"What should I tell him?" Evelyn whispered, eyes glued to the glowing screen. Her pulse fluttered in her throat. If she said the wrong thing, Mr. Rodriguez might actually show up here. And that… would be bad.
"It's my dad, not a monster. Give me the phone."
Annabella didn't wait. She snatched the phone with a scoff and hit the answer button.
But before she could speak, shadows moved.
A group of rough-looking guys surrounded them, blocking every exit like wolves circling prey.
"Where do you think you're going after breaking our friend's head?" one of them sneered.
Annabella lifted her chin, her irritation simmering instead of fear.
"You must take him to the hospital. We're reporting you to the police," another guy snapped, pointing like he owned the law.
Annabella rolled her eyes.
"Go ahead," she yelled, voice sharp enough to cut.
"Call the police here and let's see what they can do. The Rodriguez own this country. The law is for you — not us."
Their silence cracked.
"Princess!" Martin's voice exploded through the phone.
Annabella winced.
"Stop that nonsense and…."
She hung up on him.
Immediately, the phone rang again.
"Give me the phone, Annabella," Evelyn said, snatching it back. Her palms were slick with sweat. "We'll need his help to get out of here."
She stepped aside, inhaled deeply, then slid to answer.
"Good evening, Mr. Rodriguez," she said, soft and polite.
"Evelyn! Where are you with Annabella?" His voice carried impatience wrapped in control.
"Mandarin Oriental Ritz," she replied.
"Get out of there. I'll send someone to get you. Don't let Annabella create more scenes."
"Yes, sir." The line went dead.
Evelyn lowered the phone. Annabella was now sitting right in the middle of the dance floor, chin lifted like a queen on a battlefield, surrounded by guys who definitely weren't planning to move.
"Don't you think it would be better if you take your friend to the hospital?" Evelyn said, trying to sound calm while panic twisted in her stomach. "He's already losing a lot of blood."
They finally looked at their injured friend.
He really was fading.
"Bro!" they rushed to him, panic flaring at last.
Evelyn exhaled and calmly walked to her bag. She flipped it open and pulled out a bundle of dollars.
"I think this should cover the treatment," she said, tossing it lightly.
Their eyes widened.
They stared as if they'd never seen that much money in their lives — because maybe they hadn't.
Evelyn smirked.
"And…" she pulled out two more bundles.
"This will be enough to let us out of here — and keep your mouths shut."
They forgot the bleeding friend instantly, scrambling toward the money.
"Oh…oh!" Evelyn pulled it back playfully. "You didn't say 'yes' yet."
She leaned forward, confidence spreading like perfume. Judging by their greedy expressions, her plan was working.
"Yes, Miss Beautiful," one of them said quickly. "We actually didn't see anything. Did we?"
"No."
"No."
They answered in unison, eyes glued to the bills.
"Then it's all yours."
She tossed the money into the air. Bills rained down, and they dove like animals.
"It's mine!"
"Hey! That's mine!"
They scrambled on the floor, grabbing desperately.
Evelyn laughed and went back to Annabella, who lay half-conscious, eyelids heavy.
"Girl, don't sleep here. I can't carry you." She tapped her cheeks.
Annabella's eyes fluttered open… then threatened to close again.
"Oh, shit. Amelia! I need your help here!" Evelyn shouted.
Silence.
"Amelia?" She scanned the hall.
Empty.
"Where the hell did that bitch disappear to?" she muttered.
…
"Ana!"
Maxwell's voice sliced through the silence as he stepped inside.
The party was dying. Only a few people lingered, whispering.
Evelyn turned — and froze.
Blue.
The most devastatingly handsome blue eyes she had ever seen locked onto hers. Her mouth parted on instinct.
He stood tall in a white long-sleeve shirt and black trousers, a Bluetooth device resting in his ear. He looked Calm, Powerful and Untouchable.
Behind him, Lucas followed like a shadow dressed in black.
"Ana!" Maxwell rushed forward and lifted Annabella gently.
Evelyn swallowed nothing. God, he was so… heavenly handsome.
"Thank you for taking care of her. I'll take it from here," he said, glancing at her briefly.
