Scandalous
1308 Words
Six Years Ago...
I paste on a smile—the kind I’ve been trained to wear since I could walk in heels—while the man my father is introducing me to lets his eyes roam shamelessly over my chest. Mr. Richard. He smells like power, desperation, and overpriced cologne. And he isn’t even subtle about it.
I shift my posture slightly, as if I can hide my body with just my shoulders. But I can’t. I never can. I’ve never fit into the neat, expected lines of this world—not physically, not emotionally. My dresses always feel a size too small across my chest, my body a battlefield between discomfort and attention.
And my father? He’s oblivious. Or maybe, worse—he doesn’t care. Not when deals are being shaken into place.
Thankfully, Isabel slides between us like a blade wrapped in silk. Her voice is smooth, polished. "Mr. Richard," she says sweetly, "how is being the new head of your family treating you? I heard Naples is proving quite profitable."
They begin to talk, his eyes finally distracted by her practiced charm. I step back, my mind buzzing, my skin crawling. I can’t breathe in this room—this prison of wealth and expectation. Gold chandeliers hang like judgment. Music hums politely. Everyone here wears masks, but mine is beginning to crack.
“I’m going to get some air,” I murmur to my father.
He barely nods.
I slip away like a shadow, dodging conversations and watchful eyes, heels clicking against marble. I push through the heavy doors and let the night embrace me. The cold air rushes in, brushing over my arms like forgiveness. My chest finally rises with a full breath.
The garden sprawls ahead, perfectly manicured and entirely too still. I start down the stone steps, instinctively turning left—only to stop.
A group of young men—drunk, loud, dangerous in the way rich boys always are—laugh with smoke curling from their lips. One of them whistles, his gaze crawling across me.
I change course instantly, heading right, toward silence.
As the lights of the mansion fade behind me, I walk deeper into the garden until the air feels colder, cleaner, lonelier. My satin dress clings to my legs as I push past a hedge, letting curiosity pull me forward like a string tied to my ribs.
And then I find it.
A lake, nestled in a quiet hollow, black as ink under the night sky. The surface is still, reflecting the stars so clearly it feels like the heavens have fallen into the earth. It’s breathtaking. And achingly, terribly private.
I step closer, lips parting with wonder.
“Didn’t like the party?”
I startle—spinning around, heart leaping to my throat.
There, half-reclined in the grass, is a man. A suit jacket tossed beside him, shirt rolled up to the elbows, a bottle dangling from one long, elegant hand. The moon traces the edge of his cheekbones, the sharp cut of his jaw, the tousled fall of his black hair.
Heath De Luca.
Even sitting down, he radiates danger and elegance like smoke and fire. I’ve heard whispers about him all my life. The next Capo. A De Luca. His name commands silence in rooms. And he’s looking at me like I just disrupted his whole night.
“I didn’t realize anyone else was out here,” I say carefully, instinctively taking a step back.
His dark eyes glint with something unreadable. “There’s enough night for both of us.” He gestures at the grass beside him. “Unless you’re afraid of shadows.”
I should walk away. Every bone in my body says so. But something in his voice—smooth, teasing, edged with steel—roots me to the spot. My fingers curl around the fabric of my dress, and I slowly move toward him.
I lower myself onto the grass, careful to leave space between us, the hem of my gown fanning around me like spilled ink.
He lifts the bottle to his lips and takes a long pull, never looking away. “You didn’t answer my question.”
I stare at the lake. “It got... stifling inside.”
“Stifling,” he repeats, as if testing the word. “Or suffocating?”
I glance at him. He’s watching me—not just my face, but the way I sit, the way I breathe. Like he’s trying to figure out what I’m hiding.
“It’s not really my kind of scene,” I admit.
He nods slowly. “Too many people pretending to enjoy themselves. Too much noise. Too many eyes.”
Too many men staring, I want to say. But instead I murmur, “Yes.”
We sit in silence for a moment, the sound of crickets and distant laughter drifting in the breeze. He’s so still, so composed—like he belongs to the night.
“You’re aware this could be scandalous,” I say softly. “Us being alone like this.”
His eyes flick to mine, unblinking. “So?”
I blink. “So someone could see. Rumors could start.”
He smiles. It’s slow and unsettling, curling at the corner like a secret. “Then we’d better not get caught.”
I swallow hard. His gaze is sharper now, more deliberate. It slides down my face, lingers at my mouth, then drops to the neckline of my dress. My breath catches, but I don’t move. Can’t.
He looks back into my eyes, voice dropping to a near whisper. “I’ve never seen you before.”
“You’ve probably seen me,” I say. “Just never noticed.”
“I notice everything,” he says. “Especially things that are... out of place.”
“Is that what I am?” I ask, quieter still. “Out of place?”
His eyes soften for the briefest second. “No. You’re just... not like the rest of them.”
The words hit somewhere I didn’t expect. Somewhere tender.
Before I can respond, the sky above us explodes with color—fireworks tearing open the dark, painting our faces in pinks and golds. I look up, momentarily awestruck.
“It’s the cake,” I murmur. “The Don and his wife.”
Heath doesn’t move.
“You should go,” I tell him. “You’ll be missed.”
Finally, he stands, brushing the grass off his pants. Then—unexpectedly—he offers me his hand.
I hesitate. Then I take it.
His fingers close around mine. Rough, warm, real. And just for a moment, everything else fades—like the world shrinks down to this exact feeling.
He releases me as soon as I’m standing. But the imprint of his touch stays long after.
We walk back in silence. The mansion looms ahead, its lights and music louder now. As we reach the door, I hear his voice behind me.
“I never got your name.”
I turn, lips parting to answer—
“Heath!”
A girl’s voice slices through the air. Beautiful, glowing, familiar with him in a way I’m not. She runs toward him, eyes wide with urgency. “Father’s asking for you.”
He glances at me once—just once—then nods and turns away.
I stand there, watching his back disappear into the sea of crystal and champagne.
Then I vanish too—slipping into the crowd like smoke, heart thudding against my ribs.
From across the ballroom, I feel it again. His eyes.
I meet them across the distance. And this time, he doesn’t look away.
His gaze pierces through the noise, through the masks, through the people who think they run this world.
And somehow... I know.
Something’s begun.
Something that will end in fire.
- Writer
