The mansion was quieter than usual that night, too still, as if it held its breath.
Isabella sat by the mirror brushing her hair when the knock came. Three polite taps, followed by a voice she recognized.
"Señora?" It was Maritza, her tone careful.
"Come in" Isabella said.
"El Diablo wants to see you."
For a moment, Isabella froze,her heart skipping a bit. It hadn't skipped this way in a month. It had been weeks, four long, silent weeks since he'd last summoned. She hardly saw him in the house either,always catching a glimpse of him leaving in his car few times in the morning.
She stood, her stomach tightening with a mix of dread and something she couldn't quite name. "Tell him I'll be there," she said, voice steadier than she felt.
When Maritza left, Isabella dressed quietly. A simple silk slip, the color of cream. She hesitated in front of the mirror in uncertainty. What would happen in his room?.
She made the walk down the hall slowly, her feet soundless against the marble. By the time she reached his door, her pulse was already loud in her ears.
She knocked.
"Enter," came Rafael's voice, calm, distant, absolute.
He was sitting in the high-backed chair near the fireplace, jacket discarded. A glass of whiskey rested on the table beside him, untouched.
He didn't rise. Didn't even look at her at first. "Close the door."
She obeyed.
Then, without looking away from the fire, he said quietly, "Strip."
The word was cold, measured, a command, not a request.
For a moment she just stood there, fingers trembling at her sides. The humiliation was familiar, but something inside her rebelled. Still, she did as told,one movement at a time until she stood before him, bare, heart hammering.
He looked up then. His gaze moved over her slowly not with desire, but with something else that Isabella couldn't name.
When his eyes finally met hers, she couldn't breathe.
He reached out, caught her chin between two fingers, and tilted her face upward.
"You've been quiet," he said.
"So have you," she managed to say.
Something flickered in his eyes, amusement, maybe surprise. But it vanished quickly.
And then, before she could stop herself, she leaned forward, just a little toward him.
It wasn't planned. It wasn't part of anything she'd rehearsed with Selena. It was instinct, a reckless surge of courage that came from being tired of fear.
Her lips barely grazed the air between them when he drew back slightly, his brows tightening.
"What are you doing?" he asked, voice flat.
"What you'll never do," she whispered.
That made him pause. For the first time, she saw something like confusion cross his face,it was brief but real. He stood, the movement deliberate, his height shadowing her.
She held her ground. Her breath hitched, but she didn't look away.
He turned as if to move back to his chair, but she caught his arm. Her hand met the hard muscle of his forearm; the heat of him startled her.
"Don't walk away," she said.
He looked down at her hand gripping him, then up at her again. "What's gotten into you?"
"I think this is how I stop being afraid."
That silenced him not because he had no answer, but because he wasn't used to being confronted at all.
Then, with a quiet sigh, he gently, almost dismissively pried her hand off his arm. "Put your clothes back on," he said. "I'm no longer interested tonight."
Her eyes burned, but she kept her voice steady. "You can't keep calling me here and commanding me like I'm one of your soldiers. I'm a person, Rafael."
He took his seat again, unbothered, his tone ice-cold. "Then act like one. Leave when you're told to."
"I'm not leaving."
"Then stay," he said simply, pouring himself another drink. "Enjoy yourself."
The sarcasm in his voice stung more than any insult.
She stood there, exposed and trembling,part of her refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.
Minutes dragged on. The fire crackled. He didn't look at her once.
At last, the silence broke her. She turned, gathered her clothes, and slipped them back on, each button like a small act of defiance.
When she reached the door, she hesitated then said quietly, "You don't command everything, Rafael."
He didn't answer. But his glass stopped halfway to his lips.
She left without looking back, the echo of the door closing sounding like the first crack in something much larger than either of them could control.
Rafael sat motionless for a long time after Isabella stormed out. The echo of the door slamming seemed to hang in the room, pulsing against his temples like a heartbeat he couldn't silence.
Her scent still lingered, her perfume, soft and disarming. He exhaled slowly, realizing his fists were clenched, the muscles in his jaw tight enough to ache.
He'd faced men who screamed his name before dying. He'd watched entire operations crumble under his command. But nothing....nothing.... had ever made him feel this out of control.
The memory replayed unbidden,her defiant eyes when she told him she was human, her hand gripping his arm with unexpected strength. The way she'd tried to kiss him not in submission, but in challenge.
Something in him had faltered.
Something he didn't recognize or didn't want to.
He dragged a hand down his face and stood abruptly, pacing toward the window. Outside, the night pressed against the glass, heavy and silent. He caught his reflection in the pane sharp lines, cold eyes but for the first time, the man staring back didn't look untouchable. He looked… conflicted.
"She's just a woman," he muttered, half to himself. "A contract. Nothing more."
But the words felt hollow.
His pulse still hadn't settled. Her voice trembling but firm echoed in his head "I'm a person."
He scoffed under his breath, but the sound broke halfway through, betraying the anger that wasn't anger at all. It was something far more dangerous.
He grabbed his glass from the desk and poured himself another drink. The whiskey burned on the way down, but it didn't clear his thoughts.
If she could make him hesitate once, she could do it again.
He leaned against the desk, head bowed, the faintest crease cutting between his brows.
He wasn't afraid of her.
But he was starting to fear what she might awaken in him.
The truth was harder to ignore, for the first time in a long time, Rafael Navarro, El Diablo, felt something he couldn't name, something dangerously close to weakness.
And it terrified him.
He stared into his glass, the amber light flickering like fire, and whispered almost to himself
"She's going to ruin me."