Page 4 of Sexted By a Stranger

Luca

When I arrived, Sheila was trying to run. The men who'd been standing to the side rushed forward to restrain her. One clamped a hand over her mouth while the others pinned her limbs.

"Let her go."

The instant the words left my mouth, several shadows flew into action. Before those thugs could even react, guns pressed steadily against their temples.

The air seemed to freeze. For a moment, the silent street held only Sheila's muffled whimpers.

"Well, well, well, Mr. Bellomo." Connor's bloated form squeezed through the club entrance, a fake smile plastered on his face. "What a coincidence."

My gaze bypassed him, locking directly onto Sheila. When she saw me, hope blazed to life in her eyes.

"Let her go," I said coldly.

Connor chuckled. "This lovely young lady and I had an appointment. You see—"

"An appointment?" I laughed coldly.

"She was willing." Connor smirked, turning back to Sheila. "Weren't you, Miss Stella?"

She was still gagged, could only shake her head desperately.

I felt murderous rage rising in my blood. This disgusting pig.

My gaze swept toward Sheila's direction.

Click.

In an instant, the sound of cocking guns rang out in unison.

"Mr. Bellomo," Connor's expression turned ugly. "This kind of bottom-shelf trash—you fuck 'em and junk 'em. Why so serious?"

Fuck 'em and junk 'em? My temples throbbed violently. How fucking dare he?

"Seems you don't even want the business I threw your way. Now, that opportunity's gone."

Connor's head snapped up, his beady eyes boring into mine, the fat on his face twitching. Finally, he growled, "Let her go."

The men holding Sheila instantly released her. She stumbled, barely able to stand. I strode forward and caught her.

"Sheila. Are you alright?" Madeline came running from a distance, gripping Sheila's shoulders and checking her over.

Sheila shook her head, gasping for air, her body still shaking uncontrollably. She wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand and looked straight at me.

"Good." My men immediately stood down. "Remember this lesson, Connor. Next time, you know what happens."

Connor's face turned red, veins bulging on his forehead. He clenched his fists tight, shot Sheila a vicious glare, then waved his hand sharply. He and his men piled into the waiting black sedan and sped off, disappearing into Manhattan's night.

I turned to Sheila. She leaned against me, thin as the last stubborn leaf clinging to autumn branches.

Her hair was disheveled, sweat-dampened strands sticking to her pale cheeks.

So fragile she might shatter at a touch, yet under the harsh light, she possessed a kind of breathtaking, broken beauty.

"Can you walk?" My voice unconsciously softened.

Sheila lifted her head, those wet eyes gazing up at me. She sniffled softly, trying to stand straighter. "Y-yes. Thank you, Mr. Bellomo." Her voice carried the hoarseness of someone who'd just escaped death—polite and distant.

"I'll take you home." I turned to Madeline. "You handle things here. I'll have my people assist you."

Madeline looked at Sheila with worry, then at me with awe. She released Sheila's other arm and lowered her head. "Yes, Mr. Bellomo. Sheila, are you..." She trailed off.

"Madeline, I'm fine." Sheila forced a reassuring smile for her.

Without another word, I helped Sheila leave. Her hand settled into mine.

The ice-cold touch shot up my arm like electricity, carrying her lingering fear and vulnerability, instantly igniting the protective instinct and near-violent possessiveness in my chest.

My fingers tightened, completely enveloping her hand. It was small but far from smooth or delicate—covered in the thin calluses of constant work, knuckles white with tension. I led her toward the black car waiting at the curb. Lennox had already respectfully opened the rear door.

Inside the car, the lingering scent of cigars took on a different quality with Sheila beside me, emanating her faint, sweet fragrance.

Sheila sat pressed against the opposite door, head slightly lowered. Her body remained tense, hands folded in her lap. The car glided smoothly into Manhattan's traffic. Neon lights filtered through the tinted windows, casting shifting shadows across her face.

"Feeling better?" My gaze fell on her folded hands, breaking the silence in the car.

At the sound, she lifted her head. Our eyes met briefly before she lowered her lashes. Her response was perfectly respectful. "I'm fine now. Thank you, Mr. Bellomo."

"Luca," I corrected her.

She froze, looking up at me again. Her amber pupils clearly reflected my image, filled with confusion.

"My name. Luca Bellomo." I added, locking my gaze on hers, not missing any subtle change in her expression. The dim light blurred the details but made the moisture in her eyes even more striking.

"Remember that, Sheila."

Her lips moved slightly. She softly hummed in response.

The car fell quiet again.

Just when I thought she'd continue in silence, she suddenly turned, meeting my gaze without evasion.

"I remember you. That night, in the VIP room. The gentleman who didn't throw money at me. Right?"

