Page 21 of Sexted By a Stranger

Sheila

"Wrong, Sheila."

Luca's breath brushed against my ear, sending tiny shivers down my spine. "Not enough force concentrated. Again. Target is half an inch below the Adam's apple—the cartilage's weakest point. Hit hard, move fast."

He suddenly applied pressure, guiding my arm forward in a vicious thrust.

This was day seven.

At first, he'd taught me basic self-defense—breaking free from holds, elbow strikes, groin kicks. Textbook stuff. But in just a few short days, the techniques had become precise, cunning, and increasingly brutal.

"Luca," I stopped moving as he demonstrated once again how to use momentum to instantly snap an elbow joint. My eyes locked onto his deep brown gaze. "Is this… is this really self-defense?"

Luca's movements stilled. Dark hair fell across his forehead, his eyes sharp as blades, but his voice remained steady and calm. "Survival skills, stellina."

Survival skills.

Breaking joints, gouging out eyes… This wasn't self-defense at all—this was lethal combat technique honed through real warfare.

What kind of "business" required the women around him to master such deadly methods?

He seemed to sense my doubts, stepping closer, his fingertips touching my tense jaw.

That gaze was too intense, easily stealing my breath away. I lowered my lashes, avoiding those eyes that could pull a person in like quicksand. Taking a deep breath, I pushed down the churning thoughts. "I'm tired, Luca. Let's call it a day."

He was silent for a long moment, then withdrew his hand.

"Alright." He stepped aside to let me pass. "Go rest. We'll continue tomorrow."

Walking out of the training room, sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting warm patches, but it couldn't dispel the growing shadow in my heart.

In the days that followed, a strange discomfort settled over me. Mornings no longer began with gentle sunlight waking me—instead, sudden waves of nausea churned in my stomach like invisible hands violently stirring my insides.

I'd stumble to the bathroom, dry-heaving over cold porcelain tiles, bringing up nothing but burning, acidic bile. During the day, unprecedented exhaustion followed me like a shadow. My bones felt hollow, and all I wanted was to curl up and sleep.

Even Mom's carefully prepared blueberry muffins lost their appeal—just looking at them made me queasy.

"Sheila?" At lunch, Mom set down her silver fork, her gaze falling on my barely touched salad. She leaned over, pressing her palm to my forehead. "You feel a bit cool. Are you coming down with something? Or working too hard?"

Leon looked up from his painting, concern in his young eyes. "Sheila, are you feeling sick?"

My heart jumped. A vague suspicion crashed into my mind without warning. Those passionate, intimate nights with Luca… the timing… it seemed to line up perfectly.

"No, no, I'm fine, Mom." I forced a smile, grabbing my water glass and taking a large gulp to suppress the acid taste in my throat. "It's probably just… the changing season, you know? And I've been rushing to finish some design drafts."

"Work is important, sweetheart, but so is your health." Mom gently patted my hand, her eyes warm with concern. "Get some rest tonight."

"I will, Mom." I managed to respond.

But once that thought took root, it grew like wildfire.

I needed answers. Now. Immediately.

Isabella. My mentor was hosting a small symposium downtown—the perfect legitimate excuse to leave the estate.

I practically ran upstairs and burst into Luca's study.

"Luca, Ms. Winston is hosting a small symposium downtown tomorrow about the application of Art Nouveau in jewelry design. I need to attend."

He looked up from the documents he was reviewing.

"Of course." He nodded, picking up the internal phone. "Ragnar, prepare a car tomorrow morning to take Sheila downtown. Send two men as escorts."

"Thank you, darling." I walked around behind his chair, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing a light kiss to his cheek.

Luca pulled me closer, his palm cupping the back of my neck, drawing me to him. The moment our lips met, he took control, his tongue parting my lips to explore every soft inch.

"Come back early," he murmured against my lips, his thumb gently stroking my slightly swollen mouth.

I brought two fingers together in a playful salute at my temple. "Yes, sir."

Isabella's symposium was held in an upscale art gallery.

"Sheila, my dear." Isabella's eyes lit up when she saw me, elegantly opening her arms for an embrace.

"Ms. Winston." I hurried forward to hug her. Her subtle jasmine fragrance enveloped me, and my tense nerves relaxed slightly.

Her assistant led me to the front row, where Ragnar took the seat beside me.

The symposium began shortly after.

Isabella spoke eloquently on stage, discussing everything from the natural curves of the Art Nouveau movement to capturing the flow of life in metal and gemstones. I temporarily set aside my worries, concentrating on recording every brilliant insight.

"That concludes our Q Ragnar and Lennox, those ruthless but obedient assistants; his mysterious "business"; the omnipresent bodyguards and tight security; the vicious gunshot wound on his shoulder and the lethal techniques he'd personally taught me…

The truth was brutally suffocating.

Luca Bellomo wasn't an ordinary businessman or mysterious mogul. He was a mafia boss controlling blood-soaked enterprises—arms dealing, drugs, and gambling.

The pregnancy test in my hand, those two glaring red lines, burned my palm with searing pain.

I wasn't just caught in this whirlpool—I was carrying the heir to this dark empire in my womb.

Massive shock crashed over me like a tsunami, followed by the expected, deathly calm.

I had already glimpsed the edge of the abyss. I was the one who chose to close my eyes and drown in that seductive tenderness.

I stared at that slightly open door. I loved the man inside, yearned to spend my life with him, but his world had no place for innocence. Between the ordinary life I wanted and him lay an unbridgeable chasm of blood.

I withdrew my frozen hand from mid-air, turned around, and walked away from that suffocating shadow.

I needed to think carefully about what to do next.