The following morning, I wake up with my thoughts still consumed by the events of last night, the memories haunting my every waking moment. I'm not even worried about my mental health, the fact that I came undone while staring death in the face. No, my mind is fixated on Rafael and what he might do to me for what Thomas did to him last night. His words echo in my head, a chilling reminder of the precarious nature of my position. He said he won't hurt me because I'm his, but he also added that ominous "for now," a clear indication that his mind could change at any moment. I'm a possession to him, a mere object to be discarded when he tires of me, and people tend to lose love for their possessions all too easily. What's to say he won't do the same to me, that he won't follow through on his threat and put a bullet in my head?

Oh my God!

I sigh, running a hand through my tangled hair as a shiver runs down my spine, the weight of my fears settling heavily on my shoulders. The glass of water in my hand begins to clatter against the countertop, my trembling fingers betraying the depth of my anxiety. I had come to the kitchen to get a drink, hoping to calm my nerves, but even the simple act of hydration seems beyond me now. I had missed breakfast, too worried to feel the gnawing hunger in my stomach, too consumed by the thoughts that plague my mind.

The idea of the things he could do to me, even just to let out his anger, has sweat forming on my spine, my Ditsy Floral Print Split Thigh Cami dress beginning to stick to my back, the delicate fabric clinging to my damp skin. I feel trapped, suffocated by the uncertainty that looms over me, the fear that threatens to swallow me whole.

"Everything alright?" a voice says behind me, startling me from my spiraling thoughts. I spin around, my heart leaping into my throat, and in my haste, I knock the glass off the countertop, sending it shattering to the floor in a cascade of glittering shards.

"Fuck!" I exclaim, bending down immediately to pick up the broken pieces, desperate to clean up the mess, to regain some semblance of control over the chaos that seems to have taken hold of my life. But the person who spoke earlier stops me, their hand grasping my wrist before I can reach the jagged fragments that litter the ground. This is the last thing I need right now: another complication to add to the ever-growing list of my troubles.

"Don't touch it. You'll hurt yourself," Julio says, his voice firm but not unkind, as he pulls me back to my feet, his grip on my arm gentle but insistent.

"I'm so sorry. I just have a lot on my mind," I say, my voice trembling as tears of frustration sting my eyes, threatening to spill over and betray the turmoil that rages within me.

"It's okay. I understand. I would have a lot on my mind too if my brother-in-law didn't care about my life," Julio says, his words cutting through the haze of my emotions, catching me off guard. What's he talking about?

"Thomas was behind the accident last night. His men must've told him you were in the car before they took action, or was he planning to steal you away during the chaos? It's risky, but it's the only plausible explanation," he continues, and a million thoughts start swimming in my head, each more terrifying than the last.

Could the accident have happened because of me? No! Please, God! Rafael would kill me. He was injured last night, and even though it was minor, his car was damaged. I rub my hand across my face, sighing heavily, the weight of this new revelation settling like a lead ball in the pit of my stomach. This is just going to make things worse for me. Rafael is going to kill me, and there's nothing I can do to stop it.

"No need to panic. Rafael won't kill you. If anything, last night just proved how important you are to Thomas, making your life very valuable to him," Julio says, as if sensing my spiraling thoughts, but his words do little to reassure me, the implication behind them only serving to deepen my unease.

I run my hand through my hair, shaking my head in disbelief. It seems that things just keep getting worse, each new revelation adding another layer of complexity to my already precarious situation. I close my eyes for a moment, trying to make sense of it all, to find some way to navigate the treacherous waters I find myself in. I can't even tell if my circumstances are improving or deteriorating.

"Enough of that. I came to speak to you about something else," Julio says, pulling me from my thoughts, and I snap my eyes open, meeting his gaze with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity.

"What?" I ask softly, my voice barely above a whisper, the weight of my emotions threatening to crush me under their immense pressure. Fear, panic, gratefulness, and one twisted thought that I dare not entertain all swirl within me, a dizzying cocktail of conflicting emotions. What if he punishes me in a way that leaves me breathless... in more ways than one?

I kick the thought out of my mind, forcing myself to focus on Julio's words.

"I wanted to speak to you about your outing with Danny. How did it go? I couldn't ask yesterday, with everything that happened," he says, and I feel a rush of gratitude for the change in subject, for the momentary reprieve from the dark thoughts that threaten to consume me.

"It went really well. I was shocked by how nice everyone was, especially Carla. Such a lovely woman," I reply, my voice steadier now.

"Yeah, she is. Too bad she's going to lose her husband soon," Julio says nonchalantly, his words hitting me like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from my lungs.

