Isabella
Two hours later, we finally arrived.
Royal Elite Club—REC, as the city's sinful elite called it.
The building pulsed with music and heat and lights that didn't know how to blink. It wasn't just a club. It was a world—a fever dream built by wealth, sin, and whatever the hell was in the D'Angelo bloodline. The place boiled with drugs, sex, secrets, and power.
But we didn't come for all of that.
We came for something.
I was stepping through the massive entrance when—
Click.
My body stiffened. Again. That sound. That cold breath on my neck. That knowing.
"Eve," I whispered, gripping her arm. "I keep hearing clicks."
She rolled her eyes, tossing her long ponytail like it weighed nothing. "Fuck it, babe. It's a fucking club. People take pictures. Relax."
"Yeah, but if my father finds—"
"Fuck your father," she snapped, cutting me off. "Seriously. This is your life, Isa. You're not his prisoner."
Her words stuck. Like a slap and a kiss all at once.
Yeah.
Fuck him.
I was tired of tiptoeing around his power. Tired of being hidden behind walls like something to be protected—or owned. Tired of pretending.
Tonight, I was going to live.
The club was alive.
Every kind of person you could imagine danced under the strobe lights—heirs, models, future criminals, socialites, political bastards. We danced like the world was ending and drank like we were trying to drown it.
We laughed. Twirled. Took shots of something that tasted like regret and cherries.
And then—
Ting.
My phone buzzed in my hand. I looked down and smiled.
He's here.
I turned to Evangeline, shouting over the music. "He's here!"
"Go grab it, girl! I'll be right here waiting!"
I ran. My heels clicked on the marble as I climbed the staircase and stepped into the gold-plated elevator. I hit 8. The doors shut with a whisper.
The higher floors of REC were like another dimension. A place where money and influence bought anything. Rooms for those who wanted to stay. Corners made for things that weren't spoken of. And at the very top—a penthouse.
Owned by the D'Angelo family.
Yes, those D'Angelos. Richest in the country. Powerful. Dangerous. And this club? It was their playground.
I stepped out into a hallway that felt like it belonged in a hotel, not a club. Velvet carpet. Dark paneling. Dim lighting that made everything feel a little more secret.
Room 43.
I stopped in front of the door, staring at the silver handle like it held the answer to every bad decision I was about to make.
Should I go in? Should I turn around? Should I—
Fuck it.
I turned the knob.
And there he was.
Fernando.
Standing by the massive floor-to-ceiling window, dressed in all black, framed by the city lights. He looked like sin and silence rolled into one.
"Hey, blueberry muffin," I said.
"Hey, strawberry pie," his voice replied, deep and lazy like smoke.
Fernando wasn't flashy.
He didn't need to be.
He didn't flaunt his wealth, but God, he had it. The kind of money that whispers instead of screams. If someone owns a bathroom in REC, they're rich.
Fernando had a whole room.
He turned to face me, lips curled in a soft smile. "You made it."
"Barely," I muttered, stepping inside. "Someone might be following me."
He arched a brow but didn't ask. He knew the rules—no questions unless it's life or death.
And I wasn't sure yet which one this night would turn out to be.
Without a warning, Fernando slid the thin strap of my dress down my arm, his hand rough and slow as it traveled from the edge of my collarbone to my elbow like he owned the fucking right. That's all it took.
A fire snapped open inside me—hot, reckless, starving.
I clawed at his shirt and wrapped both arms around his neck, dragging his tall, rich-boy frame onto the bed with me. He didn't resist. He never did. His lips crashed into mine, soft and wet, and still I bit them until I tasted a
trace of blood.
One hand—his left—found my right tit and grabbed it without grace. I gasped, because that grip made my nipple twitch so hard it ached. The other hand slid between my thighs, confident like he'd been waiting to ruin me.
His fingers didn't ask permission.
Two slipped right inside my soaked pussy like I was already begging. Maybe I was.
My back arched, and I moaned like a fucking sinner. One hand gripped his silky blond hair while my mouth dragged across his jaw.
"Fuck…" I whispered.
He kept fucking me with his fingers—fast, deep, ruthless—curling inside me in ways that made my legs shake. My clit throbbed.
And then—he unzipped.
His cock sprang free. Veiny. Thick. Already glistening with pre-cum like it couldn't wait to get inside me.
Seven inches of spoiled brat privilege, and still I wanted to choke on it.
I wrapped my hand around it and yanked him closer. "Get on the bed. Shut up."
He obeyed. Of course.
Fernando didn't lead.
He followed.
He took what I gave, and tonight, I gave him every filthy thing I had.
I dropped to my knees and swallowed his cock whole—deep, slow, letting my throat tighten around it. I didn't stop when he moaned, didn't stop when he trembled. I wanted him trembling.
I pulled back only to spit on it, stroking hard and wet before climbing up and straddling him.
I bit his lip again—this time harder—and whispered against his mouth, "Don't come until I say."
His eyes—black and wide—watched me guide his cock into my dripping pussy.
My body sank down slow. Inch by inch. Stretching around him like I was made to be ruined.
"Fuck," he groaned.
