A/N: I'm back. This story is breaking all my records, which is so wild I can't believe it. Thank you for your continued support! Also a huge thank you to nevr for previewing and offering helpful suggestions. Maybe Chuck is just doing his job...but I give you permission to dislike him too. lol. We're getting closer to Chuck and Sarah. Be forewarned...their first encounter in this story is not very loving, at least not on the surface. There is a method to my madness, I promise.

When I'm back in my room, and I'm alone, the interaction I just had with Chuck hits me full force. I was angry and disgusted in front of him, with the flippant, disdainful way he addressed me. Those feelings had taken the forefront, but now everything else rushes in, overwhelming me. My legs shake anew. I lean against the wall and slowly slide down until I'm sitting on the floor.

I tell myself that I just hadn't accepted it, but Casey had already told me the truth. Chuck was a spy, a professional. He was the SAC for a reason. My behavior and my reaction to him weren't the least bit professional. I was acting like the liability Chuck told Casey that I was. I was jealous of the women he was seducing for information. He could very easily separate his personal feelings from his professional ones, and now I was the one who couldn't.

I hadn't expected his coolness, his apathy, to cause the amount of pain that I feel. I'm forced to admit that deep down, a part of me held some foolish wish that some of those feelings I had seen starting to grow were still there. That even if he hated me, a part of him might still love me too. If he ever had.

You held him at gunpoint, and then kissed him when you thought you were about to die…and then you left with Bryce who damned him to this life…and you never looked back. You fought the dose of truth serum to hide your true feelings, and he believed you felt nothing. So he moved on. He made the best of the shitty hand he was dealt, while you drown yourself in self-pity and let your life go to hell. What is left of you that could arouse those feelings in him, if he were even capable any longer?

I want a drink more than ever, but I promised Carina I wouldn't. I bow my head over my knees, too hollowed out inside to even cry. I've never felt so helpless, so hopeless.

I could just run. Take my things and run, not tell Carina that I'm leaving. It would take Graham a few months before he tracked me down. I'm sure I could drink myself to death before his assassin found me.

I've convinced myself this is what I'm going to do when Carina walks into my room, I think without knocking.

"Sarah, are you ok?" she asks.

"Don't you knock?" I hiss in irritation.

"I did, like ten times." She crosses her arms.

"I'm sorry…I was…in a daze, I guess." I literally crawl on the floor to my bed and climb on.

"Casey came and found me. He's my date for the party tonight." She says it like she knows I know. I wonder if Casey knew the plan that Chuck told me about.

"I'm supposed to go with Chuck."

"'Supposed to?' I didn't think the SAC gave you a choice in the matter."

"I can't do this, Carina. I can't. I thought I could, before I knew…what I know. But I can't." Now the tears are flowing. She's an odd confidant, but I let myself be vulnerable with her. She's the only one who knows how I feel. She's solely kept me alive all this time.

"Casey explained. I know it must be a shock. I was shocked when I realized what's going on here. But people change. Time passes and people change." She's too kind to mention I've changed, because it's all for the worse.

"They changed him. The CIA turned him into a spy. They destroyed the man that I used to know." I let them do it.

I'm waiting for her logical argument, that the Chuck I had known had been failing at life and now Chuck was an impressive spy running an international operation. But she doesn't go there. She cuts to the heart of my woes.

"You still love him." It's not a question, though I think that it should be.

I'm quick to deflect, but of course, she's right. "I don't know him anymore."

"You don't?" She sits on the bed next to me. "You hate that he knows all the awful shit that you've done, you hate that he's seeing you at your worst. Your eyes are glowing green, you're so jealous…of him just doing his job."

She's right, of course. My stomach burns at how sick I feel. "Why do I still love him?" I moan out loud.

She gathers my hair in her hand and smooths it on the bed, a strange, compassionate thing that Carina would never have done before I crashed and fell apart and she was the only one left to glue me together. "You know who he was before they changed him. You let him see who you really were. Even Bryce never saw that part of you. But Chuck did."

I'm amazed at her wisdom, someone who is proud to say she's never been in love.

