Chapter 12
Selene's Penthouse. 7:09 PM.
I sat at the marble island, laptop open, screen split across five tasks:
Decoding hidden microtrackers.
Mapping dummy accounts linked to Marco's cashflow.
Scanning penthouse for bugs.
Cross-referencing facial recognition hits from the auction.
Drafting a deep fake collapse plan for Marco's political ties.
Selene sat two feet away, curled up in a chair.
Legs crossed.
Face buried in a hoodie three sizes too big.
Breathing shallow like she was on life support.
And still staring at me like I was a walking, talking forbidden fruit.
I muted the comm line.
Tapped my earpiece.
"Valentina. Status."
She answered instantly.
"Heading up the elevator now. If I combust, it's your fault."
I smirked.
"Be calm."
"I AM CALM. I'M JUST SWEATING FROM PLACES THAT SHOULDN'T SWEAT."
I muted her too.
Door buzzed.
Selene sprinted so fast her socked feet slid across the marble floor and she nearly slammed face-first into the wall.
She yanked the door open.
Valentina walked in.
Tight jeans. Cropped leather jacket. Boots. Sunglasses still on.
Looking deadly.
Until she saw me.
Sitting there.
Hoodie loose. Collarbone exposed. Fingers tapping keys.
And immediately?
She visibly short-circuited.
Tiny gasp.
Eyes wide.
Immediate feral girl math equation happening in her brain:
Valentina stumbled in.
Selene closed the door behind her, whispering to herself like a cultist.
"I'm fine. I'm normal. It's okay if she's the final boss of lesbianism."
Valentina slid into the seat next to me.
And exhaled so shakily it sounded like she'd just survived a horror movie.
"Focus," I said calmly.
She nodded aggressively like a dog being bribed with treats.
I tapped the laptop.
"Marco's tech is deeper than we thought."
Valentina blinked.
"...Deeper than his fake tax shelters?"
"Deeper."
I pulled up a schematic.
"Tracking implants disguised as jewelry. Bio-hacked fingerprints for vaults. A satellite bounce program masking encrypted calls across three continents. And—"
I tapped another tab.
"—a risk nobody else would've noticed."
Both girls leaned in unconsciously.
I zoomed the map.
"Hidden self-destruct protocols tied to key offshore servers. If Marco thinks he's compromised? He'll wipe everything. Including every victim record."
Valentina cursed under her breath.
Selene just whimpered.
"But," I said, voice calm, "if we stay ahead—if we let him think he's still in control—he won't trigger it."
Selene was breathing heavy again.
Valentina's hand slipped under the table gripping her thigh so hard she nearly bruised herself.
I leaned back in the chair.
Hoodie half sliding off one shoulder.
"You two good?"
Selene mumbled, face burning:
"I'm okay. Just thinking about... death. And gay rights."
Valentina coughed violently.
"Fine. Fine. Definitely not leaking sexuality out my ears."
I pointed to the screen.
"Memorize these risks. If we screw this up, no money, no documents, no proof. Marco walks."
Both nodded.
Both still bright red.
Both seconds away from detonating from how sexy intelligence looked tonight.
And me?
Still calm.
Still deadly.
Still ready to burn an empire from the inside out.
Selene's Penthouse. 9:42 PM.
Valentina had gone home.
Safe.
Mission plan memorized.
Now it was just me.
And Selene.
I stood near the couch.
Bag dropped by the side.
"Mind if I crash here?" I asked.
She looked up from her laptop like I just offered her a lifetime supply of oxygen.
"Y-yeah! Stay! Please. I mean—it's totally cool, not like I'm desperate for your presence or anything."
I smirked slightly.
"I'll take the couch."
Her face fell slightly, but she nodded, trying to be brave.
I dropped onto the plush velvet.
Leaned back.
Stretched out.
Arms overhead.
Abs flexing slightly under the hoodie as it lifted up a little.
Legs spread lazily.
Without thinking—
Without even meaning to—
"...Damn. Feel like cuddling."
Immediate silence.
The air went thick.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
I realized what I said.
