YOURS TO CONTROL

FIRST DANCE

ELOISE POV:

Mr. Marcello has requested me.

Not requested, commanded.

He sent me a four-letter text.

“Come.”

The prick.

And somehow, that single word explains why I’m currently in a strange car driving out of Brooklyn like I don’t have a single survival instinct left in my body.

The driver—a tall, dark man with a short, slashing scar carved into his cheek like a permanent warning sign—introduced himself as Luca when he showed up at my door.

“Mr. Marcello sent me.”

Of course he did.

Now, does the amount of information that man clearly has about me scare me?

Yes.

Very much, yes.

But am I going to back down?

Absolutely not.

I’ve done a little digging of my own.

The Marcellos.

Father: Rocco Marcello.

Mother: Lilly Marcello.

Then the sons—Niccolò, Enzo, Fabio.

Google says they run businesses.

Real estate. Five-star restaurants. Hotels. Clubs.

Legitimate, clean and pretty.

Yeah… no.

I’d have to be an i***t to believe that’s all they do.

Because nothing about Niccolò Marcello screams clean money.

And it definitely doesn’t explain generational wealth that looks like it was printed, not earned.

Maybe I’m paranoid.

I’m so caught up in my thoughts that I don’t realize when the scenery starts changing.

The city fades and the noice disappears

And suddenly, we’re on a road that looks like it hasn’t seen civilization in years.

Tall trees stretch endlessly on both sides, their branches leaning inward like they’re trying to swallow the path whole. The streetlights grow scarce… then nonexistent.

My stomach drops.

Okay………Nope.

I clear my throat lightly.

“Errr… Luca?” I start, trying to sound casual and not like I’m mentally planning my escape route.

No response.

“Where are we going?” I ask, a little more firmly this time.

Still nothing.

Oh, great.

Fantastic.

Picture this,

A man you barely know, who runs one of the most questionable but very lucrative clubs in existence, pays you five thousand dollars to dance for him…

And now his silent, scar-faced driver is taking you down what looks like the official dumping ground for bodies.

Of course I’m scared.

Only a fool wouldn’t be.

I subtly pull out my phone and send Audrey my location.

If I die, she better find me.

And more importantly?

She better avenge me.

The silence in the car grows heavier, suffocating. The kind that makes your thoughts louder than they should be.

I glance at Luca.

I actually consider hitting him with my flats.

Which is ridiculous, because what exactly is that going to do?

“Excuse me, sir, while I attack you with soft rubber footwear.”

Brilliant plan, Eloise.

Absolutely genius.

Just as I’m about to spiral further into my own imagination—

I see it.

A gate.

Massive.

Black wrought iron, towering so high it almost disappears into the trees. Intricate designs curl through it—sharp and elegant.

Before I can even process it, the gate slides open.

Automatically.

Like it’s expecting us.

My jaw drops.

And then—

We drive in.

The road beyond the gate is nothing like the one outside.

It’s smooth. Polished. Lined with perfectly trimmed hedges and tall lanterns casting a soft golden glow that makes everything look… expensive.

That’s the only word for it.

Expensive.

We drive for what feels like forever, and just when I start to think this place might actually be its own country—

I see it.

The mansion.

And oh my God.

“...You’ve got to be kidding me,” I whisper under my breath.

It’s not a house.

It’s not even a mansion.

It’s a statement.

A sprawling structure of stone and glass, towering over the land like it owns the earth it’s built on. Large arched windows reflect the fading sunlight, glowing faintly gold. Balconies stretch outward with elegant railings, and vines climb up sections of the walls like they’ve been placed there on purpose—like even nature wants to belong here.

There’s a fountain in front.

An actual fountain

Water cascades down layered marble, the sound soft but commanding, like background music to wealth.

The driveway curves in a perfect loop, and as the car slows to a stop right in front of the grand entrance, I realize something very important.

I don’t belong here.

Not even a little.

