouldn't answer.

"What you want is what I want," he finally said.

He gripped my hand tightly, as if holding onto everything he had in the world.