"What?" I choke on my own saliva, my eyes widening in shock and horror. Is that why Rafael wants me to get close to her? To make it easier to kill her husband? My blood runs cold at the thought, and I cover my suddenly agape mouth with my hand, trying to stifle the gasp that threatens to escape my lips.

"Don't be worried about her. She's going to get better dick once he's gone," Julio says, once again shocking me with his crude words, and I look at him, my eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and confusion. And then I see it, the truth shining in his eyes, the depth of his feelings laid bare before me.

"Do you like her?" I blurt out, the words tumbling from my lips before I can stop them, driven by a sudden, inexplicable need to know the truth.

"'Like' is a nice word to put it, Frankie," he says, turning to face me, his eyes boring into mine with an intensity that sends shivers down my spine. He smiles a wide, predatory grin that stretches from ear to ear. "I'm obsessed."

I freeze, unable to believe his words, my mind reeling with the implications of his confession. How? When? Is that another reason Rafael wants me to get close to her? So I can help Julio when he starts to pursue her? No, that seems a bit far-fetched, even for someone like Rafael.

"So I need you to make sure that when the time is right, she forgets that asshole of a husband of hers. You hear me?" Julio says, his voice low and urgent, his eyes never leaving mine, and all I can do is nod, a thought flying into my head unbidden—Danny's mother.

"What about Danny's mother? Did you feel the same way about her?" I voice the thought aloud, my curiosity getting the better of me, my need for answers overriding my sense of self-preservation.

"No, she was a fucking druggie who caused my son a lifetime of trauma," he says, his voice hard and bitter, the pain of the past etched into every word.

"What do you mean?" I ask, my brow furrowing in confusion, a sense of unease settling in the pit of my stomach.

"She was a stripper at one of the clubs in the US. A beautiful woman, the kind any man would kill to sleep with, and I did. Got her knocked up, and while I was away on business, she overdosed, and Danny found her. I knew she did drugs, and I did everything I could to help her, but I wasn't enough," he says, his voice heavy with regret, the weight of his past sins bearing down on him like a physical burden.

"Oh." The word escapes my lips in a soft exhale, the horror of the situation sinking in, the magnitude of the trauma Danny must have endured hitting me like a ton of bricks. "How old was he?" I ask, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"Four," Julio replies, his voice barely above a whisper, the pain in his eyes unmistakable.

I gasp, the air leaving my lungs in a rush. That was only a year ago. Poor child—the memory would still be fresh, the wound still raw and bleeding.

Julio's jaw tightens, and I can tell he's holding something back, a pain so deep and profound that it threatens to consume him. "I've spent every day since trying to make it up to him. But you can't fix what's broken in a boy like that, not completely," he says, his voice heavy with emotion, the weight of his guilt and regret palpable in the air between us.

I swallow hard, unsure of what to say, my heart aching for the man before me, for the child he's trying so desperately to save. "You're doing your best, Julio. That's all that matters," I say, the words feeling hollow and inadequate in the face of such immense suffering.

He looks at me, his eyes clouded with a pain that I can only begin to fathom. "I don't know, Frankie. I don't know if my best will ever be enough for Danny," he says, his voice raw and vulnerable, stripped of the bravado and confidence that usually defines him.

There's a long pause between us, the weight of his words hanging in the air, the silence thick with unspoken emotions. Then, in a softer tone, he adds, "Anyway, enough of that. You know how it is. We just... keep going," his voice trailing off, the words heavy with a resignation that breaks my heart.

I nod, though the sadness in his voice lingers, a reminder of the pain that lurks just beneath the surface, the scars that we all carry with us, hidden from the world. "Yeah. We do."

Julio straightens up, forcing a smile, the confident façade slipping back into place, a mask to hide the pain that lurks just beneath the surface. "Alright, let's not dwell on the past, huh? See you later, Frankie," he says, his voice lighter now, almost cheerful, as he moves to step out of the kitchen, leaving me alone with my thoughts.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

I remain in the sunlit kitchen, leaning heavily against the cool granite counter as I release a shuddering breath. A whirlwind of thoughts swirls through my mind, each vying for attention. Pushing off the counter, I walk to the sleek coffee maker, desperate for something strong to steady my nerves. Since alcohol is off-limits, this will have to suffice.

As the rich aroma of brewing coffee fills the air, my phone pings with a new message. Expecting an update from Carla or another mom I met yesterday. Instead of a friendly chat, I'm greeted by an ominous text from an unknown number:

"Hope you enjoyed my little gift. Next time, it won't just be a warning."

My hand freezes mid-reach, the mug forgotten as ice-cold fear slithers down my spine. Gift? Warning? My mind races, frantically searching for anything out of the ordinary. Is this someone's twisted idea of a joke?

