Valeria's POV

The cold floor beneath me is the only thing I can feel anymore. Every breath I take sends a sharp, searing pain through my ribs, and I'm pretty sure one of my eyes is swollen shut. I don't even have the energy to check.

My throat burns with thirst, my lips cracked and dry. I don't know how long I've been lying here—hours, maybe days. Time stopped meaning anything after Morales' last visit.

I shift slightly, wincing as pain shoots through every inch of my body. I can't move. Not really. My body feels too heavy, too broken.

Any moment now, I think, staring blankly at the cracked ceiling above me. Any moment now, Dominic's men will come. Morales will hand me over like yesterday's trash, and that will be it.

I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing that maybe—just maybe—I'll bleed out before they get here. At least then, they won't have the satisfaction of breaking me completely.

Cesar's face flashes in my mind. The kid is probably wondering where I am. My chest tightens, but not from the pain this time. What happens to him when I'm gone?

I swallow hard, ignoring the sharp sting. Will Dominic find him? Will they kill him too, just to send a message?

There's no one else.

No friends, no family. Just me and Cesar. And soon, not even that.

I try to push the thought away, but another face creeps into my mind—soft features, dark eyes, and a voice that sounded too gentle for this world. Emilia.

My stomach twists in anger, my jaw clenching despite the pain. Stupid. I curse myself. Stupid for trusting that angelic face. I should've known better.

I shouldn't have helped her. I should've walked away when I had the chance, let someone else deal with her rich-girl problems. But something about her... something made me stay.

And look where that got me.

I let out a bitter, ragged laugh that turns into a cough, blood filling my mouth. I spit it onto the floor beside me, shaking my head at my own stupidity.

I close my eyes and wait for the inevitable.

Emilia's POV

I pace across the living room, my arms wrapped tightly around myself as I glare at my father, frustration bubbling to the surface. "It's been two days," I snap, my voice cracking. "How hard is it to check the damn cameras and find her?"

My father exhales, rubbing his temples. "Emilia, they're doing their best."

"Their best isn't good enough!" I shout, my eyes burning with unshed tears. "No one knows where she is?"

He sighs, standing from his chair and facing me with a grim expression. "The cameras show Morales dragging her out of the holding cell," he says slowly. "After that, he avoided every single surveillance spot in the building. He only reappeared thirty minutes later... carrying what appears to be a body bag."

I freeze. My breath catches in my throat. "No."

"He took it to an unmarked van," my father continues, his voice heavy with something I refuse to acknowledge. "Emilia... he probably—"

"No!" I cut him off, shaking my head furiously. "She's alive. Don't say that. I know she is."

Before he can argue, my phone rings, slicing through the thick silence. I fumble to answer it, my hands trembling. "Hello?"

"Miss Hayes," the chief's voice comes through, urgent but calm. "We found her."

The phone nearly slips from my grip. "W-what? Where?"

"We're at the station," he says. "You need to get here now."

I don't wait for another word before grabbing my coat and rushing to the door, my father close behind. The drive to the station feels endless, my heart pounding in my chest with each passing second. When we arrive, the chief meets us at the entrance, his expression serious.

"Where is she?" I demand, barely able to contain myself.

"She's alive," he says, and for a moment, I feel like I can finally breathe. "But barely." He continued. " She was hidden in an abandoned holding area—one that hasn't been used in five years"

I grip his arm. "She's been here. In your station. For two days. Right under your nose. What the hell were you doing?"

He looks away, shame flickering across his face. "Morales made it look like he moved her in the van. We've been chasing a ghost."

I swallow the bile rising in my throat. "Where is she now?"

"She's with an officer I trust," the chief says firmly. "But we can't take her to a hospital. Dominic's men could be watching."

"No hospital," I say immediately. "I'll take her home. I'll get her all the help she needs there. I'm not letting her out of my sight."

My father frowns. "Emilia—"

"She's not going to a hospital," I repeat, my voice steely. "She's coming home with me."

The chief nods, surprisingly agreeing. "It might be for the best. Dominic has connections everywhere. But we need to be careful. You and your father will leave now and act frustrated, like we have no leads. I'll arrange to have her brought to your mansion later, discreetly."

