Darian Wolfe
I held my steering wheel firmly, my knuckles turned white under the pressure— a reflection of the turmoil inside me on the outside. Maria Reyes was supposed to be my pawn, an important piece in my vendetta against Hector Reyes. But on that night two weeks ago, as her delicate fingers touched my skin, tracing my scars, her intoxicating perfume enveloped me, and her hazel eyes pierced through my carefully constructed persona. I can't lie; thinking about it is making me lose my grip on the situation. It's slipping away. I place my lifeline on control, it is my source of power, and she dismantles it effortlessly. I hate that reality. I hate her for it, or perhaps I hate myself for allowing it to happen.
As I approached the large gate of the Reyes estate. Naomi, unmistakable, the