Fingers trembling, I hover over the screen, torn between blocking the creepy number and demanding an explanation. Before I can decide, the coffee maker beeps loudly, jolting me back to the present moment. With shaky hands, I pour the steaming dark liquid into my mug, sloshing a few drops onto the pristine counter. The comforting scent that normally soothes me now turns my stomach.

Raising the mug to my lips, I pray the familiar ritual will anchor me. But before the hot ceramic touches my skin, a deep voice freezes me in place. That voice...I'd know it anywhere.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were avoiding me," Rafael rasps, his warm breath tickling the nape of my neck as his intoxicating scent envelops me.

"N-no, of course not," I stammer, slowly lowering the mug back to the counter.

"Hmm, let's see." In one swift motion, he spins me to face him, the mug flying off the counter and shattering on the tile floor in a puddle of coffee. But the mess barely registers as I stare up at the devastatingly handsome man who's surely about to make me pay for something that's not my fault.

"Tell me, Frankie," he growls, stalking closer until my lower back digs painfully into the counter's edge, "was I wrong about you?"

His question hangs heavy in the charged air between us. Confusion and dread war within me as I mutely shake my head.

"Did you tip off your dear brother-in-law about our location?" Rafael demands, his eyes flashing dangerously.

"No, I swear I didn't!" I rush out, heart racing. Oh God, my fears are coming true already.

"Just how much do you mean to him?"

"Like I said, I'm important because of my sister," I manage, pulse pounding in my ears.

"Is that right?" he drawls, his tone dripping with skepticism as his piercing gaze bores into me, searching for any hint of deception in my wide eyes and flushed cheeks. The tension crackles between us, thick and suffocating in the cozy kitchen, as I wonder how I'll ever convince this ruthless, dangerous man of the truth.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

I nod, and his hand clamps on my waist, drawing me closer. His breath, warm and laced with menace, tickles my neck as he leans in, whispering words that send a shiver coursing down my spine. "I'm still going to punish you. Punish you so you'll never even dream about it." His voice is soft, but the edge in it is sharp, undeniable. He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, and I see the promise there—he means every word.

I swallow hard, my throat tight with a mix of fear and anticipation. This time feels different. This punishment isn't just about control or power games. No, today, I'll be the outlet for his frustration, his anger. And that realization gnaws at my insides.

"Legs apart," he commands, his voice dark, thick with intent. My heart races, pounding in my chest, but my body betrays me, responding instinctively. My legs move apart as if he owns them—owns me.

His hands glide slowly up my thighs, his touch igniting a fire that spreads, heat rising through me, centering deep in my core. I clench my eyes shut, cursing myself for the way my body reacts to him. Why can't I hate this? Why can't I hate him?

The cool air brushes against my skin as his hand moves to my waist, slipping beneath the fabric of my panties. With deliberate slowness, he pulls them down, the lace sliding down my legs before he tucks them into his back pocket. Then, in a move that makes my breath hitch, he lifts them to his nose, inhaling deeply. The act is possessive, primal, and it makes my heart skip a beat.

He pulls something small and smooth from his back pocket, holding it up for me to see. It's shaped like an egg, innocent enough in appearance, but the way he watches it—examines it—sends a surge of uncertainty through me. What is that?

Before I can ask, his other hand returns to me, fingers slipping between my folds, teasing me. My mind reels, distracted by the unfamiliar toy in his right hand, barely noticing what his left is doing until his fingers stroke me again and again, wetting his hand with my arousal.

My body betrays me further, and I instinctively push against his hand, seeking more, needing more. But he's quick to catch on, pulling away just as I try to grind against him. "Nice try, pequeño rebelde," he chuckles, a dark smirk tugging at his lips.

Then, without warning, he slides the egg-shaped device inside me, and I gasp, the sudden intrusion making my legs tremble. It feels strange—alien—but it's warm, and a slow wave of anticipation rolls through me, settling deep in my core. I wait for more, for something, but the device remains still, dormant. For now.

Rafael licks his fingers clean with a deliberate slowness before grabbing my hand. He leads me toward the door, ignoring the pleading look I shoot his way. He's not finished with me, not by a long shot, but whatever he has planned won't happen here.

Outside, a sleek black car waits, its engine humming quietly in the driveway. Rafael opens the door and gestures for me to get in. I obey, slipping into the passenger seat, shifting uncomfortably as the egg inside me presses against me in ways that make it hard to focus.

He finally turns to look at me, his eyes dark and full of wicked promise. "You're coming with me to work," he says, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. "How else can I punish you the whole day?"

The words sink in, and dread washes over me, cold and suffocating. He means it. The entire day. I'm dead.