Todos los capítulos de His Surrogate Fled, He Never Stopped: Capítulo 1 - Capítulo 10

Aria's POVFragments of that night rushing back in vivid, shameful detail. The hotel room spinning from too much alcohol, his strong hands gripping my wrists above my head, the way he'd growled *"Look at me"* as he moved inside me. How I'd begged him not to stop, how he'd made me say his name over and over until my voice was hoarse. The complete surrender I'd never experienced before or since, the way he'd owned every inch of my body until I was nothing but sensation and need. My face burned with humiliation as I stared at the floor, willing myself to disappear.Please don't say anything. Please don't humiliate me in front of everyone.Damian stood before me for what felt like an eternity, his presence suffocating. I could feel his dark eyes studying me, cataloging every tremor, every sign of recognition. The other girls continued their work around us, but I was acutely aware that we were the center of attention—or rather, he was, and I was simply caught in his orbit.When he finally

Aria's POVI had ruined his clothes—clothes that probably cost more than I made in six months.Lorenzo, Damian's bodyguard, had his gun drawn and pointed directly at my chest before I could even process what was happening. The cold metal gleamed under the dim lighting, and I found myself staring down the barrel with a strange sense of detachment, as if this were happening to someone else.Enzo collapsed to his knees beside me with a sickening thud, his face pale as death. "Mr. Cavalieri, please forgive her," he babbled frantically, his hands clasped together in supplication. "She's new, inexperienced. It was an accident, I swear on my mother's grave. Please, have mercy."In that moment, facing the barrel of Lorenzo's gun, my mind went to strange places. I thought about all the ways I might die. A bullet to the head would be quick, at least. Maybe they'd make it look like an accident. Or perhaps they'd be more creative—I'd heard stories about what happened to people who crossed the Cav

Aria's POV"How do you know so much about Damian Cavalieri?"I forced myself to meet her concerned gaze, my heart hammering against my ribs. How could I possibly explain what had happened that night? How could I tell her that I'd spent the most intimate—and terrifying—hours of my life completely at his mercy?Fifteen days ago.The diagnosis had shattered my world in an instant."I'm sorry, Miss Rossi," Dr. Martinelli had said, his voice gentle but final. "Jessica has a rare kidney disease. Without immediate treatment, she has perhaps six months."Six months. The words had echoed in my skull as I'd stumbled out of the hospital, my carefully constructed plans crumbling to dust. The scholarship money was gone, spent on Jessica's initial treatments. My part-time job at the café barely covered our basic living expenses.Marco, my boyfriend of two years, had listened to my desperate pleas for help with the cold detachment of a stranger."Aria, be realistic," he'd said, not even looking up f

Aria's POVThe Montrosso estate loomed. I'd never seen wealth displayed so casually, so completely.My palms were sweating as I approached the servants' entrance, clutching the email confirmation I'd printed at an internet café. Three hundred euros for one night's work. It was more money than I'd ever made at once, enough to cover Jessica's treatment for almost a week.I can do this, I told myself, smoothing down my best black dress—the same one I'd worn to job interviews back when I'd thought my college degree might actually lead somewhere respectable.The servants' entrance led to a bustling preparation area where other potential hires waited nervously. There were perhaps twenty of us, mostly women in their twenties and thirties, all wearing the kind of careful, desperate politeness that came with needing money badly."Candidates for temporary positions, please form a line," announced a voice with crisp authority.The woman who emerged from an office doorway was the picture of profe

Aria's POVThe servant's quarters at the Montrosso estate buzzed with nervous energy as fifteen temporary workers gathered for our first day of training."Ladies and gentlemen," Signora Russo announced, "today begins your intensive preparation for tomorrow evening's gala. Those who fail to meet our exacting standards will be dismissed immediately."Her cold gaze swept over our assembled group before landing on me with unmistakable hostility. Even though I'd somehow secured this position, it was clear she hadn't forgotten our confrontation during the interview process."Miss Rossi," she called out, her voice carrying just enough volume to ensure everyone heard. "Since you seem so confident in your abilities, you can demonstrate proper service technique for the group."My stomach clenched, but I stepped forward. "Of course, signora."What followed was three hours of the most deliberately punishing instruction I'd ever experienced.While the other trainees practiced with standard wine gl