Dark Desire

Chapter Three

MARIANA

I woke up with a bitter taste at the back of my throat and found myself shivering under a gray fleece blanket. Alarm bells rang the second I realized I was not in my room. No. I wasn't even in my country.

Memories flashed through my head in a series of sharp sensations. Wedding. Bar. Dancing. Black van.

"Merda." I cursed, rubbing and putting pressure in my head. I attempted to rise from the squared leather couch and instead scrambled over the coffee table, messing up the transparent vase that laid on its center.

When my head snapped up to survey the entire room, I could have sworn I was dreaming. It was the kind of place minimalist millionaires owned. White walls and floor-to-ceiling glass panels made up the entirety of the house—no, mansion. Diamond chandelier stared down at me from the top. From the right, a huge slide-in door guarded what appeared to be an indoor pool swarmed with LED lights. From the left, a grand piano was positioned next to a carpeted circular staircase—the kind that required a princess and her glass slippers to walk on.

"Bathroom is at the hallway to the right," a voice made my head swivel so fast I almost fainted again. When was the last time I ate? "Don't puke. That carpet is one-of-a-kind."

A man in a formal office attire greeted me. He wasn't exactly smiling but kindness and reassurance pooled in his brown eyes. He looked young but strained, guarded and tense like how a bodyguard would be standing beside his client.

"Is this your house?" The first words I uttered sounded like they came from a chainsmoker.

The man simply evaded my question and handed me a Chanel paper bag. "Clean up and get dressed. I will be collecting you in half an hour. We have business to discuss."

•••

My life, it seemed, had went from boring to unpredictable in the course of 24 hours.

I had clear memory of two people kidnapping me from a bar last night, but none of being dropped off in a mansion. If the two assholes had been telling the truth, then this is the Wolff's house. And he just bought me a vintage black Channel dress.

I used to think I hate dresses but staring at my reflection in the gold and marble dresser had me changing my mind. It wasn't the dresses I disliked. It was the bright, sunny and floral patterns I've worn in Vernazza that I hated. The black, satin dress was unlike any garment that ever touched my body. It was elegant and deadly. A tool for a vixen; a seductress. Why the Wolff chose that specific dress, I had no idea.

Fifteen minutes after drying my hair, the thick curls I've gotten so used to straightening laid untouched. I had no one to impress. Didn't even apply makeup since there wasn't any. I was bare, nothing but the black dress in my body. No underwear either. I checked the paper bag twice. There was nothing else in it.

Few minutes flew by as I waited on the couch I woke up on, trying to behave myself and not snoop around by picking up a hardbound book underneath the coffee table entitled The Guide To Sexual Fulfilment. Hmm. Before I could flip a page, the man in the formal attire reappeared. He said no word as he led both of us to an office on the far left corner of the second floor.

"Wolff, she's here." He muttered as he opened the door, confirming my suspicions.

Wolff indeed lived here and he was the person the two knuckleheads brought me to—sold me to.