Page 22 of Sexted By a Stranger

Sheila

"Focus, Sheila," I whispered to myself. "Just act like nothing happened."

The pencil scratched across paper, but the lines came out crooked and shaky. I bit down hard, erasing the messy marks before starting over.

But yesterday's conversation kept echoing in my ears, constantly reminding me that Luca was a mob boss. The man who gently called me "stellina," who made me mint tea—he controlled an underground empire drenched in blood and violence.

I threw the pencil down on the desk and buried my face in my hands.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Come in."

The door opened, and Mom walked in carrying a steaming cup of tea.

"Sheila, you've been holed up in here all day. You should come out and get some fresh air." Mom set the teacup in front of me, studying my face with concern. "What's wrong? You look exhausted. Were you up all night again?"

I picked up the cup, letting the cool mint fragrance ease some of the anxiety churning in my chest. "No, Mom. I'm just having a creative block."

"Sheila," her voice was gentle, "don't push yourself so hard." Her gaze swept over the blank design sheets in front of me, her eyes filled with worry.

"When you're stuck, go for a walk. Check out the garden, or maybe watch Leon paint? That boy's improving so fast—he could enter competitions now."

I set down the teacup, steering the conversation away. "Mom, how's your back? Still bothering you?"

"Oh, much better." She smiled and stood up, doing a little half-turn and patting her lower back. "Luca arranged for a specialist to treat me. Now I can bend over and lift things without it killing me like before."

"You know what, Sheila?" Mom sat back down, her voice carrying a vitality I hadn't heard in years.

"Life here is so comfortable. Before we came to the manor, the cleaning company's work wasn't keeping me very busy anyway.

Now all I do is take care of Leon, watch TV, and do a little housework.

I've been thinking maybe I should find something else to do.

Not for the money—just to keep myself active. "

The contentment and hope for the future in her voice instantly shattered the flimsy walls I'd built around my heart. This peace, this hope—it was all bought with Luca's blood money and deals made in the shadows.

I forced myself to smile. "That sounds great, Mom. What were you thinking of doing?"

"I haven't decided yet," she squeezed my hand, "but Sheila, the life we have now is beyond my wildest dreams. Sometimes I'm afraid I'll wake up and find out it was all just a fantasy."

If only it were just a dream. I thought bitterly, but only nodded. "Yeah, Mom."

Before I could say anything else, the door burst open. Leon came running in, clutching a portfolio case, his cheeks flushed with excitement, eyes bright as stars. It was pure vitality—something I hadn't seen on his fragile face in far too long.

"Look!" He rushed over to us, carefully pulling out a matted watercolor painting.

The image showed me in a cream linen dress, head slightly turned. Beside me, Luca, in a dark shirt, leaned down slightly, his gaze focused intently on my face while dappled sunlight played across both our figures.

"Gold medal. Professor Smith entered me in the Young Artists' Vision Awards—I won gold!" Leon's voice trembled with excitement, carrying that special pride only teenagers could muster. "The professor said the judges loved the atmosphere and emotion in this piece."

"When did you paint this?"

"Last week, when you two were walking in the garden." Leon beamed with pride. "I saw you from the window and thought it was such a beautiful scene, so I painted it. Professor Smith said I handled the light and shadow really well, and that I have real talent."

"It's absolutely gorgeous. Leon, you're incredible." Mom was already on her feet, her eyes bright with proud tears as she gently touched the frame. "Luca's going to be so thrilled when he sees this."

"Yes. Where is Luca?" Leon looked at me eagerly, his expression hopeful. "I want to show him. Is he in his study? Or did he go out?"

"Leon…" I managed to curve my lips upward. "He's handling something very important right now. Show him later, okay? He'll definitely be proud of you."

"Okay…" Leon looked a little disappointed, but the joy of victory quickly overshadowed it.

He carefully rolled up the painting, then suddenly looked up again as if remembering something, his tone light and cheerful.

"Oh, Sheila. Professor Smith also said once I'm feeling stronger, I can try working on larger oil paintings.

" With that, he clutched his portfolio and rushed out like a whirlwind.

"Sheila, are you sure you're alright?" Mom still looked worried, her fingertips lightly touching my forehead.

