Chapter 19: Her Little Show

I paced the room, anger boiling in my veins like hot lava.

The silence pressed in from all sides, thick and suffocating. He was still out there—Alessandro, standing guard like the overbearing shadow. I could feel his presence through the door, cold and immovable like a goddamn marble statue. The kind you want to smash just to see if it feels pain.

God, he made my skin itch.

Who the hell did he think he was?

Staring at me like I was beneath him. Speaking to me like I was some petulant child who needed to be reined in. Ignoring me like my words—my very existence—was some fucking inconvenience.

Babysitter.

That’s what he was now.

A glorified security blanket with a six-pack and a stick so far up his ass it probably had its own zip code.

I stopped pacing, fuming, my blanket slipping off one shoulder.

He thought he’d won.

That just because he kept quiet, because he didn’t flinch or react when I pushed, it meant he had the upper hand.

Wrong.

I was a Moretti.

I didn’t lose.

I just picked my battles.

And tonight… oh, tonight, I was going to burn him from the inside out.

A slow, delicious revenge curled its way around my spine. I tilted my head, eyes narrowing as a wicked little smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. A thought had just slithered into my mind like sin dipped in silk—and I didn’t push it away.

Instead, I embraced it.

I dropped the blanket without hesitation, the soft fabric pooling at my feet as I turned and walked into my closet.

Every step was deliberate. Every breath deeper than the last.

If he wanted to watch… then I’d give him something to watch.

I opened the hidden drawer nestled beneath a row of silk panties and cashmere bralettes. It clicked open like a secret, revealing a sleek, black toy gleaming under the soft light. I reached for it slowly, fingers curling around it like I was touching a loaded weapon.

And maybe I was.

My smile deepened. “It’s been a while.”

The vibrator purred to life in my hand as I tested the switch, its subtle hum vibrating against my palm.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

I walked back into my room, heat already coiling low in my belly. My skin tingled—not with arousal, not yet—but with the thrill of control. Power. Manipulation. This wasn’t about pleasure. This was about punishment. And I was going to make him feel it.

I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and crawled onto the bed, propping up the pillows and adjusting the camera until it caught just the right angle.

I climbed onto the center of the bed and stared directly at the screen.

Showtime.

I reached for the hem of my nightgown and began to pull it up slowly, inch by inch, baring smooth skin and curves that men had begged to touch. I kept my expression soft, almost bored, like this was something I did all the time. Like I wasn’t performing—for anyone.

But I was.

I was performing for him.

The nightgown slipped over my head and I tossed it offscreen without a second glance. I stayed still for a moment, letting the camera drink in my nakedness. My skin glowed in the low light. My nipples were already hard, my thighs pressing together with anticipation.

I let my legs fall open slowly, knees parting with intentional grace until I was completely exposed.

I ran a hand down my torso, over my breasts, my fingers teasing over one nipple and then the other, squeezing them until my breath hitched. Then lower. Down my stomach. Between my thighs.

I dipped my fingers into myself and moaned.

“Mmm… yes…”

I let my head fall back slightly, the moan rolling off my tongue like honey, as I stroked myself slow and steady. I was already wet—maybe from the plan, maybe from the image in my head of Alessandro watching this with his jaw clenched and his fists tight.

I knew what I was doing.

I knew exactly how to make it hurt.

Still staring at the camera, I whispered, “You want some?”

I didn’t say a name. Didn’t need to.

I picked up the vibrator and pressed it against myself, letting it tease my folds before sliding it inside. My hips jerked instantly, a sharp gasp spilling from my lips. I bit down on my bottom lip, hard enough to bruise, then let go with a breathy moan.

“Fuuuck…”

I moved it slowly at first, building up the tension, letting the camera catch every shiver, every moan, every obscene sound as the toy pulsed inside me.

“Yes… just like that…”

My free hand grabbed my breast again, squeezing and pinching until my back arched off the bed. I spread my legs wider, making sure the camera saw everything. My head thrashed on the pillow as the pace quickened, my moans getting louder, more desperate.

It wasn’t about pretending anymore.

I wanted this.

I wanted him to see what he couldn’t have.

To ache for what I was offering only on screen, but he'd never have in real life.

I panted, feeling my climax start to build—slow and ruthless like a fire climbing dry wood. My body tensed, muscles tightening as I drove the vibrator faster, deeper, my voice rising with every thrust.

“Yesss… oh god—fuck—yes…”

I came with a cry that echoed through the room, stars exploding behind my eyelids, thighs trembling from the force of it.

And when it was done, I didn’t collapse.

No.

I leaned forward, still panting, and crawled up to the camera. My hair was a mess, my skin glistening, my body flushed.

I reached out, cupped my breasts deliberately, then leaned closer and blew a slow, sultry kiss at the lens.

Then I ended the video.

I stared at the screen for a second, chest still rising and falling. Then I opened my contacts, found his name on my phone—Jerk—and pressed send.

No hesitation.

No regret.

Attached: the full, uncut video.

Message: Enjoy.

I tossed the phone back onto the nightstand and collapsed onto the mattress, arms sprawled above my head.

There.

Let’s see how long he lasts now.

Let’s see if the stone-cold assassin still thinks he’s immune.

Let’s see if he keeps standing outside my door like some emotionless robot after this.

A satisfied hum rolled out of me as I closed my eyes.

Maybe I wouldn’t need the full six months to break him after all.

Maybe he was already cracking.

And tomorrow?

Well, tomorrow I’d act like nothing happened.

Because in this game we were playing… I always won.

Always.