OLIVIA
Everything was definitely not okay.
The clink of champagne glasses should have been intoxicating, but all I felt was the weight of Enrique's hand, firm and deliberate, resting at the small of my back. The pressure wasn't harsh, but it wasn't gentle either. It was deliberate. Protective. Like a silent warning that I did not quite understand.
He guided me through the room as if we were dancing, his movements fluid but his posture taut. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, noting the way his gaze scanned the crowd. Not in awe or curiosity like mine had been when we first walked in, but with suspicion.
I should have felt safe under his watchful eye. Instead, my skin prickled with unease. There was something about his grip, his gaze, his energy, that screamed he was anticipating trouble.
And then there was his father.
Christobal Garcia had cornered me earlier in the evening, his sharp eyes dissecting me like I was one of the jeweled treasures on display for the night's bidding.
"So, Olivia," he'd said, swirling his drink lazily, "how did you meet my son?"
His tone was casual, but his gaze betrayed a different intent. It wasn't curiosity—it was something darker, colder.
"It was something out of a fairy tale," I had answered vaguely, giving him a polite smile.
"Was it now? And how well do you know him?"
The question was pointed. His meaning wasn't hidden, and I could tell he was leading me somewhere I didn't want to go. I shifted on my heels, searching for Enrique in the crowd. Our eyes met across the threshold and he shot me a quick smile that did not reach his eyes.
"Well enough," I replied, keeping my tone light. "He is a good man."
Christobal's expression barely shifted, but there was a glint in his eyes, a flicker of something that looked an awful lot like disapproval.
"Good man," he repeated, almost mockingly. "I see"
I didn't. I didn't see anything except the unmistakable tension between father and son that I hadn't fully understood until now.
Back in the present, I was seated beside Enrique at a table close to the stage where the bidding was in full swing. Pieces of jewelry I could only describe as stunning and very much illegal were being paraded in front of a crowd that applauded as if this was a charity auction and not some dark underbelly of wealth on display. I watched, fascinated but uneasy, as bids climbed higher and higher for a necklace that glittered too much to be anything but real diamonds.
Enrique's hand left mine abruptly, and I turned to see him rising from his chair.
"I will be back," he murmured. His voice was low, almost reassuring, but his eyes didn't meet mine as he walked off, weaving his way through the sea of silk gowns and sharp tuxedos.
Now alone, I tried to focus on the auction, but my attention was fragmented, scattered by the questions swirling in my mind.
Why had his father questioned me like that? Why had Enrique been so… different tonight? And why, when I looked at him, did it feel like he was carrying a secret that could crush us both?
The sound of the chair beside me scraping against the floor startled me. My head snapped around, ready to tell whoever it was that the seat was taken, but the words died on my tongue when I saw him.
A man, impeccably dressed, leaned back in the chair like he belonged there. His hair was dark and slicked back, his features sharp and intimidating. He didn't look at me, not at first. Instead, his attention was on the stage, but there was something calculated in the way he sat. Like he wanted to appear casual but was anything but.
"Excuse me, but—" I started, but my voice faltered as I caught sight of Enrique.
He was making his way back to the table, his stride purposeful, his gaze locked onto the man beside me. Something passed between them when their eyes met—something angry and unspoken.
The man beside me smirked, the corner of his mouth curling upward in a way that made my stomach twist. Enrique didn't break stride, but his jaw clenched, and when he reached me, he placed a hand on my shoulder with a possessiveness that wasn't subtle.
"Let's go," he said, his voice low but firm.
I did not hesitate. Grateful for the escape, I rose to my feet and slipped my hand into his without thinking. His grip was warm and steady, and as he led me through the crowd, I could feel the eyes on us—on him.
We stepped outside into the cool night air, and I took a deep breath, trying to shake off the crawling sensation that had settled under my skin.
"What's going on, Enrique?" I asked, turning to face him.
"Nothing you need to worry about," he replied, his tone dismissive. But his eyes, dark and guarded, told a different story.
"Enrique…"
"It is business," he cut me off, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from my face. "That is all."
I opened my mouth to press further, but he spoke again, his tone softening.
"You look stunning tonight, by the way. Did I mention that?"
I frowned, knowing exactly what he was doing but deciding not to fight it. He was deflecting, and I let him, because the last thing I wanted was to unravel whatever darkness had followed us out of that party.
"Thank you," I said quietly, allowing myself a small smile.
The car ride home was suffocatingly silent. Enrique's hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles pale under the dim glow of the dashboard lights. I watched him out of the corner of my eye, noting the tension in his jaw and the way his eyes stayed glued to the road as if he could not trust himself to look at me.
"Who was that man?" I asked finally, breaking the silence.
Enrique didn't respond immediately. His grip on the wheel tightened, and for a moment, I thought he wouldn't answer.
"No one you need to worry about," he said eventually, his tone clipped.
"That's the second time you have said that tonight," I muttered, crossing my arms. "It is not exactly reassuring and if there is something wrong, don't you think I need to be aware so as to stay…
His eyes flicked to me briefly before returning to the road.
"You are safe, Olivia. That's all that matters and we are not exactly going to pry into each other's business, are we?"
Safe. The word hung in the air between us, heavy and suffocating. Safe from what? From who? I wanted to press further, but the storm brewing in his eyes warned me against it.
Instead, I shifted in my seat, looking out the window as the city lights blurred past. "You know," I said quietly, "if you want me to trust you, you are going to have to be honest with me."
His sharp exhale was the only response I got.
"Some things are better left in the dark and this is one of such things. It is better if you don't know."
I turned to look at him, my brows furrowing. "Better for who? Me or you?"
He didn't answer, and the silence that followed was deafening.
When we finally pulled into the driveway, I practically bolted from the car, eager to put distance between us. Enrique followed, his presence shadowing me all the way into the penthouse.
"Olivia," he called as I reached the front door. I paused, my hand on the doorknob, but I didn't turn around.
"I am sorry," he said softly.
I didn't respond. Instead, I walked inside, the echo of his apology ringing in my ears as I made my way to my room.
Once inside, I kicked off my heels and grabbed my laptop, setting it on the bed in front of me. My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before I started typing.
If there was a way to figure it out, then it would mean searching for something about the auction.
A picture of the man should get me something about him.
The search yielded nothing. No pictures, no articles, nothing. It was as if the party did not exist. The guest list, the auction, the jewels—it was all a ghost.
Frustrated, I closed the laptop and leaned back against the headboard, my mind racing. Something wasn't right. I could feel it in my bones.
And yet, as I stared up at the ceiling, one thought lingered above all the others. Enrique was hiding something. And I wasn't sure I wanted to know what it was.
I stared at the screen of my laptop and leaned forward to type one name... Christobal Garcia.
Enrique father's face flooded my screens with newspaper articles about him and it was there I saw the man I was looking for.
Roman.
That was his name.
An Egyptian also associated with the Galician mafia and not a person someone like me should be sitting with.
He was at the ball and he knew Enrique.
I let out the breath I had been holding in my chest
What the hell have I gotten myself into with him?