“Oh Faro, I thought I wanted to be rich and wealthy, but I was wrong…..” Ronda sobbed into the phone, her voice trembling.
Faro held the receiver to his ear, standing by the guest bedroom window of Rita’s penthouse. The city lights of Pickadaily Square shimmered in the distance, but his mind was elsewhere—on the woman crying on the other end of the line.
“Ronda…” he sighed, running a hand through his hair.
“Cal doesn’t love me, Faro,” she continued, sniffing. “I’m just another piece of property to him. He’s always busy, always distracted, and when he’s home, it’s like I don’t even exist.”
Faro clenched his jaw. “You chose this life, Ronda.” His voice was firm but not unkind. “You knew who Cal was before you left me for him.”
“I was stupid!” she cried. “I thought money and security would make me happy, but it just made me feel… empty.”
Faro closed his eyes. He could feel the weight of her words, but he also heard Rita’s voice in his head—warning him, reminding him of who Ronda was and what she had done.
“Come see me, Faro. Please.” Ronda’s voice was barely above a whisper.
Faro hesitated.
A sharp knock on the bedroom door made him turn. The door cracked open, and Rita stood there, arms crossed, eyes unreadable. She had been listening.
“Faro,” she said coolly, “think before you act.”
Faro swallowed hard, torn between the past and the present, between reason and emotion.
“Ronda,” he finally said into the phone. “I’ll… think about it.”
Then he slowly hung up.
Faro barely had time to process his emotions when, out of nowhere, a red lace panty came flying at him, landing right on his shoulder.
He turned his head sharply to see Rita standing by the door with a sly smirk on her lips, her emerald green eyes glinting with mischief. She had just slipped off her panties right in front of him and tossed them like a casual joke.
“This will make you change your mind, sweety….” she purred, placing a hand on her hip.
Faro grabbed the silky fabric and looked at it, then back at his aunt. “Aunty… what the hell?”
She chuckled, walking towards him with slow, deliberate steps. “Oh, come on, Faro. You’re hesitating over that girl again? After everything she did?” Rita leaned in closer, her perfume intoxicating. “Let me remind you of what real power feels like.”
Faro clenched his jaw. “This isn’t about power.”
Rita laughed softly. “Oh, but it is, my dear Falcon. You see, Ronda may be crying for you now, but she’ll cry for another man tomorrow. She’s weak. And weakness gets people killed in this city.”
She reached for the phone and hung it up completely.
“If you run back to her, you’re just playing into her drama, and it won’t end well for you.” She tapped his chest lightly. “But if you stay here, with me, I can show you something far more… satisfying.”
Faro exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”
Rita just grinned “Think it over, sweety,” she teased.
Faro looked down at the red panty still in his hand. His heart was pounding, but his mind was more conflicted than ever.
Faro barely had time to react before Rita stepped even closer, her fingers gently wrapping around his hand—the same hand still holding the red lace panty. With a slow, deliberate motion, she guided it up to his face, stopping just beneath his nose.
“Go on, sweety,” she whispered, her warm breath teasing his ear. “Take in the scent of a real woman. Maybe then you’ll forget about that crying little girl on the other end of the line.”
Faro tensed, his jaw clenching as the faint, intoxicating fragrance of Rita’s perfume and something more intimate filled his senses. His heart pounded against his ribs like a war drum.
“Aunty Rita…” he muttered, trying to pull back, but her grip was firm.
She tilted her head slightly, her green eyes locked onto his, studying him, testing him. “You’re still hesitating?” she asked, amusement laced in her sultry tone. “After everything we’ve been through together?”
Faro’s mind was a battlefield. He knew Rita was playing with fire—playing with him. But she was also right about Ronda. Ronda was unpredictable, dangerous in her own way, and full of regret that might not even be real.
Rita smirked, sensing his internal struggle. She released his hand, letting the red lace slip between his fingers.
“Make your choice, Falcon,” she purred before turning on her heel and strutting away, leaving him standing there, pulse racing, the red panty still in his hand.
KNOCK! KNOCK! it was Albort at the guestroom open door.