My hips rolled, slow at first, then faster, harder, chasing the release burning up my spine. I rode him like I needed to come or die trying. My hands braced on his chest, nails digging through his button-up shirt.
"Y-you feel… too fucking good," he stammered, breath hot and shallow.
I laughed darkly. "I know."
His hands gripped my waist like he could stop me—but I was in control.
I always was.
Up. Down. Circling. Grinding. I could feel his cock twitching inside me, ready to spill.
"Don't," I hissed. "Not until I say."
His head hit the pillows, neck flushed red, eyes nearly rolled back.
"I'm gonna—"
"Not yet," I snapped, grinding harder.
Then—just before my orgasm tore me in half—
"Now!!"
We both came.
Hard. Loud. Messy.
My scream echoed across the room as I clenched around him, thighs shaking, fingers curling. His cock pulsed inside the condom until he was empty, gasping beneath me like he'd been dragged through hell.
I collapsed on top of him, both of us soaked in sweat, breathless and ruined. I could feel my own wetness sticking between my thighs.
He peeled off the condom and dragged himself to the bathroom.
I sat up slowly, slipped my panties on, smoothed down my dress, and walked to the painting across the room. Underneath it, a drink waited for me. I downed it in one long swallow.
But I couldn't ignore it.
That sound.
That fucking click.
Someone had seen.
Someone was watching.
And it wasn't Fernando.
"How's your mom?" I asked, slipping my shoe back on while Fernando zipped his pants.
"She's good. She wants to meet you."
My guilt slammed back like a fucking bullet train. My father's voice echoed in my skull: No boys. No relationships. No exceptions.
I've been riding Fernando's cock for two years—and the only person who knows is Evangeline.
My mouth opened, then closed. I searched my brain for an excuse, but before I could lie, my phone lit up.
Evangeline: where the fuck are you? it's almost 4:00AM.
"I gotta go," I whispered, grabbing my bag.
"You know," Fernando said, lazily buckling his belt, "you're 23. You're big enough to take care of yourself."
"You don't know my father. He'll kill anyone who breaks his rules."
He snorted. "Really? I fucked you. Isn't that a rule?"
"That's not funny."
"The rule wasn't don't fuck, right? It was don't get a boyfriend."
He smirked. "So technically… we're safe."
"Safe?" I raised a brow. "You wanna die? Say that shit in front of him and I'll personally pick out your coffin."
"Damn," he laughed. "That mouth's as deadly as your pussy."
His dirty talk was lame—like awkward, rich boy cringe. But if he wanted to play stupid, let him. I had enough on my plate.
I stormed out.
Downstairs, Evangeline gave me that I-know-you-just-got-dicked look.
"You slut," she teased. "Daddy thinks you're still his little princess."
"Well, you taught me well."
"I gotta piss before we roll," she said, then disappeared into the crowd.
I sank onto the bar stool, sipping something bitter, dark, and strong. That's when he appeared.
Tall. Shadowed. Too close.
"Not interested," I said coldly, not even turning.
"You will be," he said, tossing a black folder toward me.
I hesitated, fingers hovering above it.
The moment I opened it, my stomach dropped.
Photos.
One of me jumping the mansion fence.
One of me in Evangeline's car.
One of me walking into Royal Elite Club.
One of me at the elevator to room 43.
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
My blood turned to ice.
"It was you," I whispered. "I knew someone was watching."
"Keep walking, princess," he said like a fucking joke.
Then I turned the next page.
I gasped.
Me. Naked. Standing in front of Fernando.
Me on my knees, his dick in my mouth.
Me straddling him, riding like a fucking porn
star.
His fingers deep inside me.
"You bastard! You're dead.
I'm telling my father."
"No, sweetheart," he leaned closer. "You don't want Daddy finding out his perfect little girl broke out the house, snuck into a club, and fucked her boy-toy for an hour, do you?"
How the hell did he know that? How the fuck did he know anything about my father?
"Give me the photos." My voice was shaking.
"No." He zipped the folder back and slid it into his backpack. "I'll decide what I want soon. Until then? You stay quiet. Or your little lover boy dies. And since we're in the mood to tell secrets… maybe I'll swing by Governor
Modric's office myself."
Then he was gone—swallowed by the crowd.
My body went cold. My stomach twisted. I couldn't breathe.
Who was he?
How long has he been following me?
What the fuck does he want?
"Bitch, come on!" Evangeline's hand grabbed mine and yanked me through the club. "We gotta go!"
"What now?"
"Look," she hissed. "Your father's here. That's his fucking car. Don't you see it?"
SHIT!
I felt my soul leave my body.
Evangeline's car was parked two spots down from my father's. We ducked low, heads down, practically crawling through the lot before diving into her car.
She peeled out of the parking lot like the devil was on our bumper.
All the way home, my mind spiraled. A million questions. A million what-ifs. Who the hell was that guy? Why was he watching me? How long had he been collecting those photos?
By the time we pulled up to the mansion, dawn was kissing the sky.
I climbed back into my bed, pulled the sheets over my head, and closed my eyes.
Back to being the perfect princess.
Back to pretending my whole fucking life isn't one bad secret away from exploding.