"But, Sarah…you have to let him go." It seems the most impossible task of all. "You wasted years punishing yourself for what you thought you'd done to him. But now you know: he didn't suffer the way you thought he did and even then, he never blamed you. He understands. For that kind of grace, the least you can do is let him go."

More sage advice, despite the fact it would be easier for me to carve my own heart out of my chest. But she's right. I have to stop. Let the past stay in the past.

I've been quiet for a long time. "Did Casey tell you why we're here? Why Chuck asked for us?"

"Because of Kradetska." Her voice echoes the dread I feel at the name. "It isn't helping, I know."

"Chuck must know everything." I was too angry during that discussion to dwell on that mission, but it's eating away at me now.

"Then he knows you didn't have a choice. It was your life. You did what you had to do to survive." She's adamant, defending me.

I could have let him kill me. I think now I should have let him kill me. The life I'm living now isn't worth the price I paid him for it.

I could have let him, but I didn't. Instead, I broke my cardinal rule. Three months undercover and as disgusting as it was, I got away with only a few blow jobs. A last resort substitute for full sex, mixed with avoidance and tranquilizers. Until my cover was blown. Apparently by one of my teammates, which makes it even worse.

He held a gun to my head and told me he knew I was CIA. I had always seen him cold as ice, calculating, but the gun in his hand had shaken in his rage. Personal rage, as if from betrayal, an inexplicable reaction. With the cold barrel of the gun pressed against the center of my forehead, he offered me a head start of six hours. For an hour in bed with him.

I was unarmed, locked in his bedroom with him. He was twice my size and rock solid muscle. Could I have killed him with my bare hands? Maybe, but I surely would have been killed as well. His gun, his strength, and the complicated path out of his dwelling were stacked against me. The risks of fighting him didn't outweigh the benefits, not in my assessment. He was brutal and ruthless, but trustworthy in his own twisted way. His offer was real.

I didn't fear death, only the failure of the mission that was my proof to Graham that I could still be a spy after the friendly fire incident. Back then, my job was all I had left, my sole purpose for living. In the end, that was why I agreed. He put his gun in the dresser drawer and I took off my dress.

I worried at the beginning that he might kill me in the midst, but I soon realized he wanted me too much to kill me and cut short his time he believed he had paid for. In an hour, he fucked me three times. My attitude, my performance mattered. He wanted sex, not just my body. He wanted a willing partner. It took all my strength to swallow my distaste, my shame, but I did. I even managed to climax, more than once, which only goaded him on. With a bizarre and unexpected tenderness, he thanked me for the sex and let me go. Six hours was more than enough time. It saved my life and let me get away. But I was already on the downward spiral, and after that, I was never the same. That was when I truly stopped caring about who touched me, who fucked me. I was the CIA's whore, so whore all around.

Whatever Chuck thought before, he knows the whore I've become. He seems to be gathering information in everyone's bed, though unabashedly enjoying it in the meantime. I'm not even so discriminating as that anymore.

"How does Duchessa Vilago fit into all of this?" she asks. Her question breaks my twisted reverie.

"Chuck never explained. But he's after Kradetska. Apparently, he's behind the thefts that Beckman explained." I intentionally leave out the double agent CAT that Chuck is after. Carina is still a suspect, though I'm sure it isn't her. Was he testing me, seeing if I told Carina what he told me? I can't forget that Chuck is a master manipulator now and I can't get careless. And although she's not the way she used to be, Carina's still a spy. I can't completely trust her either.

Something horrible occurs to me. Was Chuck's plan to sleep with Carina too? "Please don't fuck him, Carina. I can't…"

"I tried once, a long time ago, and he turned me down." She smirks, trying to lighten my misery. "I'd never been turned down before." She giggles, but then her face gets serious. "I would never. I thought if you knew anything by now, you would know that." She smiles again. "Casey on the other hand…"

"Oh, ick, Carina," I moan, my mood lifting slightly.

"Hey, there's something to be said for a good man-handling when you're in the mood. I just hope he took the four-leaf clovers out of the rotation."

~O~

Carina and I get ready for the party together in my room. She chose my dress, something tight and low-cut, per Chuck's request. It's sapphire blue satin that fits me like a second skin. I can't wear a bra under it. The only option for panties is a thin floss of a g-string, so thin I might as well be wearing nothing. Bare legs in sky-high heels.

