Chapter 7 A Forbidden Attraction

I could still feel the ghost of his lips on mine. Rafael's kiss was like fire, all-consuming, and dangerous. But even now, as I sat in the dimly lit corner of the club, watching him across the room, I hated myself for wanting more.

What the hell was wrong with me?

I was supposed to be plotting my revenge, not getting tangled up with the man who might've had a hand in my family's destruction. But the way he looked at me, like he could see past every mask I wore, made it hard to breathe.

He was talking to someone another one of his shady business partners, no doubt. I should've been paying attention, but my mind was stuck on our kiss. The heat, the way he held me like he owned me, and the maddening fact that a part of me liked it.

"Earth to Marisol."

Elena's voice snapped me out of my thoughts. She slid into the booth across from me, her expression sharp.

"You're staring at him again," she said, crossing her arms.

"I'm not," I lied, picking up my drink.

Elena leaned in, her voice low. "You need to be careful. Rafael isn't just dangerous he's lethal. People like him don't love; they control. Don't let him get inside your head."

Too late for that.

I forced a smirk. "Don't worry about me, Elena. I can handle myself."

She didn't look convinced, but before she could argue, the club's lights dimmed, signaling the start of the night's main event. I excused myself, weaving through the crowd to the back hallway.

I needed air. Space. Anything to clear my head.

But instead of calm, I found Rafael waiting for me, leaning casually against the wall like he hadn't just kissed me senseless hours ago.

"You've been avoiding me," he said, his voice smooth as silk.

"Maybe I have," I shot back, folding my arms. "What's it to you?"

He pushed off the wall, closing the distance between us in a few strides. "It's everything to me, Marisol."

His words sent a shiver down my spine, but I refused to let him see it. "You don't own me, Rafael."

"Don't I?" His hand brushed my cheek, his touch igniting a war inside me. "You've been mine since the moment you walked into my club."

I slapped his hand away, anger bubbling to the surface. "Fuck you, Rafael. You don't get to decide that."

His smirk was infuriating, but his eyes burned with something raw. "You can fight me all you want, but you and I both know the truth. This...whatever this is between us...it's inevitable."

Before I could respond, he turned and walked away, leaving me breathless and furious.

I couldn't ignore it any longer. The photograph, the scarred man's cryptic warnings it was time for answers.

I cornered Rafael in his office later that night, slamming the door behind me. He looked up from his desk, his brow arching in amusement.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked, leaning back in his chair.

I tossed the photograph onto his desk. "Explain this. Now."

His expression darkened as he picked up the photo, his jaw tightening. "Where did you get this?"

"That doesn't matter," I said, stepping closer. "What matters is why my father is in it. With you."

Rafael set the photo down, his gaze meeting mine. "Your father and I...we had history."

"What kind of history?" I demanded, my voice shaking. "Did it have anything to do with what happened to my family?"

His silence was deafening.

"Tell me!" I shouted, slamming my hands on the desk.

Rafael stood, his presence towering and overwhelming. "Your father wasn't the man you thought he was, Marisol. He made enemies powerful ones. And he paid the price."

I staggered back, the weight of his words crashing over me. "What the fuck are you saying? That my father deserved what happened to him?"

"I'm saying he made choices," Rafael said, his voice low. "Choices that put you in danger."

I didn't know whether to scream or cry. Instead, I turned and stormed out of the office, my mind spinning with questions I didn't want to answer.

"Elena," I said, my voice firm as I found her backstage. "I need your help."

She raised an eyebrow. "With what?"

"Digging into Rafael's past. My father's past. All of it."

Elena hesitated, her eyes flicking toward the crowd. "You're playing a dangerous game, Marisol."

"I don't care," I said. "I need to know the truth."

After a long pause, she nodded. "Fine. But if we're doing this, we do it my way."

It was during one of our late-night meetings with Elena that the scarred man appeared. He cornered me in the alley behind the club, his eyes gleaming with malice.

"You think you're clever," he said, his voice like gravel. "Digging where you don't belong."

I stepped back, my heart racing. "What the hell do you want?"

"To warn you," he said, his lips curling into a sneer. "Rafael isn't who you think he is. He's not your savior, Marisol. He's the reason your family is dead."

His words hit like a slap, but before I could respond, Rafael appeared, his gun drawn.

"That's enough," Rafael said, his voice cold.

The scarred man smirked. "Protecting her, are you? How noble. But she'll find out the truth eventually."

He disappeared into the shadows, leaving me trembling and full of questions.

I turned to Rafael, my voice shaking. "Is it true? Did you have something to do with my family's deaths?"

His jaw tightened, but he didn't answer. And that silence was the most damning thing of all.