Rita shouted, “what is it Albort?” Albort replied “Ma’am you are urgently needed at the business line phone”.
Rita rolled her eyes and sighed, snapping out of her teasing mood. She turned to Faro, smirking as she took a step back.
“Looks like business calls, sweety,” she murmured. “Don’t miss me too much.”
She strutted toward the door, adjusting her silky robe as she pulled it tighter around her body. Faro exhaled sharply, still holding the red lace panty in his hand, his mind spinning.
Albort stood patiently at the door, his usual composed expression unchanged. “Ma’am, the caller insisted it was an urgent matter regarding an important real estate negotiation.”
Rita nodded, brushing past him. “Very well, I’ll handle it.” She paused and glanced back at Faro, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “You stay right there, sweety. We’re not done.”
As Rita disappeared down the hallway, Albort turned to Faro, arching an eyebrow slightly.
“Master Faro,” he said in his usual polite tone. “Your day is already… eventful, I see.”
Faro let out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. “You have no idea, Albort.”
The butler gave a subtle smirk before stepping away, leaving Faro alone with his thoughts—and the lingering scent of Rita’s perfume still clinging to the lace in his hand.
Faro knew he was playing with fire, but he couldn’t ignore the desperation in Ronda’s voice. As soon as Rita got absorbed in her business call, he seized the opportunity. He tossed the red panty onto the bed, grabbed his bike helmet, and slipped out of the penthouse unnoticed.
His mountain bike was parked in the private garage, and within seconds, he was riding down the streets of Pickadaily Square, weaving through traffic with urgency. His heart pounded—not just from the speed, but from the thought of what he was about to do.
The ride to Cal Mansion took less than twenty minutes. The grand estate stood tall behind its iron gates, guarded as always. Faro knew the routine. He rode up to the side entrance where Ronda had once shown him a blind spot in the security. With practiced ease, he hid his bike behind a hedge and slipped toward the garden entrance.
As he reached the patio doors, they suddenly opened. Ronda stood there, her eyes red and puffy from crying. She wore a loose silk robe over a nightgown, looking fragile and conflicted.
“Faro… you came,” she whispered.
Faro stepped inside and shut the door behind him. “Yeah, I did. Now tell me, what the hell is going on?”
She clutched his arms, her grip trembling. “I… I don’t know what to do anymore. Cal barely notices me. His new butler, Mrs. Wudsom, she’s… I don’t trust her, Faro. Something about her is off.”
Faro narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”
Before Ronda could answer, a distant sound echoed through the mansion—footsteps approaching.
Ronda’s eyes widened in panic. “Someone’s coming!”
Without hesitation, she grabbed Faro’s hand and pulled him toward the grand staircase. “We need to hide. Now!”
The footsteps grew louder, echoing through the grand halls of Cal Mansion. Faro and Ronda barely had time to react before the towering figure of Mrs. Wudsom emerged from the corridor, her sharp eyes immediately locking onto them.
“Ms. Ronda,” she said in a calm but firm tone, “Mr. Faros did not inform me we would have guests this morning.”
Ronda’s grip on Faro’s hand tightened. “Mrs. Wudsom, I… I just needed to talk to an old friend.”
The butler’s expression remained unreadable, but there was something unsettling about her gaze. “Mr. Faros will not be pleased if he finds out about this visit. Shall I inform him?”
Faro took a step forward, standing his ground. “No need. I was just leaving.”
But before he could move, Mrs. Wudsom’s lips curled into a faint smile. “Oh, I think you should stay a little longer, Mr. Faro. Mr. Faros is already on his way home.”
Faro and Ronda exchanged a glance.
Cal was coming.
Ronda took a deep breath, regaining her composure, and turned to Mrs. Wudsom with a knowing smirk.
“How about we make a deal?” she said smoothly.
Mrs. Wudsom arched an eyebrow, folding her hands in front of her. “A deal, Ms. Ronda?”
Ronda nodded. “You don’t tell Cal that Faro was here, and in return… I’ll make sure you get a promotion.”
The older woman remained silent for a moment, considering the offer. Then, with a small chuckle, she leaned in slightly. “Interesting. But what makes you think I’d betray Mr. Faros for a mere promotion?”
