Drawn Together

Book : A Marfil Saga

by Mercedes Ron

Genres: Suspense

Synopsis

From New York Times and #1 internationally bestselling author Mercedes Ron comes her adult debut—an addictive romantic thriller about a young woman’s protected life and the bodyguard she can’t resist.

*Soon to be a Major Motion Picture*

He was my protection … and my greatest weakness.

Twenty-year-old Marfil Cortés lives the kind of life people imagine from afar. The daughter of a powerful businessman, she spends her days juggling Columbia classes, stolen hours at her ballet studio, and glittering nights in New York City. Her world feels untouchable—polished, predictable, safe.

Until the afternoon she’s abducted in Central Park.

Days later, Marfil opens her eyes in a hospital in New Orleans with no memory of what happened. There are no demands, no suspects, no explanation, only fear and the unsettling certainty that she is no longer safe. In the wake of the attack, her father tightens security and assigns her a bodyguard: Sebastian Moore.

Sebastian is controlled, distant, unreadable—a man whose discipline borders on dangerous. His quiet intensity unsettles and infuriates Marfil in equal measure, stirring resentment toward his presence, his rules, his unyielding watchfulness. Yet as the threat surrounding her refuses to fade, Sebastian becomes the one person she cannot escape … and the one she cannot stop wanting.

What begins as tension slowly ignites into something far more dangerous. Because the closer Marfil gets to Sebastian, the more she realizes the greatest risk may not be the one lurking in the shadows … but the feelings she never meant to have for the man sworn to protect her.

Lush, addictive, and charged with suspense, Drawn Together is a darkly romantic story about love and survival, temptation and control, and the cost of uncovering what others would rather keep buried.

Release date: September 1, 2026

Publisher: Atria Books

Print pages: 384

Sample

Chapter 1: Marfil CHAPTER 1 MARFIL
TWO WEEKS LATER

I looked at the Colombian peso coin I held between my fingers. As I waited for Liam, I had only one thought: The two sides of that coin made up a whole, but they would never see each other face-to-face. It seems silly, a coin is just a coin, but I couldn’t help but identify with it. Did I have two completely opposing sides that would never merge into one? Sometimes I struggled to understand myself. If I could view my life from the outside, I’m sure the only thing I would think in most situations is… What the hell are you doing?

My sister, Gabriella, insisted that spending our entire childhood and adolescence at a boarding school four thousand miles from home had scarred us. Thankfully, I had already left that period of my life behind. My sister, on the other hand, still had two long years of strict rules and cloudy skies. She would be sixteen in just a few months, and her biggest concern was that she had never kissed a boy. She said that if she continued living with all girls for much longer, she was going to end up dating one. Imagining my father’s face at the mere suggestion made me smile.

Scars… a subject I could talk about for hours. The deepest one still caused me to wake up in the middle of the night with my heart racing and tears streaming down my cheeks like I was four years old, not twenty. It was incredible how some memories remained forever engraved on our minds and others disappeared without leaving a trace. According to Pixar—yes, the animation studio that made the movie Inside Out—our brain erases the memories that no longer serve us and retains those that it considers important. But I have to ask myself: Does it serve me to remember my mother being killed right in front of me? Clearly, no matter what Pixar says, the brain does whatever it wants.

As my thoughts wandered aimlessly, I became aware that the group of guys at the bar to my right were staring at me. Without hesitating, I lifted my head and looked at them, refusing to avert my eyes. It had been my intention to intimidate them, or at least make them stop staring so shamelessly, but two of them started laughing, and the third, tall with light brown hair, held my gaze unwaveringly.

I hated being the first to look away, no matter who it was. Only one person on the entire planet could make me lower my head on demand: my father. But he was far away, and I didn’t have to think about him. So began the most epic staring contest in all of human history. Well, maybe it wasn’t that dramatic, I tend to exaggerate, but it felt intense. The more he looked at me, the more curious I became, and the more I looked at him, the more I could imagine what was going through his mind. Maybe I could have some fun with this guy.

