Valeria's POV

The further we get from my side of the city, the quieter everything becomes. The cracked pavement turns into smooth, pristine roads. The buildings grow taller, cleaner. Even the air smells different—less like damp concrete and cheap cigarettes, more like money.

I glance at the mansions towering on either side of me, their grand iron gates and spotless lawns standing in sharp contrast to the chaos I come from. People here have no idea what it’s like to sleep with one eye open or wonder if they’ll make it to the next day without a bullet in their back.

My grip tightens on the wheel as I mutter under my breath, “Must be nice.”

“You okay?” Emilia’s voice is soft, but I don’t miss the way she’s been watching me since we left.

I don’t take my eyes off the road. “Just worry about going back to your life, princess.”

She shifts in her seat, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. “I won’t forget that you saved me.” She pauses. “You could stay with me… until things calm down.”

A laugh bursts out of me, loud and unrestrained. “You really live in your own little bubble, don’t you?” I shake my head. “You think I can just crash at your fancy mansion like some charity case?”

Emilia’s expression hardens. “I just don’t want you to go back to that… dangerous neighborhood where you could get hurt because of me.”

I sigh, rolling my shoulders. “I’ll be fine. As long as you keep your mouth shut about who got you out, I won’t have a problem.”

She looks down at her hands. “I won’t tell anyone. But you still need to come with me.”

I turn to glance at her, arching a brow. “I don’t belong in your world, princess. And I’m not leaving César behind.”

Her lips part slightly. “César… is he your child?”

I scoff, irritation flickering inside me. “That’s none of your business,” I snap. “I told you, stop asking questions about my life. We’re not friends.”

Emilia’s lips press into a thin line, frustration clouding her features. But there’s something else beneath it. Something that makes her keep pushing.

After a long pause, she speaks again. “I can help you.”

I grip the wheel tighter. “What’s your deal?”

“I just want to help.”

I let out a humorless laugh. “I’m not a damn charity case, Emilia.”

“I don’t think you are,” she says, her voice steady. “I just… I don’t want you to be in danger because of me.”

I glance at her, shaking my head. “You seem awfully interested in my life.” I narrow my eyes. “Maybe it’s because I saved you, and now you feel safe with me? Let me clear that up for you.”

I reach into my pocket, pulling out my knife and pressing it lightly to her throat. Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t flinch.

“You shouldn’t feel safe with me,” I say lowly, the blade cool against her skin. “I’m not a good person. I work for the same guys that kidnapped you, and that’s not gonna change.”

She stares at me, her lips slightly parted, breathing shallow but steady. There’s no fear in her eyes—just something else that throws me off.

“I don’t believe you,” she whispers. “I know you won’t hurt me.”

For a moment, I can’t move. Her eyes are locked onto mine, and for some stupid reason, I feel like I’m the one under a spotlight. Her confidence in me feels heavier than it should.

I pull the knife away with a frustrated sigh, tossing it back into the glove compartment. “Are all artists crazy like this?”

Emilia smirks, the corners of her lips twitching upward. “Have you ever seen my work?”

I smirk back. “If I wanna see nude women, I’ll just watch porn.”

Emilia bursts into laughter, and despite everything, I can’t help but chuckle along.

Emilia's POV

The familiar street comes into view, lined with perfectly manicured hedges and gleaming streetlights. But instead of the quiet elegance I’m used to, flashing red and blue lights paint the neighborhood in streaks of urgency. Police cars crowd the driveway, officers pacing up and down in sharp uniforms, radios crackling in the night air.

Valeria stiffens beside me, her hands tightening on the steering wheel. “This is as far as I can take you.”

I turn to her, searching her face, hoping—praying—she'll change her mind. “Val…” I whisper, but the walls are already back up. She won’t even look at me.

“Get out,” she says, her voice firm, eyes fixed on the flashing lights ahead. “Forget you ever met me.”

I hesitate, unwilling to let go of the one person who’s made me feel safe in weeks. “Can I at least—your phone number?”

Val gives a short, humorless laugh. “Absolutely not. Which part of ‘never met me’ don’t you understand, princess?”

I swallow the lump in my throat, my fingers hovering over the door handle. “I doubt I’ll be able to act like we never met,” I say softly, meeting her gaze. “I won’t tell anyone about you, but I won’t forget what you did for me.”

She sighs, her expression unreadable. “Once you’re back in your fancy world, you’ll forget.”

I shake my head, my voice steady. “If you ever get into trouble… you know where I live.”

Val rolls her eyes, but there's something softer in them now. “Get out before someone sees us,” she says, her tone softer but still firm.

With a reluctant nod, I push the door open and step out into the cool night air. I expect her to drive off, to disappear into the darkness the way she came into my life—but she doesn't.

She stays.

Her eyes watch me through the windshield, making sure I walk toward the house, making sure I’m safe. The lump in my throat grows heavier, but I force my legs to move.

Before I can take another step, the shouting begins.

“Miss Hayes!”

The officers rush forward, their questions slamming into me all at once.

“Where have you been?”

“Are you hurt?”

“Did they harm you?”