Ronda smirked, crossing her arms. “Because I know Cal’s been… distracted lately. With Kestrel business, with work. He’s barely around. You’ve been running the mansion more than he has. And if I were to suggest to him that he make you more than just a butler—say, a trusted home manager—he’d listen.”
Mrs. Wudsom’s eyes flickered with interest. “And what if I refuse?”
Ronda’s smirk widened. “Then I tell Cal that you’ve been eavesdropping on his personal affairs and hiding things from him. Who do you think he’d believe, his girlfriend or his butler?”
Mrs. Wudsom let out a slow breath, then gave a small nod. “Very well, Ms. Ronda. You have yourself a deal.”
Faro exhaled, relieved but still wary. “Then I should go, before Cal actually gets here.”
Mrs. Wudsom stepped aside, gesturing toward the back entrance. “Quickly. I’ll make sure no one sees you leave.”
Faro shot one last glance at Ronda, who winked at him. “See you soon, Faro.”
Without another word, he slipped out the back door, jumping onto his mountain bike and pedaling away into the city.
Faro had barely left the mansion when Mrs. Wudsom shut the back door behind him, smirking to herself.
Ronda narrowed her eyes. “You lied to me, didn’t you?”
Mrs. Wudsom calmly picked up a silver tray and adjusted the teapot on it. “Lied? No, dear. I simply solved a problem for you. Cal is away on business—he never planned to come home today. But you and I both know that boy shouldn’t be here.”
Ronda crossed her arms, frustration evident. “That wasn’t your call to make.”
The butler chuckled softly. “I serve this house, and I serve Mr. Cal. That means I protect it, too. Now, I suggest you stop clinging to your past before it destroys your future.”
Ronda clenched her fists but said nothing. Mrs. Wudsom had made her point.
Mrs. Wudsom, still standing near the door, gave her a knowing glance. “You should be careful, Ms. Ronda. Playing both sides never ends well.”
Ronda smirked but said nothing.
As Faro rode away from Cal Mansion, he couldn’t shake the feeling that things were getting more complicated with Ronda.
Faro reaches Rita’s penthouse and goes straight for the guestroom. He shuts the door behind him but does not lock it. His heart was still racing from the ride back. He tossed his bike helmet onto the chair and walked straight to the bed.
There it was—Rita’s red panty, right where he had left it. He picked it up slowly, staring at it, his mind a storm of emotions. Ronda’s voice still echoed in his ears, her sobs, her regrets. But then there was Rita—seductive, dangerous, and always in control.
He exhaled sharply, gripping the fabric between his fingers. “What the hell am I doing?” he muttered to himself.
Before he could think further, a knock on his door. “Faro, dear,” Rita’s sultry voice called. “Are you back in time for round two sweety?”
Faro runs to lock the guestroom door from the inside, then replies “I am a little busy Aunty. Not right now.”
Rita chuckled from the other side of the door. “Busy? With what, my dear?” she teased, her voice dripping with amusement. “Still thinking about my little gift?”
Faro clenched his jaw, tossing the red panty onto the bed. “Just need a moment to myself, Aunty. Not right now.”
There was a pause. Then Rita hummed playfully. “Alright, sweety. But don’t keep me waiting too long. Sleep tight, my little Falcon.“ Her footsteps faded as she walked away.
Faro exhaled, running a hand through his hair. His mind was a mess—Ronda, Rita, Cal, and now Mrs. Wudsom’s lie. He needed to figure out what the hell was going on before he got pulled deeper into a game he couldn’t win.
Faro started staring at the red panty lying on the bed. His fingers twitched as he picked it up again, bringing it close to his face. The soft fabric carried a lingering scent—intoxicating, forbidden. His breath slowed as he inhaled deeply, a strange warmth spreading through his body.
He laid back on the bed, still holding the panty close. His eyelids grew heavy, the stress of the day melting away. Thoughts of Rita, of Ronda, of the chaos surrounding him, all blurred into a haze. The scent wrapped around his senses like a lullaby, pulling him into a deep, dreamless sleep.