Carina stands back, only half dressed herself, and regards me. "I hope drop-dead gorgeous is what he was after, because that's what he's getting."

I don't feel that way. I feel like an Italian call girl. Is that the persona he wants me to exude? I wish I knew more about this party. I'm assuming Chuck will brief me at some point.

Carina's lingerie is army green camouflage. Casey's favorite, or so I'm told. She always has a set with her, just in case. She's excited to finally wear them, I can tell. I'll never understand the appeal, but, Carina enjoys it, and strangely enough, so does Casey. It's harmless fun between acquaintances.

I wish that were all I was contending with.

I can't get past what Chuck said to his partner. About making our acquaintance. Carina promised to turn Chuck down, but even watching him with her will have the power to twist me into knots. If it's professional and not recreational—could Carina keep her promise? She knows how to avoid sex in that situation, but I still worry. Once a line is crossed, it's hard to go back.

My mind won't let go of this. Is Chuck trying to manipulate me and I missed it? Will he try to get me into bed with him? Even the thought of casual sex with him shreds me into pieces.

I love him. How could I ever even try to pretend that sex with him was just sex? And there's the terrifying thought of someone else there, Amy or Zondra…or even the Duchessa. My growing panic draws in Carina and Casey and I have to swallow hard to tamp down my nausea.

Carina must see my internal horror. "Just do your job. Follow Chuck's lead. As crazy as it sounds, he knows what he's doing. Casey and I will be right there. Try and relax and enjoy a nice party."

It would be easier if I weren't going to be so close to Chuck.

Standing in front of the mirror, I coach myself, tell myself that I look sexy, not cheap. While I'm in the process of pep talking myself, I remember how awful I felt when I walked out of Chuck's office.

He knows you're an alcoholic, a burn out, and a whore. But he needs you for this mission. Be a good spy. Show him that you can be a good spy. Show him that you're not worthless.

My father's words come back to me. I'll have to fake it until I make it.

~O~

Carina is already gone to find Casey when I step out of my room into the hallway. Chuck approaches, walking crisply with his phone to his ear. He's razor-sharp focused…until he sees me. The transformation is subtle, but I see it. His jaw relaxes, his eyes soften. I doubt myself, knowing how badly I want to see it, that I could imagine it.

"Perfect, Agent Walker."

Professional. I have to let everything else go, as much as I don't want to. There's no room for my feelings. This is a mission.

"Carina chose well," I say smoothly. My smile is stiff, but wide.

He holds out his arm and I slide my hand into the crook of his elbow. I can't help but notice the bulk of his arm, how firm and thick his musculature is. His suit is impeccable and he smells divine. I file all of that away, repeating the mantra to myself…this is a mission. A mission.

"So, the Duchessa?" I ask, keeping us focused on the mission.

His mouth twists into a crooked grin. He approves. Professionalism is the way to go. The only way I have to navigate this minefield.

"I have a very strong suspicion she knows where Kradetska is. I've gotten all the intel I'm going to get from her, but she did tell me quite a bit of her past and it's been corroborated. She's a Russian national. Her father was a political rival to one of the oligarchs in power. Kradetska was recruited to eliminate her father, which he did. Tatiana's husband, Antonio Vilago, rescued her from destitution, married her and took her to Rome with him. He was 35 years older than her. Eight weeks ago, Tatiana's husband died under suspicious circumstances. Most likely poisoned, with a rare toxin Kradetska favors."

I'm listening, but also extrapolating. I can't help it. He called her Tatiana, not Duchessa. My suspicion that he had been information gathering with the grieving widow seems highly likely. I force the ugly images from my mind and focus on the mission.

"Why do you think she knows where he is? She's been a victim of his, twice."

He stops our forward motion. "I believe she was the one who paid Kradetska to kill Antonio. She may have even been involved with her father's death. I can't be sure, but that's not important." He looks at me, his eyes narrowed. "That's why I need you."

That twist leaves me reeling, but I take it in stride. It's the job, nothing more.