I try to glance over my shoulder, hoping to catch one last look at Val, but strong hands guide me inside. I don’t resist. Not because I want to be here, but because I don’t want to draw attention to her.

As the door closes behind me, cutting me off from the outside world, I realize that no matter how much she wants to disappear, Valeria is someone I’ll never be able to forget.

Valeria's POV

I watch Emilia walk toward her house, her legs shaky, her arms wrapped around herself like she’s holding the pieces together. I should leave, drive away, disappear into the night like I always do. But something keeps me here—maybe curiosity, maybe guilt, or maybe just a stupid hope that for once, karma might cut me some slack.

Maybe this one good deed will balance out the mess that is my life.

I exhale, gripping the wheel, ready to leave when—

Click.

The unmistakable sound of a gun cocking sends ice down my spine. Cold metal presses against the side of my head.

“Police! Hands on the wheel where I can see them. Nice and easy.”

My breath catches in my throat, and panic coils in my chest. My fingers tremble as I slowly place them on the wheel, my mind racing a mile a minute. I can't be arrested. Not now. Not ever.

Dominic’s gang has eyes everywhere. Moles in the police, eyes on the streets. If they run me through the system, if my name even whispers through their circles, they’ll know. And once Dominic knows I betrayed him, it won’t end with a bullet to the head. It’ll be slower. Much worse. I’ll wish I was dead.

“Please,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “I don’t know anything. Just let me go. I was only helping her.”

The officer’s voice is sharp, full of authority. “You think we’re stupid? We saw you drop her off. After Mr. Hayes paid the ransom, they sent you to deliver her.”

My heart slams against my ribs. “And I drove her all the way here? That’s not what happened!” My voice is desperate, pleading, but he doesn’t care.

“Shut up! Get out of the car. Now.”

I shake my head, gripping the wheel tighter, my knuckles white. “I’d rather you shoot me,” I say, my voice steady despite the terror. “I’m not going to jail. Worse things will happen to me there.”

My chest rises and falls in ragged breaths, and for a moment, there’s only silence between us. Then, a sudden jolt—electricity courses through my body, white-hot pain sparking through every nerve. My muscles seize, my vision blurs, and the last thing I hear before darkness claims me is the officer’s muffled voice.

Then nothing.

Pain is the first thing I feel. A deep, throbbing ache in my head, my ribs, my entire body.

I groan, peeling my eyes open, only to find cold concrete walls and iron bars staring back at me. The fluorescent lights overhead buzz like an annoying mosquito, their harsh glare making my head pound even harder.

No. No, no, no.

I scramble to my feet, ignoring the way my legs tremble beneath me. “Hey!” I shout, my voice cracking. “You’ve got the wrong person! Let me out!”

A bored-looking officer outside the cell barely glances at me. He leans against the desk, chewing gum like he’s got all the time in the world. “Calm down, sweetheart. Someone will be by to process you soon.”

Process me. Fingerprints. Mugshots. My name in their system.

I pace the small cell, my hands raking through my hair, my breathing sharp and uneven. I curse under my breath. Stupid. So stupid. I should have driven away when I had the chance. I shouldn’t have gotten involved. Now I’m here, and Emilia’s probably sitting in her warm mansion, sipping champagne, telling her rich friends about the daring escape she had—while I rot.

I shake my head, sinking onto the bench in the corner, hugging my arms around my ribs. Time passes slowly, agonizingly. Minutes, maybe hours. My mind won’t stop racing. I can't stay here. If Dominic finds out...

The cell door creaks open.

I look up, my pulse spiking, as a tall, burly officer steps inside. His uniform looks too tight around his broad shoulders, and the smirk on his face makes my skin crawl.

"Alright," he says, holding up a clipboard. "Name?"

I stare at him, my throat dry, something deep in my gut warning me. I wet my lips and force my expression to stay blank. “I’m not saying anything. I want you to call Emilia Hayes.”

His smirk widens. “Funny.” He sets the clipboard down and steps closer. “You think that spoiled little girl cares what happens to you?”

I clench my fists, but I don’t respond.

He moves faster than I expect. His fist slams into my ribs, knocking the breath out of me. Pain explodes in my side, and I double over, gasping.

“You think we don’t know who you are?” he says, his voice dripping with amusement. “You’re from that neighborhood. And guess what? Dominic wants to know who had the balls to let the girl go.”

I cough, wincing as the sharp ache spreads through my torso. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I manage to say, forcing myself to straighten despite the pain. “I’m not from any neighborhood. I was just driving by. I saw the girl walking in the rain and offered her a ride.”

The officer snorts, unimpressed. “Sure you did.” He slams his fist into me again, and this time I hear a sickening crack. Pain shoots through my body, blinding and sharp.

I collapse against the wall, biting back a scream.

“We’ll see about that after we process you,” he says, crouching down to my level, his voice eerily calm. “Once we take your picture and send it to Dominic, he’ll be real interested to see who you are.”

I feel bile rise in my throat, but I force myself to keep breathing. I can’t break. Not now.

He stands up and steps back, cracking his knuckles. “Enjoy your stay.”

The cell door clangs shut behind him, and I curl into myself, cradling my ribs, trying to drown out the panic clawing its way up my chest.

I’m screwed