Her stomach fluttered.
"No… it's actually not a big deal," she replied, trying not to sound ridiculous.
Maxwell carried Annabella in his arms.
"Brother," Annabella murmured.
"I'm here now, Ana. I'm taking you home," he said softly.
Annabella smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck.
Evelyn closed her eyes for a second.
That voice. That face. This was literally the type of guy she imagined while watching Korean dramas. She thought they didn't exist in real life.
Apparently, they did.
"Do you have a ride? We can drop you off," Maxwell asked gently. "If you don't mind."
"I actually don't have a car," Evelyn replied fast — even though her driver was already on the way.
Maxwell nodded and walked ahead. Lucas followed. Evelyn picked up her bag and hurried after them, eyes glued to Maxwell's well built masculine.
Outside, five black SUVs waited in perfect formation.
A guard opened the door of the middle car and bowed slightly.
Maxwell settled inside, then turned toward the car in front.
"Please drop Miss Evelyn at her address. Make sure she reaches home safe," he said.
"Yes, sir." The driver bowed and opened the other car.
Evelyn stared at Maxwell. She'd honestly thought she'd be riding with him.
What a waste.
"Miss Evelyn," Maxwell called.
She blinked.
"You can go with him. It's safe."
"Oh!.. Thanks."
She climbed in. The door shut. The car pulled away.
Maxwell watched it disappear, sighing. He'd seen that look before — from too many girls. Nothing new.
He slid back into his car and adjusted Annabella's head against his shoulder. The door closed. The engine roared.
The remaining guards climbed into the other cars.
They sped into the night.
☆
☆
☆
[Felix's Villa]
•
Amelia's laughter rippled through the dim bedroom, soft and wicked.
"You should've seen the look on her face," she said, breathless with amusement.
She lay curled in Felix's arms, the two of them tangled beneath a single blanket, skin against skin. Her fingers traced lazy circles across his bare chest, as if she owned every inch of him.
Felix chuckled, the sound low and rough. "I still can't believe you actually did that."
"Of course I did." Her tone sharpened, eyes flashing. "She dared to put her hands on you. She deserved a little… reminder."
His lips curved. "The real payoff will come later."
Amelia's smile turned slow and dangerous. "By tomorrow, every media house will be buzzing. That old man is going to lose face because of his his precious, foolish daughter — and I'm going to enjoy every second of it."
Felix watched her carefully. "And Bella? What are you going to tell her? You disappeared from your own event."
Amelia bit her lip, eyes gleaming with mischief.
"Yes, I did. Because I had something more important to do here."
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "You."
Her fingertip slid down his chest, lingering, teasing, before she leaned in and placed the softest kiss there.
"I'll just tell her something urgent came up. She'll believe it. She always does."
Her hand drifted lower, tracing his stomach, drifting even further.
Felix groaned, head falling back. Heat tightened through him — fighting the ache she knew exactly how to stir.
She paused, meeting his gaze with a slow, sinful smile. Then she pulled the blanket away, revealing both of them to the air and to the moment.
"Damn you," he muttered, laughing under his breath as he flipped her beneath him. "Aren't you tired yet, bad girl?"
His voice brushed over her ear like velvet.
They had barely stopped since she'd arrived. They've done it in the living room, the kitchen, the shower — and now here.
Her breath hitched. "I need more… Daddy," she whispered, deliberately soft, deliberately dangerous.
His mouth crashed onto hers, hunger drowning thought. Their kisses grew messy, urgent, breathless. His hands roamed over her body, claiming, learning all over again.
When he moved to her chest, she arched up, a helpless sound escaping.
"Ah..! Fuck me, Daddy," Amelia moaned, louder now, needy.
He kissed his way lower, slow and torturous, until he reached her p***y. He paused — one heartbeat — then leaned in.
"Felix…!" she gasped, the word dissolving into a scream as he finally gave in.
The villa filled with their voices, their breath, their heat — the night stretching on, wild and relentless.
☆
☆
☆
[Rodriguez Mansion]
•
"I don't care how many media channels have it. Just make sure that news disappears," Martin snapped into the phone, his voice cutting through the living room like a blade. He paced back and forth, anger thrumming beneath his skin.
