3. Dance with The Devil

She vanished like a shadow, leaving only her mystery behind—and for the first time in my life, I found myself chasing a ghost I couldn't forget.

GABRIELLA

For years, I had been waiting, meticulously planning my entrance into Alejandro Martinez ’s world. Patience was my greatest ally, and over time, I had cultivated a network of spies throughout Mexico—eyes and ears that were always watching. Each member of this covert team was handpicked, bound not just by duty but by loyalty. They owed their lives to my father, a man who had saved them from the jaws of death on more than one occasion. For them, this mission was more than just an assignment; it was a debt of honor. Betrayal was not even a remote possibility. Their commitment was absolute.

I had been lurking in the shadows, biding my time, waiting for the perfect moment to step into Alejandro’s life. My mission wasn’t a hasty revenge scheme—it was calculated, patient, and built on layers of deception. I needed an identity that would be untouchable, a persona so intricately constructed that even the most astute investigators wouldn’t find a trace of my real self. That took time.

Years, in fact. Crafting this new identity had been my magnum opus, a two-year process that transformed me into someone else entirely. Every loose end had been tied, every potential pitfall covered. Gabriella Ochoa wasn’t just a name—it was an entire life, built from scratch.

I had already set the trap. All that remained was to wait for the right moment to strike. My man in Mexico, Sergio, sent word that the opportunity had finally arrived. Alejandro would be attending the Blue Rose Ball, one of the most exclusive events of the year in Guadalajara. The timing was perfect. I had studied his photos for years, but this would be the first time I’d meet the man in person—whose fsmily destroyed my life and now I will destroy his. I felt a pulse of anticipation. The bastard had no idea what was coming.

I arrived in Mexico two months before the ball, giving myself enough time to blend in and become Gabriella Onchoa. The apartment Sergio had secured for me was modest, a far cry from the lavish life I was accustomed to. It was a tiny bachelor apartment in a crowded, middle-class housing complex—a place where no one would look twice. The kind of life that Gabriella would lead.

The apartment was simple, almost suffocating in its plainness. The living room had two small windows that opened to a view of other cramped apartment buildings. There were no rolling hills or lush landscapes, just concrete and bricks. A single brown sofa sat against one wall, paired with a battered television that looked like it hadn’t been used in years. A dining table stood in the corner, complete with a cheap vase that I made sure always had fresh flowers. The walls were adorned with a few tacky paintings that did nothing to elevate the space. It felt hollow, but that was the point. Gabriella wasn’t supposed to live in luxury.

The bedroom wasn’t any more remarkable. A large, plain bed took up most of the space, flanked by worn-out cupboards to store clothes. A bare kitchen added to the minimalist aesthetic. The entire apartment had a stale, impersonal air, but I couldn’t have asked for anything more fitting. This was the life of Gabriella Ochoa—an orphan, a girl who had clawed her way up from nothing.

I had spent months perfecting her story. Gabriella had no family. She was a recent graduate with a degree in business administration, searching for a stable job in her field. But for now, she worked as a waitress in a popular café, the type of place where patrons didn’t bother learning the staff’s names. It was the perfect cover—uninspiring, forgettable. Gabriella also spent her weekends at a local orphanage, managing their finances and playing with the children. Her story of loss, of being an orphan herself, made her seem genuine, someone too simple and kind-hearted to raise suspicion.

The people at the orphanage saw Gabriella as one of their own, a girl who truly understood the pain of the children she helped. She wasn’t a threat. She wasn’t connected to anyone with power. She was simply a kind soul who wanted to make a difference, with no ties to the dark underworld that would have people questioning her motives. This was a perfectly crafted illusion—Gabriella was the last person anyone would ever suspect of being a spy, let alone a woman on a mission of vengeance.

The stage was set, the plan was in motion. Now, it was time to play my part, to get close to Alejandro and watch his empire crumble from the inside. What he didn’t know was that every smile I gave him, every touch of my hand, would bring him one step closer to his destruction.

And he would never see it coming.

.

.

.

.

.

.

DAY OF THE BALL

The ball was set to last from 7pm to 11pm, and I was dressed to kill—both literally and figuratively. I had chosen a striking red, strapless gown with a thigh-high slit that seemed to command attention. My jewelry matched perfectly, and my red heels completed the look. It was a masquerade ball, so I wore a red and gold mask that added an air of mystery to my appearance. The moment I entered, heads turned. I could feel eyes lingering on me, whispers following as I moved. But I wasn’t here for admiration. I was the predator, and my prey had yet to arrive.

I moved gracefully through the crowd, mingling with guests, dancing, laughing when necessary, but all the while, my focus was elsewhere. I was a cheetah stalking its prey, waiting patiently for the right moment to strike. And then, just past the hour mark, he finally made his entrance—fashionably late, of course.

Alejandro Martinez. The man who ruled this city like a king, and wore the crown of a corporate titan. All eyes were on him, as expected. He exuded power and charisma in his midnight blue suit, with a red tie that matched his ruthless personality. His presence filled the room, and it was almost suffocating.

I watched him from a distance, my heart pulsing with anger, my blood boiling at the sight of the man responsible for the death of my mother and brother. My hand twitched, itching to reach for the blade hidden beneath my gown. It would be so easy. But I couldn’t—not yet.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to remain calm, to play the role of the mysterious woman in the crowd. I danced with a few guests, my body moving naturally, but my eyes were always on him, tracking his every move. And then the moment came. An opportunity to get close to him. To be the spider luring the fly.

Our eyes met, and the world around us blurred. I could feel his curiosity, the way his gaze lingered on me as though trying to figure out who I was. We began to dance, moving together as if we had done this a thousand times before. His grip was firm, but not possessive. He was intrigued. And that was exactly what I wanted.

