Chapter 14: Wet Dream

The vibration of my phone startled me awake.

I groaned, rolling over and slapping blindly at the sheets until my fingers found it. The screen glowed in the dark room, searing light into my tired eyes. I blinked, squinting.

A message from Camilla.

‘Did you abort mission or what?’

But I didn’t answer. Not right away.

Because the moment I rolled over and pulled the pillow under my cheek, the memory hit me like a slap across the face.

A dream. A disgusting, vile, unholy dream.

I screamed into the pillow.

“Ew, ew, ew, EW!” I kicked my legs like a tantrum-throwing child, fists pounding into the mattress. “No. No. No. NO!”

What the hell was that?!

I sat up suddenly, heart hammering, yanking the covers back as if they’d been complicit in the crime.

And then—I saw it.

The undeniable evidence. The wetness between my thighs. The godforsaken heat that still lingered in my core. My body’s betrayal soaked into the sheets like a mocking reminder of everything I didn’t want to feel.

It hadn’t been real.

But it felt real.

His mouth. His tongue. The way he touched me, consumed me like I was something he craved.

“Goddamn you, Alessandro,” I spat, kicking the sheets off completely. I stood, pacing naked across the room like I could walk off the shame clinging to my skin.

Why him?

Of all the men in the world—hell, of all the faceless fantasies my subconscious could’ve cooked up—why the one man I would rather toss off a cliff than let within a mile of my bed?

Alessandro.

Fucking Alessandro.

Tall, brooding, cold-hearted Alessandro with eyes like winter and a jaw sharp enough to cut steel. The man I hated. The man who treated me like a spoiled brat in need of constant supervision. My jailer in a custom suit.

I wanted to rip my brain out of my skull.

My phone buzzed again.

Camilla.

‘Hello? Earth to Aria? Did something happen?’

I hesitated before typing back.

Didn’t abort. Got caught. Didn’t make it out the gates. Whole damn house is on lockdown now.

Three dots blinked on the screen.

Shit. You okay?

Define okay.

Because, honestly, how the hell was I supposed to explain this?

That I was having X-rated, dripping-wet dreams about the one man I swore I’d kill in his sleep if given the chance?

I tossed the phone aside and stormed into the bathroom. Flicked on the lights. The mirror greeted me with a face I barely recognized—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, wild hair. I looked like I’d just been thoroughly fucked.

And I hated it.

“Get it together,” I snapped at my reflection.

I turned on the shower, cranked it as cold as it would go. Steam began to rise anyway because the house was a goddamn fortress of luxury and comfort. Even the cold water refused to be properly cold.

Still, I stepped under the spray and scrubbed like I was trying to erase the memory etched into my skin.

Alessandro’s mouth.

His tongue.

The way he made me scream in that dream.

I shivered violently, not from the water, but from disgust. And something else I refused to name.

No. I wouldn’t let myself go there. I wouldn’t give in.

Because I hated him.

I hated the way he looked at me like he could read every thought in my head.

I hated how he never flinched, never cracked, always so damn in control.

I hated that he got to me—that he haunted my dreams and left me aching in ways I didn’t ask for.

He was my prison guard. My father’s attack dog. Nothing more.

I scrubbed until my skin turned pink, then rested my forehead against the cold tile, letting the water run down my back in icy rivulets.

“Never again,” I whispered. "You hear me, body? NEVER again."

And yet, the phantom feeling lingered—his breath between my thighs, the rasp of his stubble against my skin.

“Stop it!” I slammed my palm against the wall.

This was war now.

I stepped out of the shower and toweled off furiously, like maybe I could dry the thought of him out of my brain.

Back in my room, I pulled on a hoodie and some soft shorts, something far removed from the silk dress I'd flung across the room last night. I didn’t even want to look sexy. I wanted to look like I was in mourning for my sanity.

I paced.

And paced.

And then I stopped dead.

Because a new, horrifying question crept into my mind.

What the hell triggered that dream?

Was it the fight?

The fury I’d felt as I stormed into this room, half-naked, seething, full of adrenaline?

Or was it... him?

The way he'd looked at me before I walked away from them? Cold. Calculating. But... something else?

No. No. I wasn’t doing this.

I wasn’t going to psychoanalyze myself into a puddle of regret.

I was going to put Alessandro back into the box where he belonged—under enemies, threats, creeps. Right next to roaches and disease. And I was going to seal that box shut.

My phone buzzed again.

This time I didn’t check it. I was too busy dragging a vow out of the depths of my soul.

I walked over to the window and stared out into the dark courtyard. The guards were out there, no doubt watching every shadow. Maybe he was out there too. Standing like a statue. Cold. Detached.

Good.

Stay out there, Alessandro.

Stay far, far away from me.

Because I swear on everything I am...

Over my dead body will I ever let a man like him touch me.

Not even in my fucking dream.

I don’t care if my dreams betray me. I don’t care if his mouth could make angels sing—I will never surrender to him.

He is the enemy.

And I would rather burn alive than be consumed by him.

I would never let a man like Alessandro touch me. Not in this life, not in the next.

I'd rather die.