A week later, nothing felt the same. Zara, whose arrival felt like both a blessing and a complication, had integrated seamlessly into their fractured little family.
She and Sofia were already inseparable, and her bond with Ariana had deepened into something akin to genuine friendship.
Wednesday began innocently enough. Roberto, in a startling display of domestic ambition, suggested a "family hangout."
Zara's excitement was palpable, a pure, uncomplicated joy that felt alien to Ariana.
She simply raised an eyebrow in response to his suggestion, her skepticism a shield she wore well.
Despite her reservations, she agreed to join.
The day was a whirlwind of manufactured happiness: a matinee movie, a hurried stop at the spa, a massive shopping spree, and finally, the loud, dizzying blur of an amusement park.
All day, Roberto attempted to start meaningful conversations, but Ariana expertly deflected him, focusing all her attention on keeping Zara engaged and distracted.
By the time they piled back into the car, the sugar-rush and adrenaline had worn off.
Zara was sound asleep, her head nestled in Ariana's lap.
Roberto sat beside her in the back seat, the hum of the city streets filling the silence.
"Would you like to go somewhere else?" he asked, his voice low.
"No, I'm good," she replied flatly, staring out the window at the passing traffic.
"Look, about the other day..." he started, a nervous energy surrounding him. "I didn't mean it that way."
Ariana watched the busy streets, scoffing internally. It had taken him a week to offer a half-hearted apology. Pathetic.
"You said exactly how you felt," she said, finding her voice at last, keeping it carefully neutral.
"It's all a performance, so let's leave it at that. No need to dwell on it any longer."
Roberto sighed in exhaustion, clearly pissed off, but Ariana didn't care.
"Arturo, take them home," he snapped to the driver, his voice edged with something unspoken.
Roberto didn't go home. He had Arturo drop him off at the towering glass and steel monolith that housed Antonio's empire.
At the front desk, he found Melissa, her posture rigid but calm, a serene facade after the previous week's breakdown.
"Can I get a cup of espresso?" Roberto whispered to her.
"Sure thing," she replied, her eyes meeting his briefly before she turned away.
Roberto strolled toward Antonio's executive suite. He pushed open the door without knocking.
The scene inside was instantly aggravating.
Antonio was pressed against his desk, fully engaged in a passionate kiss with Chloe, his fiancee whose existence seemed defined solely by luxury labels and high-pitched whining.
"For Pete's sake, get a room," Roberto said in irritation.
Antonio pulled away, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, eyeing Roberto with disgust.
"The hell are you doing here?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Roberto leaned against the doorframe casually.
"Anyway, you might want to clean your lips. You've got lipstick."
"Chloe, you can go home now," Antonio said, dismissing her with a wave of his hand.
"I want to spend time with you," she whined, clinging to his arm like a child.
"Go shopping if you like. Use my card."
"Can I get a kiss?" she persisted.
"Sure." Antonio sighed, giving her a quick peck.
The door flew open at that exact moment. Melissa walked in, holding a steaming cup of coffee.
Antonio's eyes flew open, fixing on Melissa, who remained expressionless. At this moment Chloe deepened the kiss.
She was calm and composed, a stark contrast to the dramatic tableau around her.
She simply walked forward and placed the coffee on the table.
Chloe broke the kiss, oblivious to the atmosphere that had just shifted entirely.
"Alright, honey, I'll see you in a bit." She flashed a dismissive look at Melissa as she breezed past.
Antonio's eyes never left Melissa.
"If that would be all, please excuse me," she said, turning to leave.
"Have you had anything to eat?" Roberto asked, stopping her.
He noticed the strange, intense way Antonio was staring at her.
"Yes, sir," Melissa replied, looking at Roberto now.
"Alright. Get Antonio a new bottle of whiskey."
Melissa glanced at the shelf behind Antonio's desk, which clearly held two new, unopened bottles. She pretended not to notice them.
