Curtain Call For Control
Angel’s Point Of view
We managed to shoot about four scenes today, and to my utmost disappointment, Raul didn’t appear in a single one.
I checked the time—half past eleven. Shit. How the hell am I getting home now?
Dragging my aching body out of the studio, I took out my phone and hovered my thumb over Luca’s contact. But I paused. He’s probably fast asleep by now—he has class early tomorrow, and I refuse to be that sister.
I headed to the lobby, pacing slowly while the rest of the crew hurried off to the parking lot, chatting, laughing, driving away with people they trusted. Everyone had someone. Except me.
Roseline. Danielle. Hunter. Raul. All gone.
I wasn’t close enough to anyone else to ask for a ride without sounding desperate.
So, I made a decision that now feels too stupid to have been brave—I’d walk home. Alone. In the middle of the night. Because that’s how fairytales begin, right?
The night air cut through my thin jacket, making me wrap my arms around myself.
My heels clicked on the pavement, echoing against the silent street as the lights from the studio faded behind me.
Then…
A sudden screech.
My heart nearly stopped. A white Mercedes Benz glided up beside me, the headlights spilling over the deserted road, blinding. I took a cautious step back. The windows were tinted—dark, unreadable. And then, slowly, the driver’s window rolled down.
My breath caught.
Raul D’Amano.
Even in the shadows, I could see the sharp cut of his jaw, the relaxed dominance in his posture like he ruled every inch of the city—including me.
“Get in,” he said, voice low, casual, like this wasn’t completely throwing my heart into chaos.
“I… Mr. D’Amano, I—”
His piercing blue eyes sliced through me, silencing whatever weak excuse I was about to make. I nodded, swallowing my pride, my fear, my desire, and slipped into the car.
The silence was brutal. Heavy. I kept my eyes on the road, hands clenched in my lap like they were trying to behave. I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Mr. D’Amano,” I called, barely louder than a whisper. He didn’t respond, but something told me he was listening. “About earlier… I wanted to apologize—”
The car stopped.
Before I could understand what was happening, he reached over and pulled me, roughly into his chest. His scent enveloped me. Spiced. Clean. Dangerous.
I froze, lips parted, my body betraying me with how quickly it melted into his.
“Don’t apologize,” he murmured, voice like velvet laced with steel.
“Don’t ever apologize for something you wanted to happen, Caramella.”
Then he did it.
He pressed his index finger just above my chest, so close to my breast that my nipples hardened against my bra, heat pooling between my thighs in shameful betrayal.
“I know you wanted me to go against Catalina’s wishes,” he whispered, his voice so close I could taste his breath.
“You wanted to see how far I’d go for you… You’re not as innocent as you pretend.”
I swallowed hard. I wanted to scream the truth. That every single word he said was real. That I craved him even when I tried to hate him. His hand slid down to my waist, pulling me closer, gently but firmly, his touch setting fire to every nerve.
“It’s only a matter of time… mi amoré,” he whispered, brushing a soft kiss, barely there—against my lips.
It was cruel.
Because now I wanted more.
Desperately.
But all I could do was sit there, trembling, praying my body didn’t betray me further… because I no longer trusted myself around Raul D’Amano. Not one bit.
The next morning
My alarm screamed at 6 a.m. sharp.
I groaned and sat up, the weight of yesterday still sitting on my chest. No Raul in the scenes. Catalina’s outburst, and of course, the main highlight of the day—the ridiculous heat between us. I wasn’t even sure how I’d face him today without flushing from head to toe.
Dragging myself out of the bed, I ran through my morning routine, and got dressed in something simple: a pair of jeans and a black top that hugged my curves a little too well, but it was clean, and I was late.
I grabbed my bag, tied my curls into a messy bun, and stepped outside into the crisp morning air.
A cab honked as it pulled up—thankfully one I’d booked the night before, half out of anxiety, half out of logic.
The ride to the company was quiet, but my mind wasn’t. Raul’s voice still echoed in my ears. It’s just a matter of time, mi amoré.
By the time I arrived, the company was already buzzing with early staff and crew setting up for the day.
I slipped past the reception and made my way toward the lounge to grab a quick coffee before heading into wardrobe and makeup.
“Angel.”
I paused mid-step and turned.
Nickolai stood at the entrance of the lounge, leaning casually against the doorframe with that usual smugness painted across his face.
“Nickolai!” I lit up, surprised. “Where have you been?”
“I went to Hong Kong,” he replied with a shrug, pushing off the wall and walking over. “Why, did you miss me?”
I chuckled and gave him a quick hug. “Yes. I did.”
“That’s good to hear, Querida. How’s it going?” He asked, leading me inside.
I sighed, letting my frustration spill.
“Very stressful. It’s really annoying that we have to cut an entire scene because of a little mistake. And it could be something as small as… forgetting to sigh.”
Nickolai chuckled, handing me a paper cup of coffee. “That’s how it is, amorè. You’ll get used to it. Art is merciless.”
We walked toward the elevator together, chatting about the madness of filming and the drama behind the scenes.
Once on my floor, I thanked him and made my way to the studio.
As soon as I stepped inside, the makeup team swooped in like vultures. I barely had time to think.
Then the doors opened again.
Raul walked in.
And just like that, I forgot how to breathe.