Valentina braced herself, expecting a long wait before anyone answered her call. But the line had already connected on the first ring.
“Valentina,” a voice came, low and sharp as a knife, “don’t think you’re playing games with me.”
She didn’t speak.
“I’ve been hunting you for as long as you pined after Desmond,” he continued, each word edged with steel. “Seven years, cold as ice, and now suddenly… you’re surrendering? What changed?”
Rafael Leon. Her old flame. One of North Carolina’s most feared and respected operators.
He had pursued her relentlessly for seven long years. She had almost given herself to him once. But on the night she was supposed to choose, Desmond—Don Desmond Hackett—had offered her a glimmer of hope.
And so, she had turned her back on Rafael.
Faced with his questions, Valentina inhaled deeply. “I… I wasn’t thinking straight. Forget I even called.”
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed through the speaker—something heavy had hit the floor.
“You think I’m someone you call when bored and drop when it suits you?” His voice cracked like a gunshot. “Huh, Valentina? You chose me this time. Don’t you dare try to run.”
“I’m giving you one month,” he continued, the threat plain in every syllable. “Take care of that bastard. After that… I’m coming for what’s mine.”
Rafael didn’t give her a chance to protest. The line went dead with a single click.
A faint, wry smile tugged at her lips. Some things never change, she thought.
That night, Don Desmond didn’t return to the estate. Valentina passed the hours in silence, moving through the villa like a ghost—sorting closets, folding garments, tucking away gifts into boxes. When the morning sun spilled through the windows, the front door finally opened.
He stepped in, shirt still rumpled from the night before. “What are you tossing out?”
She flinched ever so slightly, then composed herself, brushing her hair back. “Just… some junk.”
He strode over, peering into a box crammed with clothes and past presents he had given her.
“You call these… junk?”
“Old gifts, old clothes,” she replied lightly. “They take up space. I thought I’d donate them in your name—some kids up in the mountains could use them. Might polish your reputation a bit, too.”
At that, Desmond’s thin lips curved slightly, a ghost of a smile. “Smart move.”
She exhaled softly, relieved that he believed her story. But she knew better. It wasn’t trust—he simply didn’t care to waste more energy on her.
Suddenly, a crash behind her cut through the room. She spun around, and there was her sister.
Selene. Wide-eyed, standing over a shattered sculpture. Her smile was innocently mischievous, the sort that could ensnare anyone.
“Oops… sorry, Mondy, Avy. Didn’t mean to,” Selene murmured.
Desmond didn’t even flinch at the broken pieces. He brushed past Valentina, checking her sister for injuries.
Seeing her unhurt, the storm in his eyes softened. “It’s fine. Nothing matters more than you.”
But Selene wasn’t satisfied. She turned her gaze to Valentina, tilting her head with faux innocence. “You don’t mind, right, Avy?”
Valentina’s eyes dropped to the floor.
The sculpture had been unique—commissioned after a trip, carved with the faces of both her and Desmond. Now, all that remained were fragments.
If this had happened years ago, she would have lashed out, sharp words flying. Now, she simply looked up and said, “It’s alright.”
A flicker crossed Selene’s face—gone almost immediately. She smiled sweetly. “Aww, you’re really kind.”
Then, without hesitation, she turned to Desmond. “With a sister like that, I’m sure she won’t mind my next little favor either.”
He didn’t glance at Valentina as he spoke.
“Yannie’s just returned to North Carolina. Her parents are away, and she doesn’t like staying home alone. In the meantime… let her live here.
“Oh, and—your room gets the morning sun. She’s always been sensitive to the cold. Make sure she has it.”
