Page 13 of Twisted Promise

@248Nothing risky, just boring pictures. He even gave me extra money just to greet him every morning. I don’t know what to think about that. I just now screen-recorded all the transactions and our texts.

250

Now I’m super interested. Who is your ex? I’ve only ever heard of people spending that much on risqué photos or for blackmail. How rich is this guy?

251:OP

I can’t name him. He’s quiet and kind, though blunt at times. He’s just rough around the edges, but he was really good to me.

252

Sounds like a classic pick-up artist trying to game you.

253

More like, “I catfished and scammed a sucker,” if what she’s saying is true.

254

@253Cut OP some slack. I think she’s just covering her bases and avoiding liability. OP, I hope you’re buying a new washing machine with that money.

255

Neither of you spared her.

She sighed as the comments veered off track. She had already gotten her answer, so she logged off and tossed her phone onto the pillow beside her.

It was too early for sleep but late enough for the house to go silent when everyone retreated to their rooms. Thank goodness the bedrooms weren’t on a live feed, and views were expected to die down late at night.

No one wanted to watch an empty house unless they were ghost-hunting.

She took this opportunity to get a glass of water without encountering people. Small chats made her uncomfortable, especially with strangers.

Her slippers muted the sound of her footsteps as she pressed her ear to the door, listening for movement. When she heard nothing, she stepped into the common area and made a quick beeline for the open-floor kitchen.

“A mouse makes less noise than you,” Alessio muttered from behind her.

She spun around, a frown tugging at her lips, but she had no witty comeback. His words sounded like a jab, yet they didn’t sting.

“Would you prefer I walk in heels?” she grumbled as she opened the cupboard for a glass.

“I still have yours at home,” he reckoned casually.

Her eyes widened at his remark just as she noticed the blinking red light on the camera mounted beneath the cupboard, a prime spot for capturing the kitchen.

His narrow waist leaned on the marbled counter, and his piercing eyes trickled down the arch of her spine when she tip-toed for support to reach higher.

There were already online speculations about their relationship when the show started. She didn’t need Alessio adding fuel to the fire, but there wasn’t a private space where they could talk.

He couldn’t go into her room, nor the other way around, because there were cameras in the hall.

The director might love the attention, but Anya was never one for the spotlight or PR disasters.

“When was this taken?” he asked, shoving his phone in her face.

She nudged his hand down to keep the camera from catching a glimpse of her chest X-ray on the screen.

His hand was rough from grip friction, the muscles underneath his long-sleeve shirt were a smooth transition from wrist to shoulder, and the constant drawing of bowstring had toned his back as well.

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