Too late.
Selene was already moving.
1.2 Seconds Later.
Something tiny launched across the penthouse.
I barely got my arms up in time before Selene tackled me.
Full-body.
Straddling my lap.
Face buried in my neck.
She was purring like an engine about to explode.
Then—
Lick.
Tiny tongue.
Dragging over the side of my neck like I was a popsicle she'd been dreaming about all semester.
I stiffened.
"...Selene."
She licked again.
Arms wrapped around my torso.
"Nope," she muttered against my skin.
"You said it. You can't unsay it. You said 'cuddle.' I'm a legally binding witness. You're mine now."
I exhaled slowly.
"You are tiny."
"I am determined."
"You are insane."
"I'm in love."
She nuzzled deeper into my hoodie.
Her entire body vibrating.
Actual, physical purring.
Little legs kicking occasionally like a dog dreaming.
I leaned my head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling.
God.
Help.
Me.
Tiny 4'10 demon was never letting go.
I muttered under my breath.
"...I'm never living this down."
Selene tightened her arms around me and whispered, dead serious:
"You'll live it down. After I die in your arms."
I laughed once.
Low.
Soft.
Defeated.
And just let it happen.
Because fighting tiny feral lesbian love?
Impossible.
Next Morning
Northvale High. 8:21 AM.
Same routine.
Backpack slung low.
Head ducked.
Old hoodie zipped up to my chin.
Fading into the background like a ghost.
Just another day of playing the weak, stupid, useless orphan girl no one cared about.
The insults started the second I hit the second-floor lockers.
"Yo, Trashbrook! Lose your cardboard house again?"
"Did you eat breakfast or did you just suck crumbs off the floor?"
"I heard she bathes once a year, when it rains."
I didn't look up.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't react.
Because today?
I wasn't thinking about the words.
I was thinking about the audio I pulled last night.
And what I found hidden in Marco's private encrypted files.
Something... off.
Something dangerous.
I spotted Valentina by her usual spot—leaning against the lockers with her crew.
Full princess energy.
Hair flawless.
Laugh fake.
Voice sharp like knives.
She caught sight of me.
And in character, she sneered loud enough for everyone to hear:
"Careful, you might catch poverty if you stand too close to her."
Her friends laughed.
I shuffled past, books nearly slipping from my hand.
Bumped my shoulder into her slightly—
Two taps.
Signal.
Lunch break.
Janitor's closet.
Emergency.
She didn't react.
Kept laughing.
Flipping her hair.
Selling the act so well no one suspected a thing.
Good girl.
Janitor Closet. 12:31 PM. Lunch Break.
I was already there.
Lights off.
Hood down.
Tablet pulled up, screen dark to hide the intel.
Footsteps.
Soft knock.
Valentina slipped in.
Closed the door.
No smile now.
Just raw nerves.
"You found something," she whispered.
I nodded once.
Serious.
Tense.
She bit her lip.
Eyes searching mine.
"What is it?"
I stared at her.
At my best undercover.
At the girl who was trusting me with her life now without even realizing it.
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
Voice flat.
Steady.
"Your life is in danger."
Her breath hitched.
Silence.
I didn't say more.
Not yet.
Janitor Closet. 12:34 PM.
Valentina stood across from me.
Chest rising and falling.
Waiting.
Terrified—but masking it like she always did.
I tapped the tablet once.
Audio file loaded.
I hit play.
Marco's voice filled the tiny room.
Confident.
Laughing.
Marco:
"She'll marry him next month. Ceremony in private. Contract signed beforehand. Her opinions don't matter. She's just a Vercetti after all—property to secure alliances."
Business Partner:
"And you're sure your girl won't rebel?"
Marco:
"She won't dare. And if she does? He'll handle it. Like his father handled his own wife."
Valentina's face paled.
I clicked again.
Pulled up another file.
An intel sheet.
The profile of the man she was being sold to:
Name: Matteo Calderón.
Age: 23.
Occupation: Official: Real Estate.
Reality: Leader of Los Dagas Cartel.
