71

The first time Dominic and I kissed, I was fifteen, and he was seventeen. It happened on a night that still burns in my memory, tangled in the chaos we created. Against our parents' will, we snuck out of the house, dodging the ever-watchful eyes of the security guards stationed like statues around the mansion and sprawling estate.

Perks of being the kids of super-rich parents: constant surveillance. Endless suits and buff men with earpieces, their only mission to make sure we stayed within the confines of the cage our parents had created.

I was only allowed three places, Dominic’s parent's mansion across my parent's. Galas and events. Then the high class high school I attended in Paris.

However, even though I had boundaries, a limit, the guards were always keeping watch.

But Dominic… oh, Dominic had a knack forslipping through their ironclad routines. Where they saw walls, he saw openings. Where they set rules, he made plans to break them. He always found a way to give us those fleeting moments of freedom, those stolen hours where the world felt ours to conquer.

The first time I went to a club—yes, at fifteen, and yes, it was as reckless as it sounds—it was with Dominic.

“It’s just a club, Ellie,” he’d said with that devilish grin, his dark eyes gleaming in the moonlight. He looked older than his seventeen years, a demigod trapped in the body of a teenager. His broad shoulders filled out his black shirt, and his jawline was so sharp it could cut glass. His skin, olive toned, smooth and so clean, was something I could never stop fantasising about. Licking him all over, which I got to, on different occasions.

He could make any female knees weaken from miles away.

That was how good he looked.

Women in estate whispered about him, their voices filled with admiration and a hint of desire, unaware they were lusting after someone who wasn’t even legal yet.

“Dominic, this is insane!” I hissed, glancing nervously at the back door of one of the mansion my father owned, as he led me by the hand, his grip firm and unwavering.

“You’re no fun,” he teased, pulling me closer to him when I tried to tug my hand free. “Don’t tell me you’ve never dreamed of sneaking out, running wild, living a little.”

“I don’t think ‘living a little’ includes breaking every rule ever made!” I shot back, my voice a mix of exasperation and excitement.

He stopped abruptly, turning to face me. “Rules are for people who don’t know how to have fun. Now, come on. Keep up.”

When I hesitated, he didn’t give me a choice. In one swift move, he bent down, threw me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing, and started walking toward the gates.

“Dominic!” I shrieked, pounding my fists against his back. “Put me down!”

“Not a chance, princess,” he laughed, his voice rich and deep, vibrating against my stomach. “You’re too slow.”

“Because I’m wearing heels, you idiot!”

“Not my fault you thought stilettos were a good idea for sneaking out.”

By the time we reached the edge of the estate, I was breathless—not from exertion, but from the sheer exhilaration of being with him. He finally set me down, his hands lingering on my waist for just a moment too long, sending a shiver up my spine.

We made it to the club without getting caught, slipping past the bouncers with fake IDs Dominic had somehow acquired. Inside, the bass pounded in my chest, the lights flashing in chaotic bursts. It was overwhelming and intoxicating, and I clung to Dominic’s arm as he navigated the crowd with ease.

“Relax,” he murmured into my ear, his breath hot against my skin. “I’ve got you.”

And he did. Whether it was sneaking shots from the bar (which I immediately regretted), dancing wildly to music I couldn’t hear over my own heartbeat, or laughing so hard I forgot my nerves, Dominic was always there, his presence steady and grounding amidst the chaos.

That was just one of our many adventures. There were nights when we climbed the massive oak tree outside my window, whispering jokes and secrets as we perched on its thick branches. There were afternoons when he dragged me into the estate’s stables, challenging me to race him on horseback. And there was that one unforgettable evening when he convinced me to sneak into the neighbor’s pool.

“I can’t swim!” I protested as he pulled me toward the edge.

“You won’t need to,” he said with a wicked grin, and before I could argue, he scooped me up and jumped in, both of us splashing into the cool water.

“Dominic!” I gasped, coughing as I surfaced.

“See? You didn’t drown,” he said, his laughter echoing around us.

“You’re insufferable.”

“You’re adorable when you’re mad.”

He always pushed me, challenged me, made me step outside of my comfort zone. And I loved him for it, even when I pretended not to.

From underground fights to high-stakes illegal street races in the glittering streets of Paris, Dominic’s life was filled with chaos and insanity.

“Ellie, you have to see this,” he said one night, dragging me by the hand through the winding alleys of the city. His grip was firm, his grin infectious, and his dark eyes gleamed with that mischievous light I’d come to associate with trouble.

“See what?” I asked, already out of breath from trying to keep up.

“You’ll see.”

It was an underground fight—a secret ring where blood and sweat mixed under the flickering glow of bare lightbulbs. Men twice his size and twice his age squared off in brutal, no-holds-barred matches. And there was Dominic, standing shirtless in the center of it all, his lean muscles taut, his fists clenched, and that infuriating smirk plastered on his face. The crowd around him chanted his name endlessly, like this wasn't his first time doing this.

"Dominic! Dominic! Dominic!" The roars filled the entire space, echoing off the walls as he rounded in a circle, blowing kisses.

“Are you insane?” I hissed, grabbing his arm.

“Relax, Ellie,” he said, bending down so his face was level with mine. “I’ve got this.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed!”

“Not tonight.”