"Right away," she said, leaving the room without another word.
"Why the fuck did you call her over?" Antonio hissed the moment the door clicked shut.
"What do you mean?" Roberto asked, genuinely confused.
"I asked her to get me a coffee. What has that got to do with whatever crisis you're having?"
Antonio buried his face in his palms.
"What did you do?" Roberto demanded.
"Nothing," Antonio muttered into his hands.
"You have that 'I screwed everything up and there's nothing I can do about it' expression on your face, man."
"Nothing," Antonio repeated.
"If you say so," Roberto shrugged. "That aside... how about we go out tonight?" Antonio asked.
"Are you forgetting I'm a married man?" Roberto asked, his brow slightly lifted.
"Quit the pretense. We both know it's a for show." Antonio said.
"Fuck you" Roberto said.
Roberto left Antonio's office. He had to take care of something in his father's company.
Antonio needed more than just a quiet evening to forget the electric, unforgettable kiss he'd shared with Melissa last week—a kiss that had fundamentally destabilized his entire existence.
He needed a distraction, a physical erasure of the memory that kept him awake at night.
He had arranged a meeting at The Grand Albatross, a hotel as anonymous as the rendezvous itself.
Room 402 offered the quiet anonymity he craved.
Reaching the room, he opened to find Penelope seated on the bed.
Her dress left little to the imagination.
"It's very rare to get a call from you Antonio. I'm the one who mostly begs for your attention" Penelope said her voice as smooth as a silk.
"Tough day?" She asked her voice laced with concern.
"You could say that" Antonio replied casually.
She didn't waste time with small talk.
She reached for him, her movements confident and deliberate.
She pulled his shirt free from his belt and moved her hands to the zipper of his trousers.
The harsh, brief rasp of metal breaking its seal was loud in the quiet room.
As she lowered the zipper and began to pull his pants down past his hips, her hands stilled.
Antonio, lost in his own headspace, didn't notice the sudden pause.
"Antonio," she said, the amusement draining from her voice, replaced by a flat, disbelieving curiosity. "What is this?"
He looked down, confused by her change in tone.
His eyes tracked hers to the interior of his boxer shorts, just below the elastic waistband.
There, written in large, black, permanent ink, was a name: MELISSA.
It was a bold, almost defiant declaration scrawled across the white boxers.
He had forgotten about the tattoo he got in Japan.
He could remember vividly, the first day they got to Japan.
"What's your best tattoo?" He had asked Melissa.
"I don't know much about tattoos but I would love my man to tattoo my name on his dick. So the ladies know he belongs to me" Melissa said.
After that conversation, he had her name tattoo below the belt.
At that point he didn't know why he did it, he thought it was fun but everything felt different after the kiss.
"Who's Melissa?" Penelope asked.
"My owner" He whispered.
Penelope stared at the name written elegantly yet boldly.
"Just do what you're paid to do" Antonio glares at her.
Penelope gulped subconsciously.
She placed her mouth on him.
With every movement, Antonio could only curse.
Antonio had his back pressed against the wall as Penelope licked him.
He closed his eyes, running his fingers through his hair.
Penelope knelt down so she could do her job properly.
Antonio opened his eyes to find Melissa kneeling before him.
He didn't know if it was an hallucination but she looked fucking hot.
He held her head backwards as he thrust deep into her throat.
With every movement she tried to pull back for air but he held her firmly thrusting even harder.
She pushed him trying to catch her breath.
Antonio pulled her to her feet, pinned her against the wall and kisses her.
The kiss was desperate and a plea at the same time.
Penelope felt it the moment Antonio's lips touched hers—this was not the kiss she was used to.
It wasn't rushed, It wasn't hungry, It wasn't careless.
He kissed her as if she were made of fragile glass, as if one wrong movement might shatter her. Her breath hitched.
"Fuck… Melissa," he whispered against her mouth.
The name cut through Penelope like cold air, but she said nothing.
