26 | Flashback, part 1
[Flashback: Aurelia sixteen years old]
I was sixteen when I finally decided to let go of my stupid crush on Luciano Costa.
It was childish, pathetic, even. He was older than me, my older brother's best friend, the man who had never once looked at me the way I wanted him to. And why would he? To him, I was just Aurelia, the little sister, the kid with wild ginger hair.
So, I decided to stop caring about him. To stop hoping for him to love me back. To stop wanting him.
And if I was going to let go, then I was going to do it the right way by drowning in something stronger than feelings.
The party was already in full swing by the time I arrived. It wasn't just any party, it was a Franco'sparty, which meant it was being held in his parents large mansion.
Franco's father owned one of the biggest security firms in New York, providing protection for celebrities, politicians, and even the kind of men my family dealt with in the shadows.
And yet, here Franco was, throwing an out-of-control high school party in his father's house, packed with kids who had more money than sense.
It wasn't my first time drinking. It wasn't even my first time drinking a lot.
But there was something about this night, about the loud music, the dim lighting, the way the entire world felt like it was spinning even though I hadn't had nearly enough to feel anything,that made me drink more than I usually would.
One drink.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
I was still standing. Still clear-headed. Still very much aware of everything I didn't want to be aware of.
I was standing by the drink table, twirling the red plastic cup between my fingers, debating if a sixth would finally make me forget, when Franco appeared beside me.
"You like my party?" he asked, his voice smooth, confident, laced with amusement.
I glanced up at him. Franco was different from the other boys at our school, taller, broader, with sharp, dark features and a cocky smirk that made girls weak in the knees. He had always been effortlessly cool, the type of guy everyone wanted to be friends with, or more.
But tonight, he looked happy to see me. Like he actually wanted me here.
I smiled, tilting my head slightly. "I love it. Especially all the free drinks."
He let out a short laugh, his dark eyes glinting under the flashing lights of the room. "I thought you might." He nodded at my cup. "How many have you had?"
"Five."
His brows lifted slightly, impressed. "And you're still standing?"
"I don't get drunk easily."
His smirk deepened. "That should be concerning, but for some reason, it just makes you more interesting."
I rolled my eyes but felt a strange flutter in my chest anyway.
"Won't your dad be mad at you for throwing a party like this?" I asked, arching a brow.
Franco just shrugged, his confidence unwavering. "What he won't know won't hurt him."
I laughed softly, shaking my head. It was such a Franco thing to say.
Then he held out his hand. "Come on," he said. "Let's go dance."
For a moment, I hesitated. Not because I didn't want to, but because something inside me was afraid, afraid of how easy this felt, how natural it was to take his hand and let him lead me to the dance floor.
But I did it anyway.
Because I was sixteen, and I was tired of feeling like I wasn't enough.
Because I wanted to forget.
Because for the first time that night, someone was looking at me like I mattered.
So I let Franco pull me into the crowd, into the music, into a night that would blur into something I'd remember forever.
────??────
I woke up to a pounding headache, my skull feeling like someone had taken a hammer to it.
The room was dark, the blackout curtains blocking out the morning sun, but I could still sense the daylight seeping through the cracks.
My throat was dry, my body heavy, my muscles sore, and I felt the distinct weight of regret pressing against my chest.
But then I rolled over and I felt it.
The warmth. The body next to mine.
Panic shot through me like ice water in my veins. My breath caught, my stomach twisted, and I jerked up so fast that my head spun.
Franco.
He was lying there, his dark hair a mess, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other lazily draped over his stomach. The sheets were slightly disheveled, but we were both fully clothed, he in his rumpled T-shirt and jeans, me in my dress from last night.
I swallowed thickly, my heart slamming against my ribs.
Oh god.
No, no, no.
I reached out and shook him hard.
"Franco!" My voice came out hoarse, raw from sleep and last night's alcohol.
He groaned, scrunching his face in protest. "Five more minutes," he mumbled, his voice gravelly.
I shook him again. "Wake up, now."
His eyes cracked open, dark and unfocused. He blinked a few times, groaning as he pressed a hand to his temple. "Shit... My head is killing me."
"Franco," I snapped, my pulse racing. "Did we—?"
His brows furrowed. "Did we what?"
I gestured between us, my fingers curling into the bedsheets. "Did we do anything?"
For a second, he just stared at me, as if my words were slowly filtering through the fog of his hangover. Then, he let out a dry, humorless laugh.
"Aurelia," he said, rubbing his face, "I wouldn't take advantage of a drunk girl. That's disgusting."
I exhaled sharply, relief flooding through me so fast that it almost made me lightheaded. "So, what the hell happened?"
"You got wasted. I helped you to bed. And I guess I just... crashed here too." He yawned, stretching his arms above his head. "Relax. You're safe."
Safe.
That word felt foreign.
I couldn't remember the last time I had felt truly safe.
I was about to respond when my phone buzzed loudly from the nightstand. I grabbed it, wincing at the sudden movement. The name flashing across the screen made my stomach tighten.
Chase.
I quickly answered. "Hello?"
"Where the hell are you?" His voice was sharp, but not angry, just concerned. "You're not home."
Chase was the only one in our family who actually cared. The only one who ever checked on me.
"I'm with Franco," I admitted, rubbing my temples.
There was a pause. Then, he sighed. "Alright. Just be home soon, okay?"
"Yeah, yeah. I'll be back."
"And don't forget," he added, "Ciara's birthday party is tonight. A few of our family friends are going to be there."
Ciara.
The mere mention of her name made my jaw clench.
I hated her. But I didn't have the energy to fight Chase on this.
"Fine," I muttered before hanging up.
Franco, who had been watching me the whole time, raised a brow. "You look pissed. What happened?"
I flopped back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. "My brother wants me to go to Ciara's birthday party tonight."
Franco let out a low whistle. "Ah. That Ciara."
Franco's parents and my parents used to be close friends, so we used to spend a lot of time together. However, they stopped hanging out two years ago, and the last time Franco spoke to Ciara was several years back when he was still a child.
"You are friends with her?" I asked, turning my head toward him.
He shrugged. "We run in the same circles, I haven't talked to her at all. But she's... hard to miss."
Of course she was.
"She's not as great as everyone thinks," I mumbled.
Franco smirked. "Sounds like jealousy, Red."
I shot him a glare. "It's not jealousy. It's hatred. There's a difference."
He chuckled, sitting up and stretching again. Then, to my complete surprise, he said, "Let's go together."
I blinked. "What?"
"The party," he said easily. "I'll be your date."
I stared at him, my stomach twisting with unease. "Why would you want to go with me?"
He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make my breath hitch. "Because I think it'd be fun."
I searched his face, trying to read him, but Franco was impossible to figure out when he didn't want to be figured out.
A part of me wanted to say yes, wanted to cling to the idea that maybe, for once, I wouldn't have to be the invisible girl in the corner while Ciara shined under the spotlight.
But another part of me, the bitter, wary part, knew better.
Because Franco was like every other man, and eventually, they all fell under her spell.