“Hey, Marfil,” came a deep voice behind me, although it was the feel of his hand on my back that caused me to jump and look away.

Shit! I’d just lost.

My frustration vanished as I turned to see my best friend. Liam Michaelson was almost six feet two, with hair black as night and bright blue eyes. His smile was famous for its ability to break hearts, and the worst part was that he knew it. His eyelashes, long and dark, the envy of every woman, and the hours he spent in the gym working out created the perfect storm. Women lost their heads over Liam. A real heartthrob. No, he wasn’t gay, and yes, he truly was my best friend. Stranger things have happened.

“Did I keep you waiting long?” he asked, looking over my head to the guys at the end of the bar.

“Long enough for you to have to buy me a drink.” Legally, I couldn’t drink alcohol, much less buy it, but fake IDs were so readily available that the law seemed ridiculous.

Liam smiled sweetly and called the waitress over. He ordered our usual drinks, which she brought over a few minutes later.

“And to what do I owe the half-hour wait?” I asked, twirling the olives in my martini.

Liam raised his beer to his lips and rolled his eyes. “You don’t want to know.”

“Virginia? Oh, no, wait… Rose?”

“Tessi,” he said.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Tessi? Do you call her that for any reason in particular?”

“That’s what she wants me to call her. Shit, she’s unbearable.”

Liam was a guy that, well… he was a guy. The end. Guys, as a general rule, just want to have a good time, and generally speaking, we women also want the same, plus a whole lot more, although I don’t include myself in that statement. But I understood why Virginia, Rose, and… Tessi wanted something more from my best friend. He was a great catch, if he could stop hitting on everything that moved, of course.

Liam and I met during my first year of college. I’d just moved to New York after eight years at boarding school abroad, surrounded by all girls and nuns; I only spent a couple of months a year at home in Louisiana. Liam and I had both been studying economics at Columbia University. He was three years older than me, which meant he’d been in his senior year.

It took a lot of effort, but I managed to convince my father to let me move to New York City on my own two years ago. You could say I went a little wild when I first found myself with so much freedom. All that repression during my teenage years had been very unhealthy, and I lost my head a bit, but I liked to think that that period was behind me now, for the most part.

Liam was my first kiss. I had just turned eighteen and discovered what I was capable of when it came to seducing men. My father had always kept me hidden away from the world as if I were untouchable, although Liam touched me… everywhere.

We didn’t sleep together, but we did other things, until we ultimately realized that we were better off as friends, even as perfect as I might be for him, and as perfect as he might be for me.

After Liam, I had a brief, more serious relationship with a guy named Regan. But then I learned that he and his friends had bet ten thousand dollars to see which of them could sleep with me first. That’s right, ten thousand dollars. Pathetic. The fact that my father had been right all those times he told me to never trust men made me more furious than anything. After that, something changed inside me; I became unrecognizable. I decided that I would take exactly the type of physical pleasure I wanted from men and give them nothing in return, cut and dry.

“The dude from the bar is coming over,” said Liam, half an hour and three martinis later. “Should I pretend to be your boyfriend?”

“That might be fun, but no,” I said, curious to see what the guy had to say. I sensed someone behind me, but I played it cool.

Liam, on the other hand, turned around to look at him. “Can I help you, man?”

“Actually, I wanted a quick word with your friend here.”

I turned around with a smile. He was very handsome, more handsome than he’d looked from across the bar. He was tall, with dark blond hair, and he exuded that same confidence that almost all the men I knew carried, a confidence obtained from simply having been born with silver spoons in their mouths.

He blinked a few times. “Fuck… you’re even hotter up close.”

I didn’t have to look at Liam to know he was rolling his eyes.

“Yes?” I asked calmly. Compliments meant nothing to me.

The guy stuttered, then took a business card from his shirt pocket and handed it to me. “I’d love to buy you dinner sometime,” he said, his voice now a bit steadier.

I looked at his card. His name was Harry, and he was an architect. He probably had no idea I was only twenty years old. That’s what I got for going out on Wall Street.

“I’ll think about it,” I answered.

