perfect Couple

Camilla Rodrigo:

The next morning, I was up by 6 a.m., already in the kitchen, determined to make something special. I went all out—fluffy pancakes, golden waffles dripping with syrup, crispy chips, and freshly squeezed orange juice. The entire house was soon filled with the warm, sweet aroma of breakfast.

Mom was the first to come downstairs. The moment she saw the table, her eyes welled up with tears. She pulled me into a tight hug.

"Good morning, Mom. Hope you slept well," I greeted her with a bright smile.

She hugged me tighter, smiling through her tears. "Morning, darling. I was, but now my morning's even better."

"One more person, and we're all set," I said, and she nodded in agreement.

Not long after, Jennifer appeared, already dressed like she was heading out. Her steps slowed as she neared the kitchen, her expression mirroring Mom's surprise.

"What's going on here?" she asked, eyes scanning the spread. "Are we expecting someone?"

"Your sister made all of this," Mom replied warmly. "We were just waiting for you to dig in."

Jenny looked at me, biting her lower lip, clearly unsure whether to stay or go. After a moment, she placed her bag down and pulled out a chair.

"Alright. I can stay for a bit," she said, starting to eat.

I hesitated for a second, then spoke. "Um… Jenny?"

She looked up, eyebrows slightly raised in curiosity.

"I wanted to apologize—for how I spoke to you the other night, and for kicking you out of my room like that. I'm really sorry, sis."

"It's okay, Cam. I'm sorry too—for not opening up about what I was going through. Maybe if I had said something sooner, things wouldn't have spiraled like they did. I love you, sis. I love you, Mom. Always," Jennifer said, glancing between the two of us.

I stood and wrapped my arms around her in a warm hug. Mom joined us, and for a moment, it felt like the weight of the past few days melted away. The kitchen was filled with quiet laughter and shared smiles as we sat down together, eating and reminiscing over happier times.

There was still so much left unsaid between us, but right now, none of that mattered. This moment—this fragile peace—was what we needed. No tension. No blame. Just family.

After everything that happened at the docks, my perspective on life had shifted drastically. The trauma still lingered, buried deep in my heart, but I had no choice now but to hold my head high and slowly piece together the broken parts—one detail at a time.

Later that afternoon, my phone buzzed with a call from Mr. Roberto. I stared at the screen for a while, hesitant. He was my boss, and avoiding him forever wasn't an option.

I finally answered. "Hello, Mr. Roberto."

"Miss Rodrigo," his voice was calm but firm, "I trust you still remember the terms and conditions of your employment."

"I do," I replied, my chest tightening.

"I've covered your mother's tumor surgery, and as of this morning, your sister's debt is cleared. I've held up my end of the bargain. Now it's your turn. No excuses, Miss Rodrigo."

"I understand. I'll keep my end of the deal," I said quietly, the weight of it all sinking deeper.

"Good. Mr. Alessandro has been released. The judge ruled that he must continue his therapy—with you. You'll arrange the sessions wherever it's convenient. Just remember, I need results. Get close to him, Miss Rodrigo. I trusted you with this assignment for a reason."

I barely heard the rest of what he was saying. The words that stuck—like cold steel—were "Alessandro has been released." The devil was out of his cage.

My mind spiraled. Where the hell am I supposed to meet with him? Where would even be safe?

"Hello? Miss Rodrigo?" Mr. Roberto's voice broke through my dazed silence.

"Of course, Mr. Roberto. I'll handle everything," I replied quickly, eager to end the call and process everything I'd just learned.

Thankfully, he didn't linger.

"Very well. Enjoy your day," he said smoothly, then added in a darker tone, "But remember—no one crosses me. Don't let him catch even a whiff of what we're planning. If you slip up, your mother and sister will suffer for your mistakes."

The line went dead before I could respond.

Sigh…

How the hell am I supposed to be in the same room with that man after everything he's put me through? With no security? And now I'm supposed to get closer to him?

What exactly did I sign up for?

My mind spiraled into a mess of desperate thoughts—run away, disappear, leave the country. But none of them felt even remotely doable. What would I tell Mama and Jenny? Changing my number wouldn't help—they'd come knocking the next day. And if word got out, everything—the deal, the truth—would explode.

Nothing felt safe. Nothing made sense.

Then my phone rang again. Another call. I glanced at the screen and felt a fresh wave of anger rise in my chest.

I answered without even trying to hide my irritation.

"Aaron," I said flatly.

"Camila, hey... hope you're doing okay?" he asked, voice laced with fake concern. The nerve of him.

"I don't think you should be concerned about your ex, Aaron. Just say what you have to say."

He cleared his throat awkwardly. I waited, already dreading whatever nonsense was about to come out of his mouth.

"We're having a family reunion tomorrow night—" he began, but I didn't let him finish.

"Congratulations," I said dryly. "Now, if that's all, I'll be ending the call."

But of course, he didn't let me off that easy.

"No, please—Cam, hold on for just a second. Please. Just hear me out. I promise it'll be worth your time."

I hesitated. I didn't trust him—not even a little—but since I was already on the call, I figured I might as well listen to whatever trash he had to say.

"Fine. But don't waste my time, Aaron," I warned, my voice sharp.

