Men these days?
Exhausting.
They're always in a rush—rushing to undress you, to make you question your boundaries, to pretend they're something they're not. It's not that I hate all of them. Just the kind that mistake desire for depth.
For the past year, I've tried to believe that maybe—not all of them are like that. Maybe someone out there still values patience. Still values presence.
Then came Aaron.
Polite. Patient. Too good to be true, maybe—but also… refreshingly normal.
He didn't pressure. He didn't play games. And somehow, without even trying, he made me feel safe. Like I could exhale.
Today is the first time I'll see him face-to-face.
I sit at the café, fingers tapping lightly against my glass of iced tea. The sun's soft, golden light spills through the windows. I didn't go overboard—just a linen dress, minimal makeup, and my favorite sandals. Easy. Comfortable. Me.
He walks in right on time. Calm. Clean-cut. Charming, even from across the room.
And then I notice it—something small, but out of place. A car key—sleek, expensive-looking—dangling from his finger as he tucks it into his pocket.
I blink. I hadn't imagined him as the flashy type.
Before I can overthink it, I feel a strange pull behind me. Like someone's watching.
Not curious. Not casual. Just… focused.
Not just a passing glance—full-on, unwavering attention.
I shift in my seat and lean in slightly. "Aaron," I murmur, "there's a guy behind us. He's been staring."
Aaron doesn't turn immediately. Instead, a small smile tugs at his lips, like he expected this.
"That would be Nathan," he says, voice laced with amusement.
I frown. "Nathan?"
"My dad's a little… overprotective. So he insists on sending an assistant to, you know, make sure I don't get kidnapped or something." Aaron shrugs as if this is completely normal. "Nathan's more like a glorified babysitter than a bodyguard, though."
I glance back at Nathan—tall, neatly dressed, with the kind of posture that screams military training. He meets my gaze, then looks away, pretending to be interested in the bookshelf beside him.
This just keeps getting weirder.
"Can I get you something?"
We both look up as a barista approaches—a blonde guy with an easy smile, an apron tied around his waist.
"No thanks, I'm okay," I say.
"Actually, can we both get refills?" Aaron says, smiling at the barista.
"Ohh… actually," I glance at the clock, tucking my hair behind my ear. If I don't leave now, I'm definitely going to be late for my psych evaluation at the state prison.
"She'll take hers to go, then," Aaron says, already rising from his seat. "Let me help you get them."
He follows the barista toward the counter.
I start to pack my bag, intent on catching the trolley, when Aaron's phone vibrates on the table.
A call.
When the number disappears, the home screen lights up—a family photo. The tall man at the back is definitely his father, but the other guy standing next to Aaron? Older brother?
Then the phone rings again.
Same number.
On impulse, I grab it and sling my bag over my shoulder, heading toward the coffee counter.
"Aaron," I call, slipping behind the counter. "You're getting missed calls—"
But there's no one here.
I stop, frowning. I saw him walk back here…
A muffled noise reaches my ears.
A low sound, followed by something else.
A moan.
I take a step forward.
Then another.
My heart hammers as I round the corner—
And freeze.
Not two feet away, my boyfriend has the barista pressed against the wall.
Aaron's mouth moves over his like he's starving for it. The barista's hands are everywhere—one clutching Aaron's sweater, the other boldly pressed against his belt, fingers already slipping beneath.
His voice is breathless. "Aaron…"
My boyfriend's name.
Spoken like a prayer.
A sharp, guttural sound tears from my throat before I even think. "Are you kidding me?!"
They break apart, both snapping their heads toward me.
I don't think. I just act.
Aaron's phone is still in my hand, and before I can stop myself, I hurl it at them.
"Camilla—I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!" Aaron's voice trembles, shock written all over his face.
"You disgust me!" I shout, tears blurring my vision as I turn and run into the streets.
Aaron chases after me, saying something I don't care to hear. Why on earth did he lie?
"Wait!" He catches up, grabbing my wrist. "I didn't want to hurt you… I'm sorry. I like you, Camilla. You're a good person, but you know my family—he won't understand!"
I yank my hand away. "Oh yeah? So what have we been doing this whole time? Pretending? Was I just some act in your little game?"
Aaron exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. "That was the plan... I didn't want to hurt you. I wanted to tell you about me and Samuel, but it seemed too soon."
"Well, I'm not interested." I snap, spinning on my heel.
"Wait… how much? Name your price, I'll give it to you!"
I scoff. "I don't need your money. I'll keep your little secret, so keep your damn money, Mr. Aaron Giordano."
And just like that, my fairy tale with Prince Charming was over.
I hurry down the street, my chest burning, my eyes still stinging with angry tears.
---
Three hours later.
I sit at a plastic table in a cinder-block cell, my hair tied up in what I hope looks professional. My legs tremble with nerves—maybe even a little bit of aftershock. I still can't believe what Aaron did.
I straighten in my seat. Focus. This is my job now. My next assignment is critical.
Up until now, I've only been assigned to basic white-collar criminals. But today? Today, I'm dealing with Giordano Alessandro—the city's mafia king. Ruthless. Cold-blooded. A man who will do anything to protect his bloodline and power.
The hallway door clangs open. I stand, smoothing my blazer. My pulse pounds in my ears.
Four guards bring him in.
I expected a fat, balding man with gold rings and a greasy suit.
But this man is nothing like that.
He's tall, broad-shouldered, moving with an effortless authority that demands fear. Over six feet—maybe even seven, the way danger coils around him.
My breath catches as my eyes land on him. His dark hair falls over his shoulders, framing a sharp jaw and piercing green eyes, shadowed with something unreadable.
I've seen him before.
Oh, Mother Mary.
He's the man from Aaron's phone. The older one in that photo.
How did I miss this?
Aaron Giordano.
Alessandro Giordano.
Aaron isn't just some spoiled rich boy.
He's the mafia king's son.