"Hi, the name is Alejandro," he said, his voice rich with charm. "And you?" His tone was casual, but I could see the spark of interest in his eyes.

"I love keeping secrets," I replied with a sly smile. "It’s my biggest thrill."

He faltered for a brief moment, clearly taken aback by my response, but he recovered quickly. I could see him sizing me up, trying to figure out who this mysterious woman was. But I gave him nothing, just enough to keep him hooked.

"What brings you here?" he asked, a little more hesitant now, as though unsure of how to approach me.

"Floating through a sea of humans without revealing my true self. It’s so refreshing, don’t you think?" I replied with a playful smile. He smiled back—he had a great smile, damn him.

I could sense his interest deepening. The way his eyes lingered on me, the slight tension in his posture—it was all too easy. He was visibly smitten. As we danced, the intensity grew, and soon, we had become the center of attention. Every other couple moved aside, watching us, but I only had eyes for him.

"You dance really well," he said, his voice smooth. "I’ve never seen you at any events before. Who are you?"

"You ask too many questions," I replied, feigning irritation.

Before he could say another word, I gently pulled away from him, letting myself slip back into the crowd like a shadow. I disappeared as quickly as I had appeared, leaving him searching for me. I watched from a distance as he looked around, his eyes scanning the room frantically, like a boy who had lost his mother in a crowded market.

Satisfaction swelled within me. He was hooked. The seed had been planted.

As soon as I saw him giving up his search, I made my exit. Sergio was waiting for me outside, his car parked strategically in a blind spot. I slipped in quietly, my heart still racing from the encounter. The game had begun, and Alejandro didn’t even realize he was already caught in my web.

ALEJANDRO

I searched for her everywhere. It was as if she had vanished into thin air, like an elusive dream slipping from my grasp. What was wrong with me? Why was I chasing this mysterious woman? A stranger, someone I barely knew, yet here I was, scouring the ballroom for her like a madman. Maybe it was the way she spoke—smooth, confident, with a hint of mischief. Or maybe it was her eyes, those deep, chocolate-brown eyes that seemed to hold secrets I desperately wanted to uncover. She was captivating, and I didn’t know why.

After what felt like an eternity of futile searching, I finally turned to Carlos, my most trusted man. He was more than just my right-hand—he was my best friend, someone who knew me better than I cared to admit.

“Carlos, get me the guest list and a photograph,” I ordered, my voice firm, but there was an edge to it. A sense of urgency I couldn’t hide.

He smirked, teasing me as only he could. “What’s this, boss? You smitten by some lady?” His grin was cheeky, but I didn’t have time for his usual banter. I just shot him a look, and his smile faded as he realized I was serious.

I was certain that with her eyes and face burned into my memory, I could easily point her out from the list. But when I scanned the photos, my frustration grew. She wasn’t there. Not a trace of her. How was that possible? My suspicion deepened, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. Something wasn’t right.

“Carlos, I need the security footage,” I said, my voice low, tight with unease. He didn’t crack another joke, sensing the shift in my mood. The air between us was heavy with the realization that this wasn’t just some fleeting encounter. There was something darker at play here.

It took a little time to access the footage—protocol, distance, all the usual delays. But I didn’t care. I was patient when it mattered. Once we got to the control room, we began scanning the video, my eyes glued to the screen as we fast-forwarded through the night. I was looking for that flash of red, the woman who had danced with me, who had spoken in riddles and left me hanging.

But the more we watched, the more unsettling it became.

She wasn’t there.

I felt a chill crawl down my spine. The footage had been tampered with, the moments when I had been with her erased, as if she had never existed at all. No red gown, no piercing eyes—just empty space where she should have been. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. Either I was losing my mind, or she was no ordinary woman.

Carlos’ face darkened beside me. He knew what this meant just as well as I did. Someone had infiltrated our territory, tampered with our security, and done it right under our noses. “I’ll look into it first thing tomorrow,” he said, his voice steady but grim. He made a few calls to his partners, alerting them to the situation. The tone in his voice told me everything I needed to know—this was serious. A threat.

But even as the weight of the danger settled in, I couldn’t get her out of my mind. That face. Those eyes. The way she’d moved, like she was untouchable, beyond reach. I didn’t know who she was or why she had targeted me, but I couldn’t deny the effect she had on me. Enemy or not, she had left an imprint.

That night, when I retired to my room, her presence lingered. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t push her from my thoughts. I was used to being the one in control, the one who people chased after, not the other way around. But she had turned the tables on me. She had swept in like a storm and left me standing in the wreckage, dazed and wanting more.

It was maddening. Exciting. Dangerous. All at once.

The clock ticked past midnight, but sleep wouldn’t come. I tossed and turned, my mind racing with thoughts of her. The prospect of being drawn to someone who might be a threat to my life was… exhilarating. I had never felt anything like it before. It was twisted, but it was sexy as hell.

Around 3 a.m., I gave up trying to sleep. Instead, I grabbed a sketchbook and a pencil. I had never been much of an artist, but I didn’t care. I had to capture her, even if it was just from memory. For two hours, I sat there, pencil in hand, trying to recreate the face that haunted me.

When I was finished, I stared down at the sketch. It wasn’t perfect, but it was close enough. Her face stared back at me from the page, those eyes piercing through the paper. Like the Mona Lisa, she wore an expression I couldn’t decipher—was it a smile? A smirk? What secrets did she keep behind those eyes?

I didn’t know, but I was going to find out. Soon.

'She moves in mysterious ways

Swaying through the timelines with her shaky silhouette

The more you try to catch her farther she gets

She is the lady in red'