We walk forward again. My stomach feels like it's sunken to my feet. I almost know what he's going to say before he says it. "You were in Kradetska's inner circle for three months. Work your cover angle and your knowledge of Russia. Talk to her."

"Has she ever seen him?" I ask, my mouth dry.

"I don't believe so. Even if she paid him a fortune, if she saw him, he would have killed her. You were the only one he didn't kill."

Does Chuck know why? I left that exact detail out of my report, but anyone reading it would infer what I might have done to have survived. It doesn't matter. I chastise myself. As disgusted as I was with myself, it's no different than anything Chuck's done here. It was my job. What that makes him think personally doesn't matter.

He reaches into his pocket and takes out a small plastic case of what looks like tic tacs, only the container is half the normal size. He rattles the container and presses it against my palm. "One of those mints isn't a mint. It's a tiny transponder that we can use to track her. We only need to track her for the next 24 hours, so even if she eats it, it will still work. She keeps a container on her at all times, in a pouch that's attached to the sash on her dress. Your job is to swap that for hers."

I can't help but lift an eyebrow in inquiry. He has very specific information, obviously collected from prolonged and intimate contact with her. Why isn't he doing this? "Why do you specifically need me to do this?" He had told Vittoria I was to accompany him.

I can't read his expression but he replies, "I've gotten everything from her I'm going to get. I'm…old news. You, on the other hand, are brand new. She likes new things."

What does that mean? I wish he would elaborate, but I know he won't. The less he has to tell me, the better. I look at what he's pressed into my hand.

I can't help marveling at the candy. No one would ever guess a breath mint was a transponder. The top agents really did get the coolest tech the CIA had to offer. I slip the small square into my tiny bag slung diagonally across my chest. I test it to make sure it doesn't rattle.

"So what does my knowledge of Kradetska have to do with this? Why do you need me to make the switch?" I don't have a right to ask, only follow orders, but I want to know. Something is missing here.

He studies me, assessing, before he replies. "She's an oversharer. Trauma survivor, as you could imagine, based on her backstory. Find some common ground. She's never met you. Like I said, brand new. And she won't be able to resist introducing herself to you."

He's intentionally not telling me something…because my reaction in the moment needs to be genuine. Classic spywork tactic. I'm left to find my way out of the jungle, in order to complete my mission. I'm uncomfortable as I contemplate all the things he could be implying. I remind myself again, this is my job, nothing more.

We're at the edge of the ballroom. The room is full, maybe 25 people in total, with servants circulating with trays of hor d'oeuvres and drinks. A quick assessment finds Carina, Casey, Amy, Zondra, Vittoria. Plenty of others. I take a deep breath and brace myself for my mission.

"You may have to sip a little wine. Is that going to cause a problem?" He whispers in my ear.

"I can handle it," I assure him. The truth is, I'm frightened. I promised Carina, but I'm still an alcoholic. As I am all too aware, I can only fake something so far. Sex, drugs, alcohol…avoidance was best, but sometimes, there was no way out. I say a secret prayer that Carina is close by to run interference.

"You're my date, but feel free to mingle." He releases my hand and disappears into the crowd.

Find Duchessa. Steer the conversation towards Russia. Get as much information as you can. Find an opportunity to swap the mints. Chuck is leery of my abilities, but he leaves me to gather the intel alone. I'm not going to fail.

~O~

I see the woman who must be Tatiana Vilago across the room. Everyone in attendance is dressed up, but she has an elaborate updo, with jewels in her hair. I keep her in my sights and slowly make my way through the crowd, at party-mingle speed, so as not to attract too much attention to myself. One person at a time.

I'm nibbling on a warm canape when someone slips a champagne flute into my hand. I turn, and it's a tall broad-chested man. He's smiling at me, but also undressing me with his eyes. "Ciao, Sarah."

I flush when I realize this must be Gino or Paolo and I don't remember him at all. He remembers me. Of course, he would have no way to know Amy had drugged me. I had to play along. "How are you?" I ask. I pretend to sip the champagne, closed lips on the glass rim.

"You look absolutely stunning." His Italian accent is thick, but his tone is smooth. He is handsome. I blush again at his compliment, awkward because I know I've been physically intimate with him.

