Chapter Five — The Game Begins

How did girls handle brooding men without getting their heads chopped off?

Heaven knows Diego wanted my head right now and jerk Emilio wasn't helping.

Diego's gaze skidded between us. “Little Red?” He hissed.

I smiled awkwardly, lips parting to explain but Emilio beat me to it.

“Got a problem?” His gait was steady, shoulders relaxed, as he strode over to a couch. His arms spread out on the backrest, legs wide apart.

“I know why you're doing this,” Diego accused, taking a step toward him, his face a mask of anger.

Emilio raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”

“I see the way you look at her,” Diego's voice rose, his steps taking him closer to Emilio. “You've always hated the fact that she was mine. The one thing I have you can't own.”

My forehead furrowed. “I'm not some property to be owned, Diegs,” I cut in.

Emilio chuckled. “You heard the Lady. You don't own her.”

Huh, can someone tell that mad man that he doesn't either?

Diego stopped right in front of Emilio and spat, “You're just a twisted sadist, who understands nothing but violence. You're way beneath her.”

The smirk on Emilio's face disappeared and he was off the couch before I could blink. His hand wrapped around Diego's throat, his voice dropping. “Watch your tone, brother.”

For a second, images of that night back in high school flashed before me. I stepped toward them, worry lines on my forehead. “That's enough.”

Diego barked a dry, unamused laugh. “Why? Did I hit a nerve?”

It was like my words had gone over their heads. Emilio's hand by his side clenched and my heart dropped.

“Stop!”

The fist on its way to Diego's face halted midway, and slowly, the hand around his throat loosened. Diego coughed, turning to me.

“Isa, you can't possibly still want to—”

“Diego, that's enough!”

He stopped, his eyes narrowing.

I released a heavy breath. “I—I’m sorry, Diegs, but I already decided.”

Diego laughed, rough, bitter. “You're making a mistake, Isabella. And you'll see that soon.”

And with that, he stormed out of the mansion, the door slamming shut behind him. The sound rattled through me. Maybe it wasn't just Diego leaving. Maybe it was the last piece of normal I had left.

**********

I hadn't slept that night. The sound of the door slamming behind Diego kept replaying in my head.

Now this was really happening.

My pulse raced. My palms clammy even as my reflection in the glass showed calm and poise.

Two days since that post went viral. Two days of trying to talk to Diego, each attempt futile. Two days of me and Emilio learning the basics about each other, Or rather, me learning the basics about him.

He already knew most things about me. Strange. But who was I to complain? It made this stunt we were about to pull so much easier.

I turned to the man beside me in the back seat, my brows drawing together. He sat with his thighs wide apart, scrolling through his phone, one wrist resting loosely over his knee.

How was he so calm? I was sweating bullets and I wasn't even the one in a suit—jacket off or not.

He angled his phone toward me. On the screen was a post with pictures of us in the alley two days ago. The headline read—

Isabella Montez and the elusive Emilio Salazar spotted together hours after her scandal went viral. Are they connected?

“You’d think the chaos would've died down by now,” I muttered, turning away.

Just then, our black Rolls-Royce came to a stop in front of the Montez Foundation’s annual charity gala—the first event since the scandal. Flashing lights and camera shutters snapped like gunfire outside, capturing every moment.

I stared out at the stream of reporters, the storm waiting to swallow me whole, and suddenly, the dress I was in felt too tight.

“You look beautiful,” Emilio's voice came from beside me.

I stiffened. Compliments from Emilio Salazar were like grenades. Never sure when they'd go off.

I turned slowly to him. “What was that for?”

He shrugged. “Practice.”

I rolled my eyes just as the driver opened the door and he stepped out first. The crowd went dead quiet, like they had just seen a ghost. Then he turned and offered me his hand, like this was a fairytale instead of a performance.

I hesitated for a split second, then took it, stepping out. Cameras roared to life, the light blinding.

The tight smile on my face nearly fell off when Emilio pulled me to his side, his arm snaking around my waist. My whole body tensed; I craned my neck back to look at him.

“What are you doing?” I murmured, keeping my smile for the camera.

“Holding my woman.” The words rolled off his tongue easily. “Get used to it.”

What in the heavens—who did this jerk think he was talking to?

Okay. Isabella, calm down. He had a point. We were a couple right now. Couples held each other.

God. This was harder than I thought.

His arm around my waist tightened as we stepped forward, toward the press, toward the red carpet. The reporters crowded us, flashes going off. Almost instinctively, I pressed into Emilio's side.

He looked down at me and for a moment I thought I saw concern flash in his eyes.

“You look so good together, Miss. Montez. How long have you been together?!”

“Is he the man from the night?!”

“Back off,” Emilio hissed.

I blinked at his tone and smiled brightly at the camera to smooth it over. “A few questions wouldn't hurt, Love. Don't you think so?” I said sweetly.

Emilio tilted his head, a slow smile curving his lips. “If you insist, Cutepie.”

Oh God. Disgusting. This was going to be a long night.

“Mr. Salazar,” a reporter called. “You've always stayed away from the spotlight, what changed?”

His reply was quick, his gaze sliding to me. “She happened. You people never miss a good story.”

My heart dropped into my stomach. Perfect. He was trying to help. Or burn the place down, maybe.

I tugged lightly at the back of his black shirt, a silent warning and forced a polite smile. “Lio isn't used to… socializing.”

“So, you two are in a relationship then?” Another reporter asked.

“Yes, we are,” I answered, resting a hand on his chest. It was firm, steady, nothing like my pulse.

“People are saying this is a PR stunt to save Montez Corporation’s image. Care to comment?”

There it was. The question hung in the air, sharp as a blade.

Just like that, the game began. And the next words meant everything.