Valeria's POV

Two weeks. That's all it took for the media to lose their minds.

I scroll through the news on my cracked phone screen, sipping bitter coffee from a chipped mug. The headline screams back at me: "Emilia Hayes Still Missing: Business Tycoon Desperate for Answers."

The article is littered with glossy pictures of her—glamorous, untouchable. A few of her photographs are included too, praised as "revolutionary" and "breathtaking." I tilt the phone, narrowing my eyes at one of her so-called masterpieces: a single chair in the middle of an empty room.

"This is art?" I mutter under my breath. "Looks like someone forgot to clean up after a party."

César, sitting cross-legged on the floor, munching on a stale cracker, glances up at me. "Don't you feel bad for her?" he asks, crumbs clinging to the corner of his mouth.

I scoff, tossing the phone onto the table. "Feel bad? Why? Because she's rich? People disappear every day, César. They don't get headlines. They don't get ransom demands. They just die, and no one gives a damn. What makes her so special?"

He frowns, his wide eyes searching mine for some trace of sympathy. "She didn't ask for this," he says softly.

"Neither did any of us," I snap, standing up and grabbing my jacket. "Now stay out of trouble. I've got work."

---

The stench of damp concrete and cigarettes clings to the air as I make my way to Carlos' hideout, my backpack full of cash from the latest drop-off. The morning rain hasn't washed away the filth, just spread it thinner.

Inside, Carlos waits like a king on a throne—a stained couch surrounded by his lackeys. I toss the bag onto the floor in front of him. "Everything's there," I say, keeping my voice even.

Carlos leans forward, unzipping the bag and inspecting the cash with a smirk. "Not bad," he says, but his tone carries the weight of an insult. "Still not enough, though."

I bristle. "I did what you asked. The whole neighborhood's dry. What more do you want?"

Carlos' smirk fades. In one smooth motion, he pulls the gun from his waistband and smacks me on the side of the head with the back of it. Pain explodes across my temple, and I stagger, clutching at the wound as blood trickles down my face.

"You think you're special, Valeria?" he snarls, pressing the barrel of the gun against my forehead. "You think you're ready for more? Focus on what I tell you to do, or I'll make sure you never dream again."

I grit my teeth, my fists clenched at my sides. "I get it," I mutter through the haze of pain.

"Good girl," he says, pulling the gun away. "Now get out of here."

I stagger outside, wiping blood from my face with the back of my sleeve. "Asshole," I mutter under my breath.

"Val?"

I look up to see César standing at the corner, his hoodie soaked through from the rain. His eyes widen when he spots the blood trickling down my face. "What the hell are you doing here?" I snap.

"I—I thought maybe Carlos could give me a job," he stammers, shifting on his feet. His gaze flickers to my injury. "What happened to you?"

I shake my head, grabbing his arm and pulling him away from the alley. "Forget it. You're too young for this. It's dangerous, César."

"I can handle it," he protests, but I tighten my grip, dragging him down a different street to avoid Carlos' men.

"You don't know what you're talking about," I say, voice hard. "Stay out of it before you end up like—"

A muffled cry cuts through the rain, stopping me mid-sentence.

César tugs at my sleeve. "Val, let's just go. It's none of our business."

I exhale sharply, every instinct telling me to walk away—but I don't. Something inside me refuses to ignore it.

"Stay here," I tell him. "Guard the door."

Before he can argue, I squeeze through a broken window, the jagged glass catching on my sleeve. Inside, the air is thick and stale, the faint smell of mold and something worse curling in my nose. The dim light flickers, revealing a figure tied to a chair in the middle of the room.

A girl. Pale. Gagged.

Her head snaps up at the sight of me, and her muffled scream is immediate, wild-eyed with fear.

"Shh," I hiss, holding up my hands. "Calm down before you get us both killed."

Her gaze darts to the blood on my forehead, and she shrinks back, tears welling in her eyes.

I sigh. "Yeah, yeah, I look like hell. But I'm not here to hurt you."

"Val?" César called out to me in a hushed voice.

"Someone is here. It's just a helpless girl," I whisper back to him.

César's panicked whisper reaches me from outside. "A girl? No, Val, we need to go. Now. I heard Carlos' guys talking earlier... they're planning to get rid of her today, they will be here soon."

The girl shakes her head frantically, pleading with wide, desperate eyes. She struggles against the ropes, silent cries spilling from behind the gag.

I curse under my breath. "What do you expect me to do?" I mutter, staring at her. "If I help you, I'm dead."

César crawls up to the window, urgency clear in his expression. "Val, we have to leave."

The girl sobs harder, the sound breaking something deep in me.

I kneel in front of her. "I'll take off the gag," I say in a low voice. "But if you scream, I'm leaving you here. Got it?"

She nods quickly, and with a sigh, I pull the cloth away from her mouth.

"Please," she gasps, her voice raw and shaking. "Help me. I'll give you anything you want."

I shake my head, leaning back against the wall. "You've got nothing I want."

Her lips tremble, and for a second, I want to walk away. But I can't.

"I'm not a good person," I mutter, pulling out a pocketknife. "But I don't leave people to die."

She tries to stand, but her legs buckle beneath her, and she collapses against me with a weak, shuddering breath. I catch her, holding her steady for a second, feeling how frail she id. Her body trembles, exhaustion seeping through her bones.

"I get it," I murmur, my voice softer than I'd like. "You're scared. You're tired. But if we're gonna get out of here alive, you need to walk on your own. You think you can do that?"

She nods weakly, but I can tell she doesn't believe it.

I strip off my hoodie and shove it at her. "Put this on. Stay low, stay quiet."

She fumbles with the oversized fabric, slipping it over her head, drowning in it. Her frightened eyes peek out from beneath the hood as she hugs it tightly around her body.