Harry smiled, and I noticed a dimple in his left cheek. I smiled back, and he waved goodbye. He hadn’t even asked for my name. I put the card in my purse and turned back to my friend, who was looking at me with a mixture of amusement and annoyance.

“Sometimes I’m horrified by how similar you are to me.”

I shook my head. “We are nothing alike and you know it.”

Liam sighed. “The guy who finally gets to sleep with you will be one lucky dude.”

I glared at him. “Shh, don’t tell anyone my deep, dark secret.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Do you care that dudes lie about having slept with you?”

Yes, it bothered me.

“If they have to lie to make themselves feel more like men, let them. If anyone wants to know the truth, they can ask me.”

“You’re like a praying mantis. You know that, right?”

“I’ve never eaten anyone; I simply take what I want and discard the rest.”

Liam laughed. “You’re so naive. One day some dude’s going to make you lose your mind, and you’ll have to swallow all those feminist ideas of yours.”

“It has nothing to do with feminism. Men have used women since the beginning of time; they take what they want and move on. What’s wrong with me doing the same thing? I’m not going to let someone else enjoy my body; I want to be the one doing the enjoying.”

Liam looked at me like I was clueless. “Any man on earth would enjoy just looking at you, Marfil. Touching you would be like winning the lottery for them, believe me.”

It’s not like anyone had ever taken me to the point of ecstasy, ever. But Liam didn’t need to know that. No one did.

I fell silent for a couple of minutes, then finally said, “You’re the only person I’d be willing to go further with, because we’re friends.”

Liam choked on his beer. “And that, right there, tells me that you’re drunk. Come on, let’s go; I’ll take you home.”

I wasn’t lying about Liam being the only man I’d consider offering myself up to completely. Out of all the guys on the planet, he was the only one I trusted. I had thought about it many times, because even though I had plenty of experience in everything that came before sex, I was afraid of taking it all the way. From a young age, my father had instilled in me the notion that a woman’s virtue was the most important thing she had. And the nuns at boarding school had spared no details about every awful thing that could happen to us if we gave in to the sin of lust. For some reason, that was the only thing from boarding school I took to heart. Everyone around me seemed so obsessed with virginity, and losing said virginity, and even though I desperately wanted to rebel, and did in some ways, I was still incapable of taking that last step.

Liam drove me home in his gray Audi. He’d just recently bought it, and the seats still had that new-car smell. Unlike a lot of students, I didn’t live on campus. My father allowed me to move to New York for college on the condition that he would decide where I lived. My apartment was located on the Upper East Side, one of the most expensive parts of town, and was only a train ride from campus. I might sound spoiled, but I couldn’t have cared less about living in one of the most exclusive buildings in Manhattan. I’d been surrounded by luxury all my life, and even though many people thought I was an idiot for even going to college when it was clear I’d inherit a fortune, I had always known I would try to forge my own path.

I was great with numbers, so economics made sense. But for pretty much the entirety of my teenage years, I’d begged my father to let me join the New York City Ballet. His answer was always a resounding no, and when I tried to stand up to him, I ended up regretting it. I’d been forced to give up my dreams of being a professional dancer, but if having an entire apartment to myself was good for anything, it was being able to dance as much as I wanted at home.

I gave Liam a kiss on the cheek, and we promised to hang out before the weekend. I waved to Norman, the doorman, as I crossed the lobby of my building to the elevator. Living alone in New York City might seem brave for a young woman, but my neighborhood was very safe, mostly families of bankers who had made obscene amounts of money on Wall Street. My father was one of them.

My apartment was minimalistic, with almost no decorations except for a few bright pink throw pillows. My motto was: The less you have, the less you have to clean, and I followed it religiously. I was lucky to have such a large apartment, at least by New York City standards: two bedrooms (not including the staff’s room), two bathrooms, and an open-concept living-dining-kitchen. Since I lived alone, I’d set up a dance studio in the second bedroom, where I spent most of my time at home. I had even installed a ballet barre and large mirrors that returned my gaze as I relaxed to the rhythm of the music.