"Like I said earlier, there's a family reunion tomorrow night. A dinner. I need you to come as my plus-one," he explained quickly. "It's just an act, Cam. I need to play the part of having a girlfriend. Nothing more."

I scoffed. "So, your family decides to pretend to be picture-perfect, and I'm the first fool you think of? Not one of your admirers? Not a hired actress? Why drag me into your lies?"

"My family still thinks we're together. And, well… they don't know I'm gay," he admitted, lowering his voice. "I just need this one night. I'll make it worth your while."

What he didn't know was that I was the psychologist assigned to his father's court-mandated therapy. The same man who'd made me witness horrors I still hadn't recovered from. And now, Aaron expected me to smile through dinner like nothing had ever happened?

"I can't do this, Aaron. Tell them I'm sick. Or out of town. I won't put myself in that situation for anyone."

"Uhm… I kind of already told them you'd be there," he said, voice low with guilt. "Please, Camila. Just one last time. Help me out."

"You what? Without even asking me first?! I don't care how you spin it, Aaron—I'm not doing it."

"Five hundred thousand dollars," he offered, as though that number would magically change everything. "We both know you need it, Cam. I'm not trying to force you. Just… trying to reason with you."

It wasn't like I had that kind of money lying around. And I wasn't greedy. But that amount? That could change a lot for me. And for someone like Aaron, it was probably just a rounding error on his credit card statement.

On a normal day, I might've said yes out of pity or habit. But now? Now there was a devil involved—and unfortunately, the money was more than enough to awaken the devil in me.

"Fine. But this better be the last time. Got it?"

"Noted," he said quickly, relief in his tone. "I'll send a few dresses for you to choose from. I'll pick you up at 6 p.m. tomorrow. Thanks again, Camila."

"Yeah, yeah…" I muttered, ending the call.

I already knew—I was going to regret this. I'd bet everything on it.

The next day, I went all out—spa treatment, massage, pedicure, manicure, even a full-body perming session. A professional stylist came over to do my hair, and by the time she was done, I looked like someone who had nothing to stress about.

Jennifer wouldn't stop talking about how much I was glowing. Mom joined in, showering me with compliments, and all I could do was keep apologizing to the stylist, who—bless her—just smiled politely and kept working.

By 5 p.m., I was pampered, polished, and facing my next dilemma: what the hell to wear.

Aaron had sent a trail of dresses—sleek dinner gowns in every color and style imaginable. All high-end. All screaming expensive.

I really wanted to go with the red dress—but the last thing I needed was to draw attention.

The black backless gown? Way too scandalous.

The glittering gold one? Far too glamorous.

I needed something simple, elegant… yet striking.

The white gown.

Yes—clean, classy, and just enough to make a statement without screaming it.

ONE HOUR LATER…

Aaron pulled up in an obscenely expensive car—flashy, of course. Before he even had the chance to knock, I opened the door.

In my red dress.

After all the indecision, I just stopped caring. I went with what my gut told me. Let them look.

He handed me a bouquet of roses—classic move, typical of the "perfect gentleman" act he was putting on.

"Thanks," I muttered, announcing to my mom and sister that I was heading out. Not that I waited for their response—I was already closing the door behind me.

Aaron led me to the car, opened the door with practiced grace. I slid in, flowers still in hand, and we drove off in heavy silence.

As we cruised through the city, my thoughts betrayed me—

How many other guys had sat in this seat? How many had… done things with him while he was behind the wheel?

God. I was already regretting everything.

Stupid brain.

No turning back now.

The house—or rather, estate—was breathtaking. Enormous gates, pristine lawns, workers and maids everywhere, busy like bees in a palace hive.

Aaron opened my door, and I stepped out, purposely leaving the Leaving the bouquet behind in the car.

He offered me his arm, and I took it, slipping easily into character. A picture-perfect couple. A Hollywood fantasy.

Maids greeted us as we entered, their bows mechanical but warm.

Inside, the mansion was even more extravagant than I expected—glimmering chandeliers overhead, curated furniture that practically whispered money, and walls adorned with high-end art and collectibles.

It was a shrine to wealth.

And then, we stopped.

There he was.

The man I'd prayed to never see again.

No amount of mental prep could've made this easier.

The devil himself.

A killer in designer.

The mafia king.

Alessandro Giovanni.

"Good evening, Father," Aaron said. "Meet my girlfriend, Camilla Rodrigo. Camilla, this is my father—Alessandro Giovanni."

"You look stunning, dear," Alessandro said, his eyes sharp, his smile sharper. "Welcome to my humble home. I hope it meets your expectations."

Humble? Yeah, right.

"Thank you, Mr. Giovanni. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. Aaron's told me so much about you," I replied, masking my disgust with polite sweetness.

"I hope he's said good things," he chuckled. "Wouldn't want my future daughter-in-law forming the wrong impression."

He said it with ease, like he hadn't caused irreversible damage to so many lives—including mine.

"Of course, sir," I said, forcing a smile.

"Come, join us in the great dining hall. We have much to discuss," Alessandro said, turning with a grace that chilled me to the bone.

And just like that, we followed the devil deeper into his lair.