CHAPTER 112 – UNLOCKING
CHAPTER 112 – UNLOCKING
CHAPTER 112 – UNLOCKING
But why? The question will not leave Vera’s mind. Why would Dominic want to push Aria away so fiercely? Why would he go to such lengths to avoid her, to stage this elaborate façade? She leans against the counter, her arms folded loosely, the faint scent of antiseptic still lingering in the air from Aria’s hasty treatment.
Her thoughts circle back to what Dominic told her in fragments of confession, his explanation spoken with tension heavy in his voice. Aria is his boss’s daughter. The words echo again, clicking the puzzle pieces into place with a weight that makes Vera close her eyes. She inhales slowly, then exhales through parted lips, nodding faintly to herself. “Oh,” she whispers under her breath, “I see.”
When her eyes open again, her gaze drifts unbidden toward Aria. The girl’s curvy silhouette passes across the kitchen as she carries the first aid kit back to its place. Her posture is rigid, her movements quick, like every gesture is meant to keep distance, to build walls. And yet Vera cannot help noticing the allure in the way she moves, the way her hair falls in loose strands around her face, the way her figure carries both stubbornness and fragility.
Damn. She is really hot. And cute, too.
The thought flashes through Vera’s mind unfiltered, startling her with its bluntness. She tilts her head, studying Aria longer than she should. How hard must it be for Dominic to resist this? The idea stirs an amused smile at the corner of her lips. She takes a steadying breath, shaking her head lightly.
“All right,” she murmurs to herself, “if I want this to be easier, I probably need to make friends with her. Somehow.”
Even as she says it, she knows the task will not be easy. In fact, it will be one of the hardest things she has ever attempted. Aria is fiery, suspicious, and consumed by something far deeper than dislike. Still, Vera considers it. Perhaps beneath the hostility there might be a point of contact. Or perhaps it will only make things worse.
She pulls her phone from her pocket and types a quick message to Dominic: What do you think about me becoming friends with her?
The reply arrives almost immediately, the phone vibrating softly in her hand: No. Don’t. Don’t even think about it for a second.
Vera bites back a laugh, covering her mouth, but a chuckle escapes anyway. Her fingers fly over the screen: And why do you think so?
Dominic’s reply comes just as fast: Because that would be disastrous. She has a way of making everyone see the good in her, even when there isn’t much. And she’s manipulative. You don’t want to get caught in that.
Vera raises her brows, her lips curving with amusement. I won’t be so easy to manipulate, she types back, fingers tapping with playful defiance.
A laughing emoji flashes on the screen. Then another message: I know her better than you do. Don’t underestimate that woman.
Vera stares at the words for a moment, then shakes her head with a quiet laugh. “Well, well, Aria,” she murmurs softly, slipping the phone back into her pocket, “I would love to see just how manipulative you could be.”
She draws a long breath, releases it slowly, and straightens her shoulders. There is no point lingering. She heads toward the kitchen again, determined to focus on the task at hand.
Aria, however, is already watching her.
The younger woman glances at Vera briefly, her expression unreadable, then turns her face away with sharp finality. She pivots and leaves the room without a word, her figure retreating up the stairs.
Vera watches her go, a slight frown furrowing her forehead. Well, this is going to take a lot of work, she thinks, resigning herself to patience. With a soft sigh, she turns back to the counter, setting her attention on preparing Aria’s evening meal. The knife slices rhythmically against the cutting board, vegetables falling into neat piles, the scent of onions and herbs spreading through the room.
But upstairs, Aria is not sitting still.
She moves quickly, taking advantage of Vera’s distraction, her steps climbing the staircase with quiet urgency. Her breath quickens, her chest tight, each thud of her heart echoing like a drumbeat in her ears. She moves toward the guest room at the end of the hall, every step weighted with tension.
She stops at the door. Her hand hovers over the knob, trembling. Her heart slams against her ribcage so hard it feels as though it will crack. She squeezes her eyes shut, whispering to herself in desperation.
God, I really hope he doesn’t chase me out. I have to make this right. I can’t bear this. It’s killing me.
Her nails dig into her palms. There is no way she can survive a month in this house with Vera—sexy ass, taunting Vera—hovering around, tormenting her with beauty, with curves, with the constant reminder that Dominic might choose her instead. No, she cannot endure that. She has craved Dominic her entire life; she cannot watch him slip away because of one woman.
No. She shakes her head hard, determination blazing through her. She will not let it happen.
Her first thought is to knock, but she freezes. She knows exactly how that will go. Dominic will hear her voice, ask who it is, and the moment she says her name, he will refuse her. He will not open the door. He will not give her even that.
So, no knocking. She will take her chances.
She presses her hand to the doorknob, her breath held. She twists gently. To her shock, the knob turns without resistance. The door is unlocked.
A thrill rushes through her, so sudden it almost makes her smile. Slowly, carefully, she pushes the door open.
Dominic’s voice greets her instantly, casual, expectant. “Vera, so how was it?”
The words hit Aria like a slap. Her frown deepens, sharp and fast. What the hell does he mean by ‘how was it’? What exactly has Vera been doing with him?
She steps into the room, pushing the door wider. Dominic’s head snaps up at the sound, and the moment his eyes land on her, they widen in shock.
“Oh my God,” he mutters under his breath, scrambling to adjust his posture, his voice tight with disbelief.
Aria’s gaze sweeps the room, and then it lands on him—Dominic, bare-chested, nearly naked. He wears only his briefs, the rest of his body exposed, the sculpted lines of muscle across his torso illuminated in the low light. Her eyes catch on the obvious bulge below his waist, and her breath falters, caught in her throat.
A flush surges across her face, burning hot, crimson bright. Her mind flickers instantly back to the dressing room at the shopping mall, the memory searing through her nerves. The sight, the image, the sheer proximity of his body—oh God, she cannot bear the thought of losing him now. Not to Vera. Not to anyone.
Her hand reaches behind her almost automatically, closing the door softly until it clicks shut. She turns the lock, sealing them inside. Dominic’s eyes widen further as he watches her, his body tensing, his fists clenching at his sides.
“What the hell is going on?” he demands, his voice low, rough, desperate to mask the sudden tremor he feels. “Where is Vera? And what the hell are you doing in here?” His tone strains to sound furious, to regain the upper hand, to remind her of boundaries.
But Aria does not flinch.
She lifts her chin, straightens her shoulders, and meets his eyes with a look honed to cut straight through his defenses. Slowly, deliberately, her face shifts into something he knows too well—a seductive mask, crafted to perfection. Her eyes glitter, silver-grey irises glowing with intensity. She lowers her lashes just so, letting her gaze slide over him with hunger disguised as control. Her lips curl into a slow, teasing smirk, dangerous and irresistible.
Dominic feels the air in his lungs falter. Heat spreads across his chest, down his spine, pooling low in his stomach. His entire being seems to ignite under the weight of her look.
Oh my God. The thought rushes, panicked and helpless. Who the hell allowed this Jezebel to step in here?
His heart slams against his ribs, blood rushing south, pressing against the thin barrier of his briefs. That look—those mesmerizing, sparkling eyes that have haunted him for years—burn into him, dismantling his defenses.
How long can he keep resisting this?