"Before morning, it should be like nothing ever happened," he added, each word cold and final.
He ended the call just as the cars halted outside.
Maxwell stepped out first, moving quickly to gather Annabella into his arms — careful, protective. Her head rested limply against his shoulder.
Karen and the maids rushed forward.
"It's fine. I'll take her to her room," he said quietly, his tone softened for her alone.
"No, Maxwell." Martin's voice sliced through the night. "Let them handle her. We need to talk."
Maxwell hesitated — then nodded, surrendering Annabella to the maids.
"Clean her up and change her clothes," he said, still gentle. "She might get rashes if she sleeps like this."
"Yes, sir," Karen replied, guiding Annabella into the elevator.
Martin sank onto the sofa, spreading himself like a man who owned the world.
"How are you going to explain this?" His tone was icy.
Maxwell lowered his gaze.
"You knew Annabella left the house — and you still covered for her." Martin's palm slammed against the table. "Now look at the mess that caused!"
Maxwell didn't flinch. He simply stood there, silent, absorbing the blow.
Martin shook his head slowly. "What else should I expect from a child who isn't mine? Only disappointment."
Something flickered behind Maxwell's eyes. Old wounds. Old words.
Ever since the fire — ever since he'd lost everything and been brought here — Martin had never let him forget: he was not truly Rodriguez. He would never belong.
"I'm sorry, Dad," Maxwell said quietly.
"What good is your sorry, you good-for-nothing bastard?" Martin scoffed.
"If Logan and I hadn't grown up together, do you think I'd keep a son like you?"
Maxwell's fists clenched at his sides. His eyes burned — but he swallowed everything.
"The next time this happens, you'll pay for it," Martin finished, rising and walking upstairs without a backward glance.
When the footsteps faded, Maxwell collapsed onto the sofa, burying his face in his hands. He stayed that way, motionless, until his chest stopped aching enough for him to breathe.
Then he stood.
He needed to see Annabella.
He rode the elevator to the third floor. The door was slightly ajar, so he stepped inside.
Karen was gently wiping Annabella's face with a warm towel. Her hair had been brushed back; she was clean, dressed in soft pajamas.
"Mr. Maxwell," Karen murmured when she noticed him.
"You can leave. I'll take care of her," he said.
She bowed slightly, gathered the bowl, and slipped out, closing the door behind her.
Maxwell sat at the edge of the bed. His hand brushed Annabella's forehead — cool, normal, no fever. Relief unknotted his chest.
That tiny touch made her eyelids flutter open.
"Brother…" she murmured.
"Did I wake you?" His voice softened.
She shook her head faintly. "I'm cold."
He tucked the blanket higher beneath her chin.
"Bro," she whispered again, slower.
He glanced at her. "What is it?"
"I'm still cold." She pouted weakly.
"I'll get another blanket." He started to rise.
But her fingers wrapped around his wrist.
"I want you to warm me up," she whispered.
He froze.
Heat shot through him — unwanted, uninvited — but impossible to deny.
"Silly girl," he murmured, pinching her nose gently. "Do you even know what that means?"
He leaned closer, adjusting the blanket.
"I do." Annabella pushed the blanket away and slipped her arms around his shoulders.
Her pajama silk clung to her curves, and Maxwell swallowed hard, fighting himself.
"Your body is warm. Hug me to sleep," she said, using all her strength to pull him onto the bed.
She nestled against him and closed her eyes, content.
"Ana… this isn't appropriate. You're drunk," he whispered.
"What's inappropriate? You're my brother." She lifted her head, eyes hazy, and kissed his cheek. Then she settled back on his chest — her hand sliding beneath his shirt.
Maxwell went still.
If only she knew what she was doing to him.
For a brief, reckless second, an image flashed through his mind — flipping her beneath him, giving in to the fire burning through him. But she was still his sister. He had to control himself.
"Ana," he breathed.
No response.
She had already drifted into deep sleep.
He exhaled slowly, then rested his hand on her head and pulled her closer, adjusting his position so she could sleep comfortably.
"Good night, Ana," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before closing his eyes