CHAPTER 48: THE COST OF BELONGING

Camela drove in a restless daze, even blowing past a red light.

"Skrrt!" Her tires screamed as she smashed the brakes, the car lurching violently.

"Are you insane?" the other driver roared, livid after the near miss.

Camela stepped out, her temper hanging by a thread. The last thing she needed was someone picking a fight.

"What? I didn’t even hit you," she snapped, her voice cutting sharp.

"I could’ve died if I hadn’t hit the brakes in time!" the driver shouted back, anger rising when Camela showed no apology and even talked back.

She threw up her hand and barked, "Then I should’ve hit you so you could die and shut up!"

She got back into her car, picked up her phone, and called someone.

The driver assumed he had just run into an insane driver and didn’t bother arguing any further. He didn’t want the hassle, so he drove away.

He pressed the button on the dashboard, and the music came on, sang along, trying to shake off the anger.

A moment later, his phone rang, and he answered through the bluetooth device.

"Daddy," a small voice chimed from the other end.

"Hello, sweetheart... Sorry Daddy’s late," he sighed.

His daughter waiting at home so they could celebrate birthday together.

"I’ll be there soon, okay?" His voice softened as he remembered his daughter’s adorable little face.

"Okay, Daddy. Muah muah! Bye-bye!" He chuckled softly at the sound of cute voice.

Ten minutes later, he slowly came to a halt at the red light, tapping his fingers impatiently. His house was just up ahead.

Suddenly, a massive trailer shot out from the left junction and burst into his lane.

"Beep!" He slammed the horn, it blared sharply cutting through the air, but the trailer didn’t change course, as if it intended to hit him.

He released the brake and stepped on the gas, turning the wheel hard to avoid it, but it was already too late.

The trailer crashed into his car with violent force. A box of wrapped gift on the passenger seat flew forward, tearing open as soon it hit the dashboard.

In a single, brutal moment, everything went still. The man died at the scene.

...

Tires screamed against the asphalt as the driver slammed the brakes, already pissed. The door swung open, and a high-heeled foot emerged, crunching lightly against the ground.

Camela slammed the door shut and clicked her way toward the main building of Dante Volkhan’s private mansion.

Music pulsed loudly from the pool area. The party was already drowning in heat and movement.

Men and women tangled with each other in fevered rhythms, while certain groups gave in to their lust, indulging openly in their pleasures.

Cameramen circled them, recording every intimate angle, like they were filming a private fantasy.

Camela didn’t bother to look at it. She showed up tonight only after rejecting Dante Volkhan countless times. She meant to get his help.

"You finally arrived. Come here," the built, imposing man said, his voice low and deep. His shirt was half undone, showing a firm, sexy chest beneath.

The women at his side paused instantly, slipping away with flushed faces the moment he flicked his eyes in their direction.

Camela slipped into his open arms, pouting. "He pissed me off!" she grumbled about the driver earlier.

He studied her face closely, his fingers grazing lightly along her skin. "It’s already taken care of. I handled it," he said with a smirk.

Camela lit up instantly. "Done? Oh, thank you, Dante..." she purred, cupping his face as she leaned in to plant a kiss on his cheek.

But Dante frowned. "You missed the point."

He pulled her into a deep kiss, fingers sliding to the buttons of her blouse. "Now... give me my reward," he said, impatience lust burning in his tone.

"Hey, hey... stop a second," Camela said, catching his hands. "Not out here. I don’t want to be recorded. Let’s go to a room."

Dante smirked, giving her butt a quick squeeze before letting go. "Let’s go," he said, taking her hand as they headed toward the mansion.

To become Mrs. Pierce, she had to guard her image. Everything on the surface about her had to be flawless.

After rounds of entertaining Dante’s intense lust, Camela could finally request something from him.

"Don’t bother asking her damn name. That’s nothing but trouble in my head," Camela muttered, settling against Dante’s firm chest.

Dante studied the woman in the photo. She didn’t catch his interest, too innocent for his taste.

"So? What do you want me to do?" he asked Camela.

Camela leaned in, her voice low and venomous. "Anything. As long as Rowan divorces her and walks away. I’ll take her spot."

"Wow... so you’re planning to leave me?" Dante said with a playful, exaggerated sadness.

Camela shot him a narrow-eyed glare. "Don’t act like you care. You’ve got more than enough women."

"I want you, not them," Dante whispered, lifting her chin.

Her hand swept across his bare chest, and she almost believed the lie.

"Help me get what I want... and I’ll give you anything you ask for. Even me," Camela breathed, seducing him, trying to convince him to help her.

Dante pushed her away and crossed to the liquor shelf. He grabbed one, drinking straight from it, tasting the sting before turning back to her sprawled across the bed.

"I’ll think about it," he said, clearly baiting her for negotiation.

Camela slid off the bed and wrapped herself around him. "No. You have to help me."

Dante didn’t budge.

He ignored her pleas and lit a cigarette, the smoke curling lazily between them.

Desperate, Camela offered, "If I become Mrs. Pierce, I’ll cut you in on his wealth..."

"And I want you," he added, his eyes locked on her.

"Deal!" she agreed immediately, smiled with icy sweetness while he blew a cloud of smoke across her face, testing her.

Camela was nothing more than bait. James’s death had opened a perfect window for him to seize control of Dolan’s power, so long as Camela belonged to him.