Page 39 of Queen of Vice

I had no idea if she was even alive, but I was gambling everything to find her.

And that’s why I had to marry this man.

To get what I wanted I had to marry him, live with him, and play this sick game. And we hadn’t even made it to the engagement ceremony. I wasn’t sure if I could do this.

But I had to.

I had to swallow the pain, bury it deep, and carry on. For Eva, for Molly... for myself. Even though it felt like it was going to tear me apart.

Less than thirty minutes after my breakdown, I found myself in the backseat of a luxury sedan. My thoughts were still a tangled mess, but my mask was at least secure again.

The driver, a tall man with a military bearing, was meticulously dressed in a sharp black suit. His hair was cropped short, and he wore dark sunglasses like the last driver had, which obscured his eyes, adding to his professional and stoic demeanor. He had only spoken three words to me, all of them curt and formal, leaving no room for conversation.

As the car glided smoothly down the road, I noticed a bottle of water and a small bag resting on the seat beside me. Curiosity gnawed at me, and I picked it up, finding two pills inside that looked identical to the ones I took daily. It was ironic, considering the line of work Mateo was involved in, that he would ensure I had my medication. But it wasn’t surprising that he would find out such personal information. Nothing seemed out of reach for him.

The realization threw me into a deeper state of turmoil.

If these were truly my pills, it meant Mateo had access to my most intimate details, and there was no telling what else he knew about me. But if they weren’t… I couldn’t risk it. I wasn’t going to take that chance, no matter how much they looked like mine. I stared at the pills for a moment longer, then set them aside and reached for the water instead. The cool liquid slid down my throat, offering some small comfort.

My body felt like a battleground, each inch of skin a reminder of his violation. The shame burned hot in my cheeks. I kept replaying him roughly bending me over that table, treating me like nothing more than a worthless whore. He didn't care who saw or heard us, whether it be his own men or even his family members passing by. The memory made me want to shrink into myself. At the same time, my body betrayed me with its craving for his touch. It was a never-ending battle within myself, one that left me feeling broken and helpless.

The previous night, I had given in to his every desire without hesitation. Now, I couldn't deny the shock and confusion overwhelming me. Was something wrong with me? I’d gone as far as following his absurd command to keep his semen inside me. I couldn't help but hate myself for giving in to him so easily, for allowing him to treat me so ruthlessly.

And yet, this was just the beginning - a mere hint of what our marriage would inevitably become. Worse, I could sense his restraint. From the way he moved within me to how he reacted to my naivety and futile objections. I knew that there was a deeper reason behind it all, one that only he held the answers to. This dance of pleasure and pain would continue, and I was powerless to do anything about it.

My phone rang again, the persistent buzzing cutting through the silence in the car. I glanced at the screen and saw my uncle’s name flashing for the fourth time.

With a sigh, I silenced it, unwilling to deal with him right now. I’d texted earlier that I would speak to them soon, but the thought of actually doing it gave me a headache. How was I supposed to explain all of this to my grandmother? I couldn’t care less about my uncle’s opinion—he was the last person I wanted to talk to.

But my grandmother…

She had gone out of her way to give Aunt Molly a proper funeral, and for appearance’s sake, she’d done the same for Eva, despite everything. The thought of facing her, of trying to explain what had happened and what I was entangled in, made my stomach churn. I glanced down at my phone again, hoping for a distraction, but Peyton and Melody still hadn’t replied to my texts. The silence from them only added to the unease building inside me. With a resigned sigh, I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the seat.

I heard a voice calling my name, soft but insistent. It was Mateo’s. Wait—Mateo? My eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, I was disoriented, unsure of where I was. It took a second to register that the driver was holding a phone out toward me, and Mateo was on the other end of the line.

I took the phone, blinking away the confusion. “Hello?”

“If you were tired, you could have gone back to sleep,anjinho.” His voice was smooth, almost amused.

“I didn’t know that was an option,” I muttered, still trying to shake off the grogginess.

The line went silent for a moment, and then he responded, his tone more serious. “I’ll see you soon.” Before I could say anything else, there was a beep to signal the call had ended.

I handed the phone back to the driver, giving him a questioning look. “Why didn’t you just wake me up?”

His expression remained stoic as he responded, “Mr. Escuro made it very clear you aren’t to speak to other men without his consent. As far as touching, that would cause me to lose my hands.”

I stared at him. The image of the severed limb flashed through my mind. A brutal warning, wrapped in flesh and bone, delivered in an elegant box.

“We have arrived,” the driver added, his voice breaking through the haze of my thoughts. I looked up just in time to see him stepping out of the car.

I turned to look out the window, taking in the sight of the boutique Mateo had mentioned earlier. The name was etched in elegant script above the entrance, and the store itself was a study in opulence.

The intricate gold latticework on the windows and the polished marble exterior made it clear that this was no ordinary boutique. This was a place where only the wealthiest of the wealthy shopped, a shrine to excess and luxury. It clicked then, as I stared up at it.

My sister had shopped here before, flaunting the latest designer pieces as if they were as casual as jeans and a t-shirt in our rundown neighborhood. I remembered the countless times she’d returned home with bags from this place, her eyes sparkling with the thrill of having something no one else did. Eva had loved this world, thrived in it even. She’d been born for luxury, whereas I’d always felt like I was playing dress-up, an imposter in a world that wasn’t mine when she begged me to try the clothes on. Now, standing outside, I wondered what my sister would think of me being here now, under such circumstances.

Would she be proud? Horrified? I wasn’t sure, but the thought of her brought a fresh wave of sadness and determination. As I stepped out of the car, the driver, who had barely spoken three words to me since our journey began, said in a measured tone, "I will be on standby, Miss. Take your time."

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