This is the complete opposite of my entire life

The doors open before I can even gather my thoughts.

Two tall wooden doors, polished to perfection, swing open like I’m some kind of royalty.

And standing there—

Is a man.

An old man dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit that looks like it costs more than my entire wardrobe combined.

“Miss Green,” he says, his voice smooth and controlled. It carries a quiet authority that immediately straightens my spine. “Welcome.”

Okay.

Wow.

“Uh… hi?” I manage, suddenly very aware of myself.

He steps forward slightly.

“My name is Bruce. I am the head butler of the Marcello residence.”

Of course he is.

Because why wouldn’t there be a head butler?

I nod, trying to act like this is totally normal and not something I’ve only ever seen in movies.

“Nice to meet you, Bruce,” I say, smoothing my dress.

His eyes flick over me—not rudely or judgmental but assessing.

Like he’s silently determining whether I belong here.

And based on the way his expression barely changes…

I’m not sure I pass.

“Mr. Marcello is expecting you,” he says, stepping aside and gesturing for me to enter.

Of course he is.

Because God forbid I ever be the one doing the waiting.

I take a step inside.

And I forget how to breathe.

The interior is…

I don’t even have the words.

Marble floors stretch beneath my feet, polished so perfectly I can almost see my reflection. A grand staircase curves elegantly upward, its railing carved in intricate detail, leading to the upper floors like something straight out of a fantasy.

A chandelier hangs above—massive, sparkling, dripping in crystal that catches the light and scatters it across the room like diamonds.

The walls are lined with art.

Not random paintings.

The kind that look like they belong in museums.

Gold frames. Deep colors. Faces that seem to follow you if you stare too long.

The air smells faintly of something expensive—wood, leather, something warm and rich I can’t quite place.

I take another step.

My flats click against the marble, the sound echoing slightly.

Too loud.

“Wow…” I breathe, unable to stop myself.

And for the first time in a long time—

Eloise Green is speechless.

I hug my arms slightly, grounding myself.

Don’t act impressed.

Don’t look like you’ve never seen wealth before.

Don’t—

Okay, I’ve definitely already failed.

Bruce watches me quietly, like he’s seen this reaction a hundred times before.

“Please,” he says politely, gesturing forward. “This way.”

I follow him.

Every step deeper into the house feels like stepping further into something I don’t fully understand.

Something bigger than me.

Something dangerous.

And yet—

I don’t turn back.

Because somewhere between the fear, the curiosity, and the memory of that five thousand dollars sitting in my account…

I know one thing.

There’s no going back now.

I briefly think about my boyfriend.

Somewhere in the middle of all this chaos… I forgot about him.

Completely.

The realization sits uncomfortably in my chest.

Audrey had suggested I break up with him. Said keeping things from him is basically cheating.

And maybe she’s right.

But I can’t bring myself to do it.

Not yet.

I love him.

Or… I used to.

I don’t even know anymore.

The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, and I quickly shake it off, like physically tossing it out of my head as I follow Bruce up the grand staircase.

Focus, Eloise.

One problem at a time.

We stop in front of a door.

Bruce turns slightly, his expression as composed as ever.

“Knock,” he says calmly, “and wait for a response before entering.”

Then he leaves.

I stare at the door for a second, my heart doing that annoying thing where it speeds up for no good reason.

Then I knock.

Twice. No response.

I frown.

What in the actual…..Fuck

I knock again, a little louder this time.

Still nothing.

“Okay… rude,” I mutter under my breath.

And because I’ve never really been known for my patience, I push the door open without waiting this time.

The room is… grey.

Not dull or boring, just….. grey.

Everything.

The walls. The curtains. The sheets. Even the chandelier above carries a muted silver tone that blends into the rest of the room like it was all designed to feel the same.

I step inside slowly, my flats clicking softly against the floor.

It’s beautiful.

Undeniably so.

But there’s something about it that feels… off.

Detached.

Like it’s a place someone stays in—not lives in.