He leans closer, resting his hand on my waist, which is a bit too friendly, but maybe not for someone I'd had sex with. "I'm sorry if it's too blunt, but I wanted you to know. No one has ever sucked me off the way you did. It was amazing."

Every square inch of my body feels warm at his words. In another situation, I might react positively, though it is so blunt that it comes across as vulgar. Now, I'm just horribly embarrassed. I touch his arm and smile, wondering where Chuck is and if he sees me flirting with this man whose name I don't know. This man that I apparently blew last night, and don't remember.

"Your friend, Carina, likes to be in charge. She told me where to put my mouth, and where to put my cock, and I listened." He chuckles. That sounds like Carina, and I can't help but nervously chuckle in reply.

"I'd love to see you again tonight." He whispers against my ear and I shiver. "I would love to return the favor. Or at least, let you tell me where to put my cock."

Who just says that to a woman? Why was everyone in this villa so preoccupied with sex?

"I can't make any promises. But I'll think about it." He kisses the side of my neck, making goosebumps rise on my flesh, then turns away. I hear someone call him. Gino. Gino came down my throat, so it must have been Paolo who actually fucked me. Or apparently, who Carina told to fuck me. Note to self, I thought bitterly.

"Romance is dead, no?"

I turn, and the woman with jewels in her hair is at my side. I look curious, and she adds, "That was the worst pick up line I've ever heard. Maybe it would have sounded better in Italian, no?" She's speaking English with an odd accent, a mixture of Italian and Russian. Languages were my specialty at the Farm.

"Posso permettermi di dirmi dove mettere il mio cazzo?" I say in flawless Italian. We laugh. "No, just as awful."

"Duchessa Vilago," she says, "but my friends call me Tatiana. Your Italian is perfect."

I take her hand. "Sarah. Nice to meet you, Duchessa."

"Tatiana," she corrects me. I'm already her friend, it seems. "Are you a friend of Carlo's?"

"Technically, I'm his date, although he disappeared into the crowd."

"He's quite the charmer, that man."

"I was his lucky charm at the casino," I improvise. Northern Italy is famous for its casinos. Living his jet-setting life, I'm sure he's been at least once. It gives me an in, as well. I met Alek Kradetska in the same way.

"Black Jack, no?" She winks at me. I smile and nod. Good luck to me.

"If you don't mind my saying, you aren't a native Italian speaker, correct?"

She looks surprised.

"You speak Italian with a Russian accent. It's so unique, I had to ask."

"Ty govorish po-russki?"

"Da, ya zhil tam tri mesyatsa neskol'ko let nazad."

She "hmps," impressed again. "Your Russian is flawless as well. You have a gift for languages."

"I lived in Russia for three months." I use my own memories to taint my demeanor, method acting if you will. Her next words let me know I've hit the mark.

She smiles softly. "I haven't been back since I was a young girl. My husband rescued me from that awful life." A dark shadow passes over her face. Trauma.

"Russia wasn't a pleasant time for me, either," I say, casting my eyes down.

"You are American. How could you be trapped in Russia the way I was?" she asks.

I take a chance, looking for common ground. "When you must rely on a man to support you, sometimes, you are subject to his every whim."

How she looks at me changes. She hyper focuses, like the rest of the party and the people around her have faded to the background. She feels some connection with me, because of what I just said. I wait for a chance to exploit it.

She leans closer to me, so no one else can overhear. "I was a child. Fourteen. Passed around to men old enough to be my grandfather. I was literally torn open, so badly that I needed stitches. Duca Vilago took me away from that place."

Trauma, indeed. She had lived a horrible life. I file the information away, wondering why Chuck believes she had Kradetska kill her husband if he rescued her from a life of sexual slavery in Russia.

"It's an awful thing to not have control over your own body." I'm acting, but pulling from the truth, which is always the most believable.

She grabs my hand and holds it tight. Commiseration.

"Carlo is different. You know that, don't you?" She thinks I've slept with him. I nod in agreement. An unwanted image of her with Chuck grinds behind my eyes.