"I'm fine." I curved my mouth into what I hoped looked natural. "Go spend time with Leon. I want to lie down for a bit."

The door closed softly, leaving the room in silence.

I closed my eyes and gently placed my hand on my abdomen, trying to untangle the chaos in my mind.

As Luca's lover, I was willing to embrace his dark world, willing to accept all the danger and fear that came with loving a man like him.

But as a mother?

My child. Should this little life growing inside me spend its existence under the constant threat of gunfire? Would they have to witness life's cruelty and live with that crushing despair, just like I had?

No. Never. Ordinary hardships were a burden enough—how much worse would it be in this dark kingdom? I couldn't let my child live that kind of life.

Take Mom and Leon and leave.

We could move to another city, start fresh.

But would Luca really let us go that easily?

I shook my head, trying to clear my confused thoughts. Maybe I was imagining him to be worse than he was. Maybe Luca wasn't as dangerous as I thought, maybe…

The door opened.

It was Luca.

He looked like he'd just finished handling business, his brow still shadowed with lingering seriousness and a hint of exhaustion.

As he closed the door behind him, his left shoulder blade twitched slightly, making him frown.

My heart clenched, and a sharp pang of worry overrode all my previous chaotic thoughts.

I practically jumped up. "Did your wound open again?"

My fingers were already reaching for his shirt.

"I'm fine, stellina." Luca chuckled softly, catching my hands and guiding me to the lounge chair.

"What are you doing up here alone so late?" He stroked my hair.

"Let me check your injury first." I was still worried, pulling his shirt away from his left shoulder. Only after confirming it hadn't reopened did I breathe a sigh of relief.

"Forget about my wound," he paused, his palm sliding down to rest on my slightly cool abdomen, "I'm worried about you not feeling well."

My body instantly tensed.

"Sheila," he caught my stiffness immediately, "you looked pale this afternoon. Feeling rough?"

Being held with such tender care, my eyes suddenly grew hot, and I managed a thick-voiced "Yeah."

Exhaustion, morning sickness, and the secret I couldn't share all crashed over me at once, nearly drowning me.

Luca didn't press further, just tightened his arms and pulled me deeper into his embrace. His warmth seeped through the thin fabric, and the room filled with nothing but our mingled breathing and his steady, strong heartbeat.

After a long moment, he loosened his hold slightly. "Don't tough it out anymore. Go to sleep." His voice was impossibly gentle.

"Okay."

He took my hand, leading me down the hallway toward the bedroom. A breeze stirred, carrying the faintest trace of a sickly sweet, metallic scent from him.

Nausea hit me like a wave. I shoved him away, covering my mouth.

"Sheila?" Luca reached out to steady me, immediately sensing something was wrong, watching me with concern. "What happened?"

The sick feeling intensified. I bit my lip hard, fighting the urge to throw up.

A terrifying thought flashed through my mind—what he'd just been "handling," could it have been—

"Nothing, I'm fine." I shook my head frantically, my voice shaky. "It's just my period. Makes me nauseous."

Luca's frown deepened as he studied my face carefully. "Sheila, are you sure that's all?"

"Yeah." I rubbed my temples, feigning frustration. "Had a rough day with the designs, too. No inspiration. Wore myself out."

Time seemed to stretch endlessly.

Finally, he nodded slowly. "If you're tired, get some real rest." He straightened, his gaze briefly catching on my hand still protectively covering my abdomen. My heart jumped.

"Don't push yourself so hard about the inspiration thing."

"Okay," I responded quietly.

He turned and walked me to the bedroom.

"I still have some things to handle. Why don't you go to bed?" As he reached the door and put his hand on the handle, he stopped, his back to me.

"Sheila, remember—anything that's troubling you, tell me. I'll take care of it."

The door closed softly, shutting out that faint smell of blood along with him.

He definitely knew I was hiding something.

Those eyes were too sharp. No matter how hard I tried to hide it, he'd caught that internal struggle.

I thought of Leon's painting—the sunlight under the garden arbor so bright, Luca's expression so focused as he looked at me… So beautiful.

Then I looked down at my still-flat stomach where a new, fragile little life was growing.

Two worlds. Two futures.

I gripped the edge of the bed and slowly sat down, my mind crystal clear for the first time in days.

I had to make a decision.