Like warmth isn’t allowed here.

I’m still taking it in when I hear it

“What are you doing?”

The voice cuts through the silence, deep and sharp.

I turn around immediately and I freeze

Mr. Marcello stands there in nothing but a towel

My eyes betray me instantly.

They drop, straight to his torso

And oh

“Oh my God…”

I blink.

Am I counting right?

Six?

Eight?

Do people even come with that many abs?

His body looks like that of a Greek god, Like someone spent time carving every line with intention and precision

My gaze drifts lower— to where his abs ends and his…

I snap my eyes away so fast it almost hurts.

Good Lord.

This man’s body is illegal

I fan myself lightly with my hand, because why does it suddenly feel like the temperature just went up by ten degrees?

“Did someone turn off the AC?” I ask, mostly to myself.

“If you’re done staring,” he says smoothly, amusement lacing his tone, “take a seat, Cherry.”

The way my name rolls off his tongue feels like a sin. And the fact that he keeps calling me cherry doesn’t make it less sinful.

I sit quickly without looking at him

What is wrong with me?

Why am I acting like a hormonal teenager who’s never seen a man before?

“Let’s get this over with,” Niccolò says, his voice calm as he moves to sit on the bed, just a few inches away from me.

Too close.

Way too close.

“Dance for me.”

I stand slowly, trying to regain some sort of composure.

“Do you have any rules?” I ask.

He shakes his head once.

“No.”

Of course not.

I pull out my phone, open Spotify, and play Pillowtalk by Zayn.

The moment the music fills the room, something in me shifts, there’s always something about dancing that draws me in and gives me purpose.

I extend my hand toward him.

“Come here.”

For a second, I think he won’t take it.

But then he does.

And the moment our hands touch

I feel it. His hand is warm and rough and I feel the spark.

Like something sharp runs up my arm and settles right in my chest.

I hate how aware I am of it.

I gently pull him up, stepping closer, closing the distance between us.

I take his hand and place it on the small of my back.

The heat from his palm spreads instantly, seeping through the thin fabric of my sundress like it belongs there.

Focus, I say mentally

My body presses against his as I start, letting the rhythm guide me. Our bodies sway together, my hips moving with the music, his presence heavy and unyielding.

His eyes are on me as we dance, never wavering and it unnerves me

And excites me too which is worse.

I push him gently until he sits back down on the bed.

Then I climb onto him.

Straddling him.

My breath catches.

My face heats instantly, but I don’t stop.

I can’t.

Not now.

I roll my hips slowly, trying to keep control, trying to keep this professional, like it’s just another dance

But it doesn’t feel like one.

Not with him.

My breathing gets heavier.

My movements slightly less steady.

And I hate that I can feel my control slipping away but I keep going anyway.

Because I refuse to be the first one to break.

But then

The music stops.

I freeze.

His hand had moved and paused it

Silence floods the room.

And before I can even react, he does something i would have never imagined he’ll do.

He pulls me close, gently but firmly

Grounding me.

My breath catches in my throat.

And then he whispers right against my ear

“Are you wet, Cherry?”

My heart slams violently against my ribs.

Everything in me snaps and I push him away immediately, harder than I intended to.

No, No,No…..

This is not happening.

Fight or flight?

Definitely flight.

I grab my phone and bolt, off the bed and out the door

I don’t stop to think, I just run.

My lungs burn and my chest tightens. My feet barely keeping up with me as I rush out like the house itself is on fire

I find Luca.

“Take me home,” I beg as I try to catch my breath

He doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t react. He just nods and heads for the car.

I follow quickly, slipping inside and slamming the door shut like that’ll somehow keep everything behind me.

The car starts moving.

And only then do I finally breathe.

I place my hand on my chest, trying to steady myself.

My heart is still racing.

My skin still hot.

My thoughts still… a mess.

And then it hits me hard and I go still…

Oh God, I swallow.

I. Am. Wet.