Antonio turned her toward the wall, his hands firm, controlled.
The sudden change in his touch made her heart pound.
When he pushed in her lightly, not cruelly but deliberately, a sound escaped her before she could stop it.
He pulled her closer, his grip on her waist tightening as if anchoring himself to reality.
When he moved against her, Penelope gasped.
"Oh my God… it's so huge…"
Antonio slowed, forcing himself to be careful, as though he feared she might disappear if he moved too fast.
"Don't tease me like that," she pleaded. "Fuck me harder."
He lifted his head—and truly looked at her.
This isn't Melissa. The realization struck him like a slap.
He pulled away abruptly and pushed her onto the bed, his breath uneven.
The thin fabric on her shoulder tore under his hand. She didn't resist.
"Don't be gentle with me," Penelope whispered.
But Antonio wasn't really seeing her anymore. He saw Melissa.
Her eyes, her mouth and that kiss.
What the hell is wrong with me? he thought. I know this isn't her, I know it.
So why does my mind keep betraying me?
He wanted to stop. He also wanted to know what it would feel like if Melissa were here instead.
He removed his clothes mechanically, his movements heavy with conflict.
Using his belt, he restrained Penelope's hands, not roughly, but firmly enough that she couldn't move them.
She watched him with anticipation.
"Put it in already," she begged.
Antonio leaned down first, delaying himself, as if he were punishing his own desire.
When he finally moved, when he finally allowed himself to lose control, Penelope cried out.
Her voice filled the room. Antonio no longer treated her gently.
The vision of Melissa in his mind only fueled him further.
"Fuck me from the back," Penelope said breathlessly.
He allowed her to turn, to position herself, and when she was ready, he continued—his hands gripping her, his thoughts spiraling further away from the woman beneath him and closer to the woman who haunted him.
He closed his eyes. He remembered the kiss.
He remembered the way Melissa had not looked at him when she entered the office today, It broke him.
He imagined things he shouldn't.
The breaking point came when the image in his head became too vivid, too real.
He pulled away, breath ragged, releasing everything he had been holding back.
"Fuck… Melissa… you'll be the death of me."
Penelope collapsed forward, gasping for air as his hands finally left her throat.
Antonio fell back onto the bed, exhausted, staring at the ceiling.
Penelope lay beside him, wrists still bound, chest rising and falling.
Without a word, Antonio stood and walked into the bathroom.
Hot water poured over his head, but it didn't clear his thoughts.
He hadn't come to enjoy himself.
He had come to forget. To forget that kiss.
To forget the way Melissa had looked at him.
Instead, she had only buried herself deeper into his mind.
He leaned his hands against the tiled wall, closing his eyes.
He kept imagining her, kept wondering what it would feel like if it were truly her.
It was desperate, It was stupid and he couldn't stop.
When he finished showering, he stepped out and loosened the belt around Penelope's wrists.
"Would we be seeing each other again soon?" she asked softly, almost hopefully.
Antonio only looked at her.
"The money will be transferred into your account."
Her lips tightened.
"Who is she?"
"Who?" he asked flatly.
"The woman whose name is below your waist."
He exhaled. "She's… someone special."
Penelope gave a small, bitter laugh.
"Special? She doesn't sound like your fiancee. Last time I checked, her name is Chloe, not Melissa. So what did Melissa do to become so special?"
His eyes darkened.
"You're paid to satisfy me," he said coldly. "Don't get ideas. Don't become a detective. Or you'll regret it."
She raised her hands in surrender.
"Fine. Whatever. It's your problem."
She walked into the bathroom, leaving him alone.
Antonio sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.
He finally understood the truth he didn't want to admit:
You can't use one body to erase the memory of another.
The heart remembers what the body tries to forget.
He dressed quietly, sent Penelope her payment, and left the hotel without looking back.
Tomorrow mattered and somehow, Melissa already had the power to ruin it.