She releases my hand quickly and grabs two glasses of red wine from a circulating tray. She hands one to me. She's standing too close to me for me to fake a sip. I drink a very small amount. The heat of the alcohol rushes through me, making me fight to not continue drinking.

Create a distraction. My training asserts itself.

I let my glass slip and red wine splashes across the front of my dress.

"Oh, my goodness! Come," she says in a rush. The glasses are cast aside and she pulls me away from the crowd, down a short corridor, into what I see is a powder room.

She pulls me to the vanity in front of a large gilded mirror, unclipping the pouch Chuck mentioned from the sash. She unzips it and sets it down next to the sink. I hear the plastic container of mints rattle as she searches through it. Out come the pills, and she sets them down next to the pouch. I see a handkerchief.

Thinking quickly, I unclip my purse and pull out a small sealed wet wipe. I palm the mints, mumbling about my clumsiness to cover the sound of the rattling.

"Oh, not that, it'll ruin your dress," she murmurs. She runs the handkerchief under the tap, rings it out, at the same time as she takes a mint and pops it in her mouth, chewing it immediately. I hear the crunching. She turns to me and blots the stain on my dress.

She works diligently, wetting and dabbing, rinsing and blotting, until the purple colored stain has faded almost to nothing. She's almost finished and I realize the way she's touching me isn't just over the stain. She's massaging my breast on the outside of my dress.

I'm uncomfortable and I move to step backward when I feel her finger slip into my dress and brush my nipple. I'm shocked, my breath catching. But I'm a spy. This is my job. The job Chuck was expecting me to do, I think with a twinge of dismay.

He fucked her, but he also knew she preferred women. If he was aiming for shock, he certainly did his job.

"You're beautiful, do you know that?" she whispers. I want to push her hand away, repulsed, but this is making my task easier. Distracting her with seduction.

My nipple goes erect under her fondling. It's involuntary.

"I know what goes on in this house. Girls and boys. Girls and girls."

"I'm…not…" I can't finish. She's pinching my nipples and it's distractingly pleasurable, even if unwanted.

"If you seek only pleasure from sex, who's touching you doesn't matter, does it? No man could ever touch you the way a woman could. A woman who knows exactly the right way."

She leans forward, still pinching my nipple, and kisses me, full on the mouth, using her tongue. I've kissed women, mainly Carina, although maybe Amy as well. It's not the worst thing, but it's awkward, because she's obviously aroused. Fake it til you make it.

A little effort on my part to kiss her back and she's utterly absorbed in me. She's not the worst I've ever kissed for my job. She isn't looking and I swap the mints on the counter, palming her container.

The kiss lasts about two minutes, a long time while I wait.

She eventually pulls back and smiles. "You've mussed your lipstick," she smiles. I straighten my dress.

She turns and grabs my wet wipe and also slips the mints back into her pouch.

Everything Chuck said makes sense. He knew this would happen.

I tear open the wipe, clandestinely slipping the pills into my purse, speaking to mask the action. "You're a good kisser." I wasn't lying. I just wasn't bisexual. But her argument about pleasure isn't wrong.

"You are Carlo's tonight, or maybe Gino's?" She winks.

I blush. I am no one's. I wonder how she knows Gino, who is an agent who works under Chuck. I stay silent, but she continues.

"Gino made an enticing offer, despite his boorish delivery. But I'll tell you a secret. No one licks a pussy better than a woman. Even if you need to close your eyes, nothing would ever compare." She runs her hand down my hip seductively. "If you're curious, you let me know." She looks me up and down. "You're the most beautiful. I'm sure Carlo agrees."

I'm still blushing when she exits the powder room. I check my lipstick in the mirror and follow her out a few moments later.

The crowd at the party has thinned out during my little escapade. Chuck is now visible, laughing and drinking in a circle of women I haven't seen before. As if via second sense, he looks up and catches my eye.

I react quickly, telling myself to moderate my expression. I'm exasperated at the knowledge that he sent me in blind, to be felt up by my female mark. But I'm reacting emotionally, unprofessionally. I force myself to be neutral, forget everything but the job I was doing. I nod slightly, once, letting him know the transponder has been planted. His brief, clipped nod is my reply. He smirks ever so slightly and it makes me bite the inside of my cheek.

