Chapter 6 The Devil's Guest List

• This was dangerous territory. Not just criminals in suits sipping champagne but killers, rivals, traffickers. If she stepped into that room, she wasn’t just playing a role anymore. She’d be standing in the lion’s den, surrounded by wolves.
• Still, she replied with a single word.
• “Understood.”
• That night, Valentina wore crimson.
• The dress was bold, backless, and hugged her figure like a second skin. It was a statement not just of beauty, but power. She wasn’t there to fade into the background. If she wanted access, she had to make herself unforgettable.
• The Hacienda Sol sat on the edge of the hills, its sprawling estate glowing like a jewel in the darkness. Expensive cars lined the drive. Security was tight armed guards in black suits checked every guest, but when she gave her name, one nodded and let her through without a word.
• Inside, the ballroom was drenched in gold and shadows. Men with cold eyes and expensive watches milled about with women draped in silk and diamonds. Waiters floated by with trays of champagne, and a soft, haunting violin hummed through the air.
• Valentina’s gaze swept the room faces, names, whispered rumors she’d memorized. Some she recognized from the news. Others she had researched for years.
• And then she saw him.
• Rafael stood near the balcony, dressed in an obsidian suit with no tie, his dark hair brushed back, eyes scanning the crowd like a king observing his court. He saw her almost instantly.
• And smiled.
• It was subtle. Just a slight twitch of his lips but it was enough.
• He came to her, moving like he owned the floor beneath his feet. Several people turned to watch. Some with curiosity. Others with envy.
• “You clean up well,” he said, voice low, smooth as velvet over steel.
• “And you host a party like you’re expecting a war.”
• “I always expect a war.”
• She sipped from a glass of wine. “Why invite me to something like this?”
• Rafael looked past her, to the room. “Because there are people here I don’t trust. And I like to watch how they behave around new blood.”
• “You’re using me as bait.”
• “You’re not bait,” he said. “You’re the distraction.”
• Valentina smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
• For the next hour, she followed him through the maze of the gala introduced to men with dead eyes and women with frozen smiles. Every conversation was layered with hidden meanings. Every toast a silent threat.
• She played the part flawlessly. Laughed when she needed to. Asked smart questions. Pretended she wasn’t trembling inside.
• But then something changed.
• A man approached tall, wiry, eyes sharp and cold as ice.
• “Valentina, was it?” he asked, his Spanish laced with a Cuban accent. “I’ve heard you’re a journalist. Freelance, yes?”
• She nodded cautiously. “That’s right.”
• The man turned to Rafael. “You don’t usually allow reporters at your gatherings.”
• “She’s not just a reporter,” Rafael said without blinking. “She’s mine.”
• Silence. Then the man smiled, slow and calculating.
• “Of course.”
• But Valentina barely heard the rest.
• She’s mine.
• It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t even protective. It was a warning.
• She belonged to Rafael now at least in the eyes of this world.
• And that meant her lies just got a lot more dangerous.