He kissed my forehead—soft, almost tender—and then stepped into the ring. Watching him fight was both horrifying and mesmerizing. He moved like a predator, his punches calculated, his footwork precise. Years of endless practice as a mafia lord's first and only son. When he won, his opponent lying crumpled on the ground, he turned to me with blood on his lip and excitement in his eyes.

“See?” he said, grinning. “Told you I had this.”

But the fights were just the beginning.

One day, while his parents were away on a business trip, Dominic somehow acquired three luxury race cars. He refused to tell me how—something about “knowing the right people.” What I did know was that he planned to race them.

“Are you serious?” I asked as he revved the engine of a sleek black Lamborghini in a deserted alleyway.

“Dead serious,” he replied, pulling on a pair of driving gloves.

“And you’re betting how much on this race?”

“Fifty grand,” he said casually, like it was pocket change.

“Dominic!”

“What’s the point of money if you don’t spend it?” He flashed me that devilish grin. “Now get in.”

“What? No way!”

But he didn’t give me a choice. Before I knew it, I was strapped into the passenger seat, my hands gripping the door for dear life as Dominic sped through the streets of Paris, weaving between traffic, skimming past pedestrians, and narrowly avoiding collisions.

“Dominic, we’re going to die!” I screamed as he took a sharp turn at breakneck speed.

“Not tonight!” he shouted back, his laughter echoing over the roar of the engine.

And somehow, we didn’t. He won the race, pocketing the money with an arrogant smirk, and kissed me on my forehead and all over my face endlessly afterward I forgot to be angry.

But there were other races—more dangerous, more reckless. Dominic made it a point to always have me in the car, saying it was for luck. He pushed the limits every time, driving faster, taking riskier bets, and always coming out on top.

One night, after a particularly wild race through the rain-slick streets, we nearly crashed into the Seine. The car skidded, the tires screeching, and for a heart-stopping moment, we teetered on the edge of the bridge, the river raging below.

“Dominic…” I whispered, my voice trembling.

“Hang on,” he said, his knuckles white as he gripped the wheel and somehow, miraculously, managed to reverse back onto solid ground.

I slapped his arm as soon as we were safe. “You’re insane! You’re going to get us both killed!”

He just laughed, pulling me into his arms. “Not tonight,” he said, his lips brushing against my ear.

And then there was the night of the kiss.

We’d just escaped another race, Dominic pocketing a hundred grand like it was nothing, and we were hiding out in the abandoned greenhouse on the estate.

“You’re unbelievable,” I muttered, pacing back and forth while he leaned against a rusted table, watching me with a lazy grin.

“You mean irresistible,” he corrected, his voice low and teasing.

“You could’ve died! We could’ve died!”

“But we didn’t.” He straightened, crossing the room in a few long strides until he was right in front of me. “And do you know why?”

“Why?” I snapped, glaring up at him.

“Because I don’t lose, Ellie.” His voice was soft now, almost a whisper. “Not in races, not in fights, and not when it comes to you.”

Before I could respond, he grabbed my waist, pulling me flush against him. His lips crashed against mine, rough and demanding, his hands roaming over my body like he couldn’t get enough.

I gasped as his hand slid down to cup my butt, lifting me slightly so I was on my toes. His other hand tangled in my hair, tilting my head back as he deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing mine.

“Dominic,” I whispered against his mouth, my voice barely audible.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his lips trailing down my jaw to my neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

But I didn’t.

Because in that moment, with my heart racing and his touch consuming me, I didn’t care about the danger, the recklessness, or the consequences. All I cared about was him.

Dominic was my chaos, my storm, my wildest adventure. And I was hopelessly, recklessly in love with him.

Even in his death.

Our lives had been perfect.

Until everything went downhill.

Now, lying on the cold concrete floor of this cell, those memories felt like a lifetime ago.

It had been five days since I was thrown in here, and the hunger gnawed at me relentlessly. My stomach growled, but I forced myself to ignore it. The smell of filth clung to me—sweat, dirt, and the stench of this place. I hadn’t showered. I felt disgusting.

The guards had stopped trying to force me to eat after the third day. Now they had left me to rot, waiting for me to break. But I wouldn’t.

I stayed still, my eyes shut tight. The silence pressed in, broken only by the occasional drip of water from somewhere in the distance. I was waiting. Waiting for something—anything. A sound, a shout, a gunshot. Something to snap me out of this misery and give me a reason to move.

In my mind, I pictured Vaughn. I imagined his face, his voice, and the ways I would make him pay when I got out of here.

The clatter of the prison gate snapped me back to the present. I didn’t open my eyes, but I heard the heavy footsteps of a guard.

“Get up,” he barked. I didn’t move.

He cursed under his breath and stepped closer, crouching next to me. “You stink,” he muttered, wrinkling his nose. “You’re disgusting.”

His words stung, but I didn’t react.

“You’ve got visitors,” he sneered. “Guess you’re not as pathetic as you pretend to be.”

I opened my eyes then, slowly, staring up at him with a blank expression.

“Finally,” he said, rolling his eyes.

Before he could say anything else, I slammed my head into his nose. The crunch of bone breaking was satisfying, and his shout filled the air.

I didn’t wait. I was on my feet before he even hit the floor.