CHAPTER 3: KISS ME LIKE A MISTAKE
1263 Words
CHAPTER 3: KISS ME LIKE A MISTAKE
ADRIAN'S POV
We pulled up like royalty.
Or at least that’s what it looked like on the outside.
The limo came to a slow, dramatic stop right at the foot of the Hidalgo estate. Fountains sparkled like they were paid to impress. Spotlights bathed the marble in gold. And the entire mansion glowed like it knew it was better than the rest of us.
I didn’t move.
Didn’t reach for the door.
Didn’t even pretend to care.
This was not my scene.
Too much glitter. Too many people pretending to be something they’re not. And don’t even get me started on the fake champagne smiles.
Rich people and their addiction to appearances.
If it doesn’t sparkle, it’s not welcome.
Aemma nudged me from the opposite seat. “You good?”
“Define good.”
“You look like you're about to throw up on your own shoes," she smirked.
“That’s because I might.”
“You’re such a drama queen,” she rolled her eyes. “
"Drama queen?!" I turned to her.
"Yeah. You make that drama queen face when you're about to ruin someone's night."
“Let’s hope that someone isn’t me,” grandpapa chuckled under his breath.
I offered neither of them a smile.
Then my phone buzzed.
It was Candace.
I swiped it open, already knowing what it was.
One photo. Just one.
And damn.
Her dress. Her lipstick. Her eyes.
Like she’d walked out of a dream and into danger.
The kind of red that made you do something reckless.
"Already inside. Don't keep me waiting, babe.”
I swallowed hard.
That dress was illegal. It should be.
She was the only reason I showed up tonight. The only reason I got in this damn limo.
The door opened, and we all stepped out.
I adjusted my cuff, and forced the expression I’d practiced since I was twelve: bored, powerful, and untouchable.
“Candace didn’t come with us?” Aemma asked, squinting toward the estate like she expected to see her lounging on the steps.
“She said she went in early,” I replied.
“Of course she did,” she muttered. “Girl loves a grand entrance.”
The guards at the gate straightened the second they saw Don Enoch…my grandpapa. One scanned the invite, nodded, and gestured us in.
I stepped into the ballroom and it was overwhelming.
Chandeliers dangled above, dripping gold light over everything. The kind that made your skin glow whether you meant it or not. Soft music played in the background—some slow, elegant stuff with violins. You could barely hear it over the hum of voices and clinking glasses.
People were everywhere.
Women in floor-length gowns glided across the room like they owned it. Some were laughing, some pretending not to notice who was staring. The men? All dark suits and expensive watches, grouped in corners, talking business and pretending not to gossip. Waiters just moved quietly, offering drinks and treats on silver trays.
My attention quickly settled on the man at the center, Diamante Hildago. Though I had never met him, I knew exactly who he was when I saw him.
Sprawled like a bored prince on a velvet chaise and sipping rosé from a flamingo glass, he wore a glittering sapphire suit that caught every damn light in the ballroom. His nails were gold and had diamond rings on every finger. His heels? Six inches... literally. And his stare? Don't get me started with that.
He didn’t just host the party—he was the party.
Next to him, Enzo Riviera leaned in with a sinful laugh. Blush silk clung to his frame like it was painted on, and that feathered cape? It trailed behind him like a gossip column waiting to happen. He looked like a Vogue cover if Vogue had a section called Sinfully Beautiful and Dangerous.
Together, they looked like royalty. Not kings.
Queens.
And trust me—everyone bowed.
People called them pretty boys. Laughed behind champagne glasses.
Said real power didn’t wear glitter or heels.
But no one laughed for long.
The last man who did?
His body washed up in Biscayne Bay.
No hands. No teeth.
Just a note tucked in his jacket:
“Call me pretty again.”
I noticed their eyes shift as grandpapa stepped forward, bowing like the old-school mafia king he was, and pressed a kiss to Diamante’s hand.
Diamante’s lips carved a smile. But the edge in his gaze never faded.He greeted grandpapa warmly, but I caught a glimmer of calculation behind his smile.
And then Enzo leaned in, whispering something behind his bejeweled hand.
Diamante didn’t answer, just glanced at me from beneath those silver lashes.
And just like that, I felt it.
That chill under my skin.
Whatever they were saying... It wasn't good.
I took champagne, mostly out of habit. Cold bubbles hit the back of my throat, but it didn’t do much. The air was already thick…perfume, perfume and perfume, all of it choking.
Then something familiar slipped through it.
Cinnamon.
Warm, spiced, stupidly nostalgic. It pulled me in before I even knew what I was doing.
I drifted toward the dessert table as my eyes landed on the cinnamon biscuits.
I picked one, and took a bite.
And damn…it melted. Buttery, rich, the spice curling on my tongue just right. For a split second, it felt like home.
I was halfway reaching for another when I heard it. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but the mention of my name was enough to make me pause. Turning my head, I spotted two women. They were posted up like streetlights, spilling gossip like it was gospel.
"I heard he just bought out Brandfort LC. The same company that went bankrupt when the Brandons fled the country," one of them said, twirling her wine glass like it was part of the conversation
“No way! Didn’t that place owe, like, thirty million in debts?” the other replied, her tone dipped in disbelief and envy.
“He cleared it overnight. That’s old money for you,” the first one whispered, eyes scanning the crowd like she was hunting for more dirt.
"Don Enoch Esposito must be proud. His grandchildren didn’t just survive—they became useful. Especially after what happened to their parents… Tragedy like that either breaks you or builds you. Looks like it built them."
Were they wrong? No. But that didn’t mean it didn’t piss me off. I felt my blood boil but now wasn't the time to get angry.
I tried to shake the bitterness off. I really did.
Took another sip of champagne. Let the music drown out the whispers. But it was wasn't working…or so I thought until I saw her.
She was standing alone near the edge of the room, and damn she looked prettier than the photo. Her back faced me, and I just couldn't wait to see that pretty face.
Candace. No doubt about it.
I didn’t hesitate.
I walked up behind her like I’d done a dozen times before. Slid an arm around her waist, and without a word, I leaned in and kissed her neck.
“Miss me, baby?” I whispered, low enough to be smug.
She froze.
I grinned against her skin—until she stiffened completely and took a sharp step forward, yanking herself out of my grasp.
“What the hell?” she spun around, eyes wide. “Who are you?”
My smile died on my lips.
Shit.
It wasn’t Candace.
- Writer
