Page 10 of Charming Villain
I turn my head, gaze landing on the sleeping form beside me. Luca’s sprawled on his stomach, his face half-buried in the crook of his arm. The sheets barely cover his hips, leaving most of his back exposed. The faint orange glow from outside throws half of him into shadow, but I can still make out the muscular planes of his shoulders and the dark hair that curls slightly at his nape.
I feel a soft pull in my chest at the sight. There’s a gentleness to him right now, something I didn’t see at the bar or in the desperate moments after we first tumbled into this bed. His face is slack, his expression unguarded, and without the tension that lined his features earlier, he looks almost boyish. Something stirs low in my stomach. I find myself wanting to reach out and run my fingers along the curve of his shoulder. Maybe even trace the scar on his chest if he were sleeping on his back. But a part of me warns that it’s better to leave it be.
I let my eyes linger on him for a few more seconds, memorizing the angle of his jaw. Then, with a soft sigh, I shift away and slide out of bed. My dress is crumpled in a heap near the foot, one strap twisted. My panties are flung over a nearby chair, and my heels—well, one is by the door, and the other might have ended up halfway across the room for all I know. Wincing slightly, I bend to retrieve my clothes. The room’s air conditioning stirs, blowing a lukewarm current across my bare skin, and I suppress a shiver as I straighten.
I glance around, noticing my small clutch on the nightstand. The contents have spilled out—my lipstick, a stray $5 bill, and my phone lying screen-down on the cheap veneer. When I flip it over, the stark white glow reveals the time in glaring digits: 12:08 AM.
A tremor of terror ripples through me.Past midnight.The echo of a childish fairy tale stirs in my mind:Cinderella had to leave the ball before the clock struck twelve.A humorless smile curves my lips.Guess I’m about to turn into a pumpkin.
Or maybe I already have. The moment I step back into my father’s world, my illusions vanish. No more pretending to be my cousin, Allegra, no more living for myself. I’ll be Gianna again, the dutiful daughter, the pawn he uses for alliances and power. And after what I just did, I’m not sure how I’m going to hide it.
That thought tightens my chest. But at the same time, a hot flush of satisfaction spreads through me.I did it anyway.Even if I face consequences, even if tonight is the only time I’ll ever feel free, it wasmine.
Setting my phone down carefully, I grab my underwear and slip it on, wincing at the pull in my muscles. Then I pick up my dress and step into it, tugging the fabric over my hips, remembering how it came off in a frantic rush hours ago. My heart stutters at the memory. For a few breathless moments, I feltpowerful, unstoppable—a woman claiming her own body and her own future.
I find my heels next. The left one lies overturned by the closet, the other near the door. How they ended up so far apart, I can only guess. The small grin that tugs at my mouth is half embarrassment, half triumph. If I’m honest, I’m proud of this scattered evidence of our reckless, messy passion. Even if it all ends once I step outside these walls, at least it happened.
Once I’m dressed, I take one last look at Luca. He’s still sprawled across the bed in heavy slumber. My heart squeezes. I pause, my hand half-lifted in a gesture I don’t remember making.Should I wake him?
An ache swells in my chest. I can imagine leaning down to brush a kiss over his shoulder or maybe whispering a parting line in his ear. But a gnawing voice warns me that might only complicate matters. We shared an unforgettable night. If I say goodbye, he might try to keep me here. And I can’t stay, no matter how much I might want to.
Instead, I memorize his features: the slight curl of his dark lashes against his cheek, the way his mouth tilts down even in sleep like he’s frowning at some dream. A bruise darkens his collarbone—my doing. The memory sends a fresh ripple of heat through me.
I want to remember his face; I want to remember this moment. When I go back to the mansion and resume my role as Giovanni Lucatello’s prisoner, I will always have the memory of tonight. He can’t take that away from me.
I pull on my coat—Luca’s coat, actually. Then, recalling it’s not mine, I shrug it off and drape it over the end of the bed. The hotel’s climate is chilly, but I’ll manage. I want to leave as few traces of myself as possible.