I tell myself I need a break. The villa is still unfamiliar, sprawling and complicated to navigate, but I walk away from the party to catch my breath. The sip of alcohol I had been forced to take left me craving more, like my nerves were on fire. I sit alone, taking deep breaths, trying to calm myself.

At the end of the corridor where I sit, I see Casey in his suit, leaving the party and heading into the office wing of the villa. He must have been tasked with monitoring the Duchessa's transponder. The clock is ticking, so it makes sense.

Carina must be disappointed, now that Casey has to work and she couldn't show off her camouflage lingerie. Although, I remind myself, this villa is like hedonism on steroids. I'm sure she'll have her chance to have some fun with Casey at another time.

More time passes. It's getting late, but I did what was required and I didn't drink. Overall, the mission was a success. It's a little upsetting that this is now the bar, when it used to be so high, but I'm not who I once was. I might never be again, but maybe I could find someplace in between. I'm planning on calling it a night, but because it's a mission, protocol requires I check with Chuck, who is the lead.

I'm on my way back to the ballroom, walking down a deserted corridor, when I hear something, voices and soft muffled sounds coming from the shadows. Two more steps and I realize I'm hearing Chuck's voice.

"...off…the…clock…"

My stomach churns when I realize the unintelligible sounds that punctuate the words are breathless, straining kisses. My blood turns to ice when I hear his companion.

"...I can't…do this…" Carina, sounding like she's using all her might to resist what's happening.

"You can always do this, mmm?" he asks, his voice deepening.

"No, I can't." She sounds firmer. "Not this time."

"Because of Casey?" he asks.

"Because of Sarah."

Carina! What did you just say?

Panicking, I press myself against the wall, hoping to blend completely into the shadows as well. Not to eavesdrop, but only to avoid being seen. Unfortunately, eavesdropping is unavoidable. Carina's words did something to break the spell. I hear them separate and Carina's heels on the tile. I wait until the area is empty before I hurry to the stairs.

I get ready for bed slowly, distractedly, unable to stop thinking about what I'd just overheard. Carina kept her promise, but she'd made everything worse by refusing in my name. I'd rather she fuck him before she let my feelings about him slip. I have trouble falling asleep, dreading what will befall me now that that's been said.

Hours later, I'm still staring at the ceiling alone in my enormous bed when I hear more muffled voices. I think how thin the walls of the villa seem to be, every footstep and every movement audible in the stillness of the night. I'd thought before maybe Gino or Paolo mentioned something, but I'm mortified when I think it's possible people just heard us last night.

Chuck and Zondra. I feel it like a screw twisting inside my heart. They're talking. I can't hear the words, only the tone. It's more than banter or chit chat. They're having a conversation. He's information gathering, perhaps? Or is it more (or less, however that works)? Once in a while, laughter punctuates the conversation; he laughs more frequently, but she's laughing with him. Zondra was so rarely in a pleasant mood, laughing was rare. But I guess not with Chuck.

Just when I believe they're finished, after a stretch of silence, I realize why they stopped talking. All I hear is Zondra, moaning and grunting, then howling, probably with her mouth against a pillow. I'm listening to him fuck her. All I hear is how thoroughly she's enjoying whatever he's doing to her. It's torture more excruciating than any I've ever experienced. I press the pillow over my head, seeking to block my ears.

I must fall asleep like that, for I wake in the morning with my head still under the pillow. The sheet is oddly tucked about me, almost like someone else covered me. But I'm alone in my room.

My memory flutters over the night and it's hazier than it should be, considering I was sober. The impressions of intense, orgasm-filled dreams fill my head. Were they just dreams? I take stock of my body and I'm sure they were only dreams. Odd pictures of the Duchessa and Amy dance in my head as well. The night left its stamp on my dreams, it seems.

In my quick assessment, I roll and feel a pinch on my right arm. I sit up and glance at my arm, wondering at the strange feeling. I see a tiny red dot in the crease of my elbow. A scabbed over bore hole from a needle.

Someone injected me with something.

I locked my door after retiring yesterday. I rush from the bed to the door. The lock was obviously picked, the door forced open.

What in the world happened?