On one of the living room walls, my other best friend, Tamara, had begun painting a mural I could stare at endlessly. It was a conglomeration of quotes from our favorite books, pictures of us, song lyrics, flowers, and most of all eyes, of all sizes, showing all types of expressions… Tami studied people’s gazes, and I was amazed by her ability to transpose them almost perfectly onto any flat surface, as long as she had something to paint with. She once drew a Minion for me on a Starbucks napkin using only a stirring stick and the foam from my Frappuccino.

I set my purse on the island and went directly to the fridge, although I’m not really sure why. I was a disaster in the kitchen. I once tried to make myself a shepherd’s pie using my former stepmother’s recipe, but I forgot about it in the oven and almost burned down the entire apartment. It was safer to order takeout.

I had a microeconomics exam coming up, so I decided to sit down and study. I put on some classical music, and before I knew it, the hours had flown by. When I opened my eyes, I realized that I’d fallen asleep in a very uncomfortable position. I sat up, wishing someone could carry me to bed like a little girl.

I was not so lucky.

I set my textbook on the coffee table and dragged myself to the bedroom. As soon as I was all curled up under my white down comforter, a feeling of loneliness came over me. It wasn’t that I was sad, exactly, but I had always lived with lots of people around me. At home, Lupita, the housekeeper, had been like a mother to me. There was also Peter, the driver; Frank, the gardener; and even Logan, my father’s bodyguard, whenever he was home. At boarding school I’d shared a room with four other girls, including Tami, so we were almost never alone. Being on my own in that apartment sometimes triggered irrational fears; the slightest sound could project a horror movie onto my mind. I hated days like that.

I closed my eyes, burrowed under the blankets, and began to silently count: One, two, three… eighteen… forty-four, forty-five… two hundred six. At some point around 543, I finally fell asleep.

Friday came before I knew it. I’d been invited to a single’s Valentine’s party at a club, but I declined the offer. Not because I don’t like going out—I love it—but I decided I’d rather stay home and dance or watch a movie, solo.

After spending more than two and a half hours at the ballet barre doing pliés, I put an oversized white shirt on over my leotard and took out Harry’s business card.

I could call and ask if he wanted to do dinner. That would save me from having to order another pizza from the place around the corner. But then I remembered that he hadn’t even asked for my name. What was I going to do, text and say: Hey, I’m the random girl from the bar. Want to have dinner on Valentine’s Day? No fucking way.

It was still light out, so I pulled on some leggings, threw on a sweater, put on a pair of gloves and my favorite sneakers, and headed out for a run. I normally ran for over an hour every day, but never in the mornings, because I hated waking up earlier than strictly necessary. Also, I loved seeing the sunset over the Central Park Lake.

I waved to Norman with a smile and went out into the early evening. Central Park was always bustling with people—families taking their kids to the playground, others walking their dogs, feeding the ducks, or enjoying some time under the shade on warmer days. When the sun started to sink low on the horizon, the park began to clear out, except for the runners. I recognized a few other regulars, and we nodded as we passed each other. I had made the mistake once of going out with one of them, and I vowed never to do it again. I hated having to change my jogging route so as not to run into past flings.

After an intense, longer-than-normal run, I slowed to a walk to begin cooling down. The day had given way to a gorgeous clear night, with the lights of the skyscrapers glimmering on the water. I loved this city. A lot of people complained that it was too busy, that people never stopped moving, so on and so forth. I had lived my entire life in the countryside, and being there, in the big city, made me feel like I was part of something exciting.

I was leaning over the stream of a water fountain’s cool water, pulling my long ponytail out of the way to keep my hair from getting wet… when it happened.

I didn’t even have time to scream.

A hand grabbed me around the waist and pulled me backward while another hand covered my mouth with a damp cloth that smelled repulsive. I tried to resist with all my might, panic flooding me, body and mind. I struggled as hard as I could to break free, but the person holding the damp cloth over my face acted swiftly. My eyes began to feel heavy; my limbs lost all their strength. I felt myself falling backward, collapsing against someone tall and muscular.

“Put her in the van.”

That was the last thing I heard before losing consciousness.