I slip outside, careful not to let the door slam. The corridor is eerily silent. I hurry down the hallway, heels thudding softly against the carpet. The elevator dings on arrival, and I exhale shakily as I step in. My reflection in the mirrored walls is no less disheveled than it was an hour ago, but there’s a glint in my eyes that wasn’t there yesterday.I have changed.
Descending to the lobby feels like descending back into reality. The dingy surroundings come into focus: the outdated lobby furniture, the yellowish glow of the overhead lights, and the peeling paint around the baseboards. A bored-looking clerk sits behind the desk, not even glancing up when I pass. I slip outside into the night, and the air is still damp and cool from the earlier rain.
The sidewalk is mostly deserted, though the occasional car rolls by. A nearby streetlamp buzzes ominously, threatening to go out. I fish my phone from my clutch and request a ride, my fingers trembling slightly as I type in my father’s address.
My father’s estate. The fortress I’ve been tethered to my entire life. An uneasy swirl of dread and defiance stirs in my gut. He might be furious, or maybe he’s still locked in his study with his men, unaware that his daughter was out all night. That uncertainty gnaws at me, but I try to channel the boldness that fueled me hours ago.
Within minutes, a black sedan pulls up to the curb. I slip into the back seat, giving the driver a polite nod. He’s an older man with gray hair, wearing a rumpled jacket, and he looks half-asleep until he glances at me in the rearview mirror. I meet his eyes briefly, but neither of us says a word. If he notices my disheveled appearance and smudged makeup, he keeps it to himself.
As we pull away, the city rushes past the windows in a blur of well-lit signs and shuttered storefronts. The roads are nearly empty at this hour—just the occasional Uber or wandering soul. I sink into the seat, my body exhausted yet buzzing with adrenaline. My muscles protest with each shift, the soreness radiating a quiet throb through my core. It’s a strange comfort; it’s proof that the night was real.
I let my head rest against the window, eyes half-closed, the gentle hum of the engine lulling me into a semi-trance.Is this it?I wonder. One night of freedom before I’m taken back to the lion’s den. My father’s domain. My father’s rules. My impending marriage arrangement. I have no idea how soon the wedding might be or with whom—but I’ve already broken the one vow he no doubt assumed I’d preserve.
A small, defiant smile tugs at my lips.Let Father find out. Let him rage.Because no matter what he does to me now, I’ll always have this.
The car slows as we reach the outskirts of my father’s estate. The gates loom like black iron sentinels, towering high enough to discourage intruders—or escape. My heart gives a nervous jump as the driver punches in the code I recite to him, and the gates swing open with a reluctant squeal.
We roll up the long, winding driveway, white gravel crunching under the tires. The imposing mansion stands at the top of a gentle slope, lights burning in a few windows. A flicker of apprehension snakes through my chest. Is Father awake? Did someone see me leave? Is Angelo waiting with a smug grin, ready to collect on his favor?
I thank the driver quietly, forcing my voice not to shake. He nods, pulling away with the same indifferent calm he arrived with, and I’m left alone. For a moment, I linger at the base of the steps, summoning courage. The overhead light casts harsh shadows across the ornate carvings on the double doors—lions, ironically enough, locked in eternal battle. My father’s insignia and a constant reminder of who holds the power.
But I’m not powerless anymore. I press a hand to my lower belly, where a lingering warmth from my earlier escapades still resonates. At least now I know what it feels like to be free, if only for a night.
“Welcome home,” I whisper, the words dripping with irony. The grandeur of the mansion only serves to highlight my captivity. There’s no real comfort here, only the knowledge that I’ve returned to obligations I was born into.
Tomorrow,I think as I ascend the stairs,tomorrow I’ll figure out how to lie to Father’s face if I need to. I’ll make up a story if he asks, craft something believable about where I disappeared to.The details can wait until my head is clearer, until the last traces of rebellion fade from my skin. Tonight, I allow myself the luxury of a secret, the only precious thing I’ve ever truly owned.
Chapter7
Luciano