"Yeah." I leaned slightly closer, closing the distance.

She turned to look out the window, pausing as if searching for the right words. When she looked back at me, her eyes were bright. "The others, they looked at me like I'm a toy on sale." Her voice was soft. "But when you looked at me, it was different."

Something soft in my chest took a hard hit. Without hesitation, I covered her folded hands with mine.

She trembled slightly but didn't pull away, just let me hold them.

"With me here, no one will ever look at you like that again." I was rarely this serious.

She tentatively squeezed my fingertips back. That slight touch was like a feather brushing my heart, bringing a pulse of intoxicating sensation.

The car fell silent again, but that timid response silently tested my self-control. I couldn't help gripping tighter.

The car finally stopped in front of a run-down apartment building.

Peeling walls, rusted fire escapes, air thick with the mixed smell of garbage and cheap food. For me, this was the entrance to another world.

"This is me. Thank you." Sheila finally found her escape from this thick, charged air. She snatched her hand back like touching a live wire. Her fingers skimmed my palm—I reached to catch nothing but emptiness.

She reached for the door handle.

"I'll walk you up."

Her movement paused slightly.

"The apartment is very basic, if you don't mind."

"It would be my honor."

Lennox opened the door. She practically fled from the car. I followed close behind, climbing the creaking wooden stairs with her. The hallway was cluttered with junk, the lighting dismally dim.

She pulled out her keys but fumbled several times before getting them in the lock. Finally, the door opened, releasing a wave of old furniture, cleaning products, and food smells.

This was her world.

I stood in the doorway, nearly filling the entire frame.

The furniture was worn but spotlessly clean. A family photo hung on the wall. In it, a kind-looking man had his arm around a woman. Young Sheila wore pigtails, smiling carefree. The woman held a swaddled infant—that must be Leon.

On the small desk by the window sat several neatly stacked books. The top one's cover showed something about jewelry design, corners worn from frequent handling. Beside them lay sheets covered in sketches, clearly the owner's treasured possessions.

I sat on the sofa, watching Sheila stand somewhat awkwardly in the kitchen with her back to me, busily pouring water. The kettle was old, and the cup's rim showed obvious chips.

"Sorry, this is all I have." She turned around, looking embarrassed, carefully holding out a mug decorated with cartoon characters.

I took the cup, glancing around before taking a light sip. My gaze returned to that desk. Those sketches were full of life.

"Why don't you relax a bit and take a seat? Those," I lifted my chin toward them, "did you draw 'em?"

She obediently sat at the other end of the sofa. Following my gaze, her body tensed almost imperceptibly, as if her hidden treasures had been discovered. "Just doodles." Her face reddened.

"Just doodles?" I set down the cup and walked over to the desk, picking up a sketch. It showed a finished ring design—flowing band, the center stone carefully rendered to capture starlight, with tiny notations for dimensions and materials.

"Starlight?" I murmured the word noted beside the sketch as inspiration, fingertips lightly tracing the somewhat amateur but spirited lines. Something tugged gently at my heart.

Sheila's head shot up, eyes full of surprise. "You know jewels?"

"A little." I set down the sketch, turning my deep, focused gaze to her. "You design jewelry?"

This question seemed to hit her most vulnerable spot.

After several seconds of silence, as if gathering courage, she finally nodded slightly.

Her gaze drifted back to the sketches, lingering with near-reverence. "Since I was little. There's an alchemy to gems—they cradle light, trap time itself... seal away the most sacred memories."

She seemed to be talking to herself, yet also showing this intruder the light deep in her heart. "Before Leon got sick, I saved for a long time to take a community night school..." Her voice turned heavy with loss, forcing out a bitter smile. "Then I had to stop."

She lowered her eyes, her straight shoulders collapsing. That stubbornness was now shattered by reality's blows. I could almost feel the bone-deep exhaustion and despair.

Looking at her bowed head, her hands clenched white, crushed under life's burdens, thinking of her desperate decision to step into the mire for her family... an unprecedented, overwhelming wave of heartache instantly drowned all my composure.

Almost instinctively, I crossed to her in two strides.

The instant she looked up in shock, I reached out and pulled her hard against me.

I wrapped my arms around her slender waist and thin back, holding her tightly against my chest. Her whole body trembled. Her cheek pressed against my chest—I could clearly feel her rapid breathing and heartbeat, like dense drumbeats pounding against my heart.

"Mr. Bellomo. You—" She panicked, hands pushing against my chest, trying to break free.

"Shh..." I rested my chin on her sweetly scented hair, tightening my arms, gently patting her back, murmuring low, "Your fate shouldn't be this, stellina."