Criminal record:
Over 200 violent crimes recorded in one year.
Heavy drug trafficking kingpin.
Pornography addict with multiple charges of illegal exploitation.
Accused of over 100 sexual assaults.
Accused of 22 verified acts of cannibalism across international borders.
Never charged. Cleared through bribery and assassination of witnesses.
Status: Protected by blood money, cartel rule, political blackmail.
Valentina looked at me.
Eyes wide.
Frozen.
Broken.
A hollow sound left her mouth.
"No," she whispered.
She grabbed the tablet, scanned the data, shaking harder with every line she read.
"No, no, no, no, no—"
I caught her wrist gently.
Forced her to look at me.
"He's selling you to a monster," I said quietly.
She shook her head violently.
Tears welling.
"But I'm his—his daughter—how can he—?"
I held her stare.
No emotion.
No softness.
"He doesn't see a daughter.
He sees a price tag."
Silence crushed the room.
Only the static of the paused recording in the air.
Valentina sagged against the door, sliding down to sit on the floor.
Hugging herself.
I crouched next to her.
Close.
Steady.
Safe.
Janitor Closet. 12:40 PM.
I spoke again, calm and razor-sharp.
"Now we have the upper hand."
She wiped her face roughly.
"...How?"
I tapped the tablet.
"Because if Marco goes through with this, and if even a whisper of this alliance leaks?"
I leaned closer.
Voice dropping to a lethal whisper.
"Every crime family. Every political donor. Every black-market ally he has? Will turn on him before the FBI ever knocks."
Valentina blinked up at me.
Hope flickering through the devastation.
"You have proof."
I nodded.
"Audio. Video. Documents. Contracts drafted but not signed yet."
I locked eyes with her.
"We're going to end him, Valentina."
Pause.
"And you're going to walk away from this empire."
She stared.
Breathless.
Broken.
But underneath it?
That fire starting again.
Her voice cracked.
"...You'll stay with me?"
I nodded.
Without hesitation.
"Until the end."
She closed her eyes.
A single tear slipped down.
And whispered back—
"Okay.
Let's kill my father."
Marco's call ended.
Valentina stood there, phone still pressed against her ear, frozen.
I leaned against the lockers casually.
Dead calm.
Hands in my pockets.
Gave her the deadliest smirk I've ever worn in my life.
Sharp.
Slow.
Pure calculated murder.
Valentina's entire soul shivered.
"...What are you planning?" she whispered, terrified and—unfortunately—horny at the same time.
I pushed off the wall.
Stepped closer.
So close she had to tilt her head up to see
Northvale High. Janitor Closet. 12:44 PM.
Valentina's phone buzzed.
She picked it up.
Speakerphone.
Marco's voice, smooth and commanding:
"Princesa. Come home tonight. There's someone special I want you to meet. Dress pretty. Make me proud."
Click.
No goodbye.
No explanation.
Just orders.
Valentina slowly lowered the phone.
I was standing right in front of her.
Watching.
Silent.
Calculating.
Then—
I smiled.
Not a normal smile.
Not even a smirk.
The deadliest fucking smirk she had ever seen in her life.
Like a blade unsheathed.
Like death itself decided to play fair.
Valentina flinched.
"...What are you planning?"
I stepped forward once.
Boots silent against the floor.
I leaned in just close enough she could smell my cologne, feel my calm.
She held her breath.
I opened my mouth like I was about to tell her—
Then stopped.
Tilted my head.
Smirked deeper.
Tapped her chin lightly with two fingers.
And whispered:
"Go be Daddy's little princess."
Pause.
Voice lower.
Hungrier.
Colder.
"You won't see it coming."
Her legs buckled slightly.
She pressed her back against the door like she physically needed it to stay standing.
I turned without another word.
Hood up.
Hands in my pockets.
Walking out of the janitor closet like a reaper about to collect a soul.
Valentina was left behind.
Hand pressed to her chest.
Face beet red.
Heart racing.
Whispering under her breath—
"I'm gonna cum before she even kills anyone."