"What's your name?" I ask, keeping my voice low.

Her lips tremble before she whispers, "Emilia."

My stomach twists. "Emilia Hayes? The photographer?"

Panic flashes in her wide eyes, and she takes a step back, her breathing ragged.

"Relax," I say quickly, raising my hands. "I don't want anything from you. But you've got two choices—stay here and die, or trust me and maybe get out of this alive."

For a long moment, Emilia stares at me, like she's weighing my words, weighing me. Then she reaches out, grabbing my sleeve, her grip weak but desperate.

"Please," she whispers. "Don't leave me."

I nod once. "Come on."

We move carefully through the narrow hallways, every step calculated, my ears straining for the slightest sound. Emilia clings to me, doing her best to match my pace. Just when I think we might make it, a familiar voice slurs behind us.

"Val?"

I stiffen, turning slowly. One of Carlos' guys, Ramon, stumbles toward us, the stink of alcohol and cheap cologne clinging to him. His bleary eyes scan me lazily before sliding to Emilia.

"Where you goin', Val?" he asks, swaying slightly. "Come home with me. It's been a while."

I force a smirk, stepping in front of Emilia. "Not tonight, Ramon. I gotta get this kid home." I jerk my thumb toward the street behind me. "Kid's been sick."

He frowns, gaze flicking between us, lingering a second too long on Emilia. "Who's that?"

I grip his shoulder firmly, giving it a playful shake. "Relax, man. Just a neighbor kid. You're too drunk to be asking so many questions."

Ramon grins lazily, the alcohol in his system making him easier to manipulate. "Yeah, you're right. But you'll drop by later, huh?"

I nod. "Yeah. Sure."

He finally loses interest, shuffling off down the street, and I exhale slowly.

Emilia whispers, "Do you think he saw me?"

I glance at her and shake my head. "Nah. He's too drunk and high. He won't remember a damn thing tomorrow."

When we reach my car—an old beat-up sedan with rust along the edges—I stop and turn to her. "Okay, listen," I say, opening the trunk. "You need to get in here."

Her eyes widen in horror. "In the trunk?"

I nod, keeping my voice firm but calm. "It's the only way we get out of here without someone seeing you. I'll drive us past Carlos' block, then you can sit up front. Can you do that?"

Emilia hesitates, glancing down the dark street. Her hands shake as she grips the edge of the trunk. I see the fear in her eyes, the hesitation.

"Trust me," I say quietly. "It's this or we stay here and wait for Ramon to sober up."

Emilia swallows hard, then climbs inside, curling into the small space. I shut the trunk carefully, muttering a silent prayer that this isn't the stupidest thing I've ever done.

Sliding into the driver's seat, I take a deep breath and start the engine.

"Just get her out of here," I whisper to myself, shifting into gear.

The engine hums to life, and I drive into the night, leaving everything behind... for now.

Emilia's POV

The trunk smells like old leather and gasoline, the claustrophobic space pressing in from all sides. My heart pounds in my chest, and I can't help but wonder if I've just made the stupidest decision of my life. Trusting a complete stranger, climbing into the trunk of her car, letting her take me who knows where.

But there's something about her. Something calm and steady in the way she looked at me, the way she spoke. No promises, no fake reassurances. Just choices. And right now, I don't have many of those.

I try to focus on my breathing, but my mind races. The darkness inside the trunk feels suffocating, and I can still hear the muffled screams that had been trapped in my throat for what felt like forever. My wrists burn where the ropes had been.

Just as I start to spiral, the car jerks to a stop. My breath catches in my throat.

The trunk pops open, and cool air floods in. I blink up at her. The streetlights outside the car cast sharp shadows across her face, highlighting the blood dried at her temple.

"Come sit in the front," she says, her voice even but impatient. "We're out of Carlos' neighborhood."

I climb out of the trunk, my legs shaky as I slip into the passenger seat. Out of the dark alleys and flickering streetlights, I can finally see her properly.

She's... gorgeous.

Even with the blood, the worn hoodie, and the exhaustion etched into her features, there's something captivating about her. Her long sun-kissed hair falls over her shoulder, and those tattoos—ink swirls in shades of black and color that disappear under her sleeves—speak of stories I'll never know.

I catch myself staring and quickly look away. "I... I never asked your name," I say, trying to sound casual.

She glances at me briefly before focusing on the road. "Valeria."

It suits her. Strong. Rough around the edges.

I hesitate, then nod toward her wound. "What happened to your head?"

She shrugs. "Messed with the wrong guy."

I frown, something about the casual way she says it bothering me more than it should. My fingers fidget with the hem of her oversized hoodie draped over me. It smells like faint smoke and something uniquely her.

I bite my lip, remembering the way she told that guy—Ramon—she'd meet him later. A weird, unfamiliar annoyance simmers inside me. Why does that bother me? I just met her. She's not my problem.

Still, I can't help myself. "So... what do you do? I mean, for work?"

Valeria's grip on the wheel tightens for a second, then she pulls the car over with a sigh. The engine hums beneath us, the silence stretching thick in the air.

She turns to me, her dark eyes hard. "Listen, princess," she says, her voice low and sharp. "I'm from a world very different from yours. Just because I helped you doesn't mean we're friends, got it? You'll go back to your fancy life and mansion, and I'll go back to doing whatever I have to do to survive. That's how this works. Unlees Carlos find out I saved you, I end up dead."

I open my mouth to respond, but she cuts me off.

"So let me do me drive you —get you out of here—and then forget you ever met me."

Her words hit harder than I expect, and I sink into the seat, staring out the window. She's right. I don't belong here. And she shouldn't have to be paying for my mistakes.

The weight of it settles heavily in my chest, and for the first time since this nightmare began, I realize that escaping might have been the easy part.