7
1403 Words
Marcelina~
At the sound of that deep, smooth, and achingly familiar voice, I froze. My stomach dropped first. Then came the cold rush down my spine. My heart followed, plummeting so fast it felt like it had shattered against the floor.
No.
It couldn't be.
He couldn't be the boss they had mentioned.
He couldn't be the man running everything I had just walked past.
My fingers slowly fell away from the door handle. And just as slowly, I turned around. At first, I saw nothing but shadows. Then my eyes adjusted.
He was standing in the darkest part of the room, right in front of the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the city. The lights from outside framed him in a muted glow, but his face remained hidden, swallowed by the dimness.
That was why I hadn't seen him when I first walked in.
Now that I looked closer, I could make out his tall silhouette, broad shoulders, and hands tucked lazily into his pockets. He was still and unmoving, as if he had all the time in the world.
He had been there all along, and the realization that he had been silently watching made my head spin. A wave of dizziness rolled through me, and I had to blink rapidly to steady my vision.
"You?" My voice came out softer than I intended. "You're the boss?"
A long, measured silence stretched between us. Every second felt like it was pulling the air from my lungs.
"I don't like that word," he said finally, his voice smooth and calm. "It sounds... theatrical."
Then he moved, taking one deliberate step forward. Then another. The city lights slid off him as he left the shadows, and the warm glow of the room finally touched his face.
My breath caught.
It couldn't be Dom Vitali, it just couldn't. But the way he looked at me... Like he owned the very air that I breathed told me I was very, very wrong.
As if reading my mind, his lips curved slightly. "I prefer owner."
My throat tightened as the word settled heavily between us.
Owner.
Of the club.
Of the underground.
Of the men who had dragged me here without hesitation.
My pulse quickened again.
"This is insane," I said, forcing strength into my voice. "You can't just have people abduct me."
"Abduct?" he repeated smoothly. "That's dramatic, Doc. You were escorted."
"Escorted? They fûcking grabbed me."
"You were leaving," he replied simply. "Before we finished our little chat,"
We.
The way he said it made it sound dangerous.
"I don't have anything to say to you," I shot back.
His gaze sharpened.
"Don't you?"
Silence stretched between us.
The air felt heavier now. Smaller. Like the walls had moved closer.
"You called me a liar and a thief," I said quietly. "I don't know where that came from, but you and I both know our interaction was strictly professional,"
He studied me for a long moment.
"Your shredded panties in my possession will beg to differ," he said at last, his voice low and calm, "Wouldn't you agree?"
My stomach lurched as horror, embarrassment, and disbelief washed over me. Heat rose up my neck, my cheeks burned like fire, and my pulse pounded in my ears, drowning out everything else.
I wanted to disappear. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. I wanted—no, needed—to erase the memory of what I had thought was private and locked away in the past.
"Or should I refresh your memory?"
I couldn't speak.
My tongue felt heavy and useless, my mind a chaotic swirl of shame and panic. All I could do was stare at him, wide-eyed, frozen in place, my body betraying every ounce of control I had tried to maintain.
"I—I..." My voice cracked, failing me, trailing off into nothing.
"That's what I thought," he said, taking a step closer. "And from what I believe, you took something from me, Doc,"
My stomach tightened.
"I didn't steal anything," I replied quickly.
His eyes dragged over me slowly, stopping at my midsection. When they returned to my face, darkness and something else I couldn't name flickered there.
My throat tightened.
"You're sure about that?" he asked quietly.
A tremor ran through me.
Of course he knew.
"I don't know what you think I took," I said carefully. "But you're wrong. You're wrong about everything."
Still, his expression didn't change.
I was seconds away from unraveling.
I didn't know how much longer I could hold myself together, how much longer I could keep my voice steady and my expression composed. The cracks were already there, and it wouldn't be long before the walls I had built so carefully came down.
"I think that you walked into my life with a plan."
He took a step closer.
"I think you calculated every move."
Another step closer.
"And I think you got exactly what you wanted,"
My back hit the door.
Each word he spoke felt like he was cutting me open and dissecting me apart layer by layer. There was no anger in his voice, just certainty.
And somehow, that was worse.
Because I had nowhere left to retreat.
And nowhere left to hide.
"I didn't plan anything," I whispered, the words sounding weak even to my own ears.
But I said it anyway—clinging to it like it might still save me, like if I repeated it enough times it would somehow become true.
His eyes darkened.
"I've built empires on reading people," He paused. "And you're not as unreadable as you believe, Marcelina"
My heart pounded so loudly I was sure he could hear it. It was the first time he was addressing me by my maiden name. And the sound of it on his lips felt so wrong and unfamiliar, it made my skin prickle.
"So let's try this again," he said calmly and tilted his head slightly. "What did you take from me?"
"You're very mistaken, Mr. Vitali," I said again, forcing my voice to steady even though it trembled. "Or maybe this is one of the lingering symptoms of your post-traumatic head injury. Have the headaches returned? Have you been resting properly?"
I knew I had crossed a line by bringing up his medical condition. Using it to deflect and to make him question himself. But I couldn't confess. Not without trying one last time to twist this into something else.
If he had even the slightest doubt about his memory, perhaps this would end here. I could go back to being his doctor instead of the woman who had walked away carrying his child without ever intending to tell him.
He didn't blink.
He just stared at me, sending chills down my spine.
"You want to try that again?" he asked quietly.
"As your doctor, I'm concerned," I pushed on quickly. "Head injuries can affect perception, memory, even..."
"It happened two months ago," he interrupted calmly, stepping closer. "Right after the evaluation."
My breath faltered.
"He's probably back in Vegas," he continued, his tone almost conversational. "Racing. Running his companies. Being rich."
My heart skipped violently.
Those were my words.
Exact and precise, thrown at Corey while discussing at the bar.
"I flew back home right after the evaluation," he went on. "I just hope he doesn't get into another accident that suddenly needs my time and services."
At this point, there was no escape from this.
He had heard everything.
But he didn't stop there.
He went on to recall what Corey said about a so-called patient giving me exactly what I needed. A five-week-old miracle growing inside me.
By now, he was only inches away from me. Close enough that I could feel the heat and danger radiating from him.
"Five weeks," He said, adjusting his cufflinks slowly, like this was a business meeting, "Shall I continue?"
"I don't know what conversation you think you overheard," I said quickly, hating how pathetic I sounded. "Corey talks too much. She jumps to conclusions."
I paused and forced out a shaky breath.
"I also have patients all over the world, Mr. Vitali. It could have been anyone we were talking about."
"I don't tolerate insults to my intelligence," he said evenly, "Choose your next sentence carefully."
The word landed hard. And standing there, trapped between him and the door, I knew the lie had officially died.
- Writer