I hesitate, glancing at my father, who finally nods. "Fine."

As we step outside, I force myself to breathe deeply. I pretend to look angry, frustrated, storming to the car while my father plays along, offering reassuring words as if nothing is going right.

But deep down, my stomach is in knots. She's alive. The relief crashes over me like a wave, but it's quickly drowned by the worry gnawing at me. What state is she in? What did they do to her?

Hours pass at home, each one dragging on painfully. I sit by the window, eyes scanning the road outside, waiting.

Finally, headlights cut through the darkness.

The moment the car door opens, my breath catches in my throat. Two officers step out, carrying Valeria's limp body between them. My heart stops.

She's barely recognizable—her face swollen and bruised, her skin stained with dried blood. Her clothes are torn, clinging to her in tatters, and I can see the ugly gashes on her arms. My stomach churns, and I instinctively take a step forward, my hand flying to my mouth to stifle a gasp.

"Oh my God..." I whisper, my voice trembling.

My father places a steadying hand on my shoulder, but I barely register it. My eyes are locked on Valeria's motionless figure, a hollow ache settling deep within me.

"Take her upstairs!" I command, my voice louder than I intended. "Now!"

The officers don't hesitate, carrying her carefully up the marble staircase, their footsteps heavy and urgent.

"She's barely breathing," one of them mutters under his breath, and my heart lurches painfully.

"I have doctors waiting for her," I say, pushing past them and leading the way. The urgency in my steps betrays the terror clawing at me from the inside.

We reach the guest bedroom, where two doctors, both in white coats, spring into action the moment they see her. The officers gently place Valeria on the bed, and I watch as the doctors immediately begin assessing her wounds, their expressions grim.

I stand frozen at the doorway, my hands shaking as I watch them work. Blood soaks into the pristine sheets, and I feel the walls closing in on me.

"Emilia, step back," my father says gently, but I can't move.

She looks so fragile, so lifeless.

I feel a burning sensation in my chest, a mix of anger, guilt, and something deeper—something I can't quite name.

The hours crawl by in agonizing silence. I sit outside the room, my hands gripping the edge of the chair so tightly my knuckles turn white. Every time I hear footsteps approaching, my heart leaps into my throat, but it's never the doctors.

My father stands across the hall, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, watching me closely. "You should get some rest," he says softly.

I shake my head, my eyes fixed on the door. "I'm not going anywhere."

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the door creaks open. I jump to my feet as the two doctors step out, their expressions serious but not grim. I search their faces for answers, my heart pounding in my chest.

One of them, an older man with graying hair and tired eyes, speaks first. "She's pretty beaten up," he says, his voice calm but firm. "She has a concussion, multiple bruises, and broken ribs. One of them punctured her lung, but we managed to stabilize her."

My breath hitches. "But she's going to be okay?"

The younger doctor, a woman with sharp eyes and a reassuring presence, nods. "She's severely dehydrated and lost a lot of blood, but she should recover with a few days of rest and proper care."

I sag against the wall, a wave of relief crashing over me. "Thank God," I murmur, pressing a hand to my chest.

"She's unconscious now, but her vitals are stable," the older doctor adds. "We'll keep an eye on her, but she's out of immediate danger."

I swallow hard, nodding. "Can I see her?"

The female doctor hesitates before offering a small smile. "She needs rest, but yes. Just don't stress her out."

I nod again, quickly slipping past them and into the room.

The door clicks softly behind me as I step into the dimly lit room. My eyes immediately land on Valeria lying motionless on the bed, her chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths. Her face is almost unrecognizable—purple bruises darken her cheekbones, and a thick bandage wraps around her forehead.

I swallow the lump in my throat and take hesitant steps forward until I'm by her bedside. Her lips are cracked, her hands limp at her sides, and I can see the faint traces of dried blood under her fingernails.

I sink into the chair beside the bed, reaching out tentatively, my fingers hovering over hers. "Valeria..." I whisper, my voice trembling.

No response.

The steady beep of the heart monitor fills the silence, an eerie reminder that she's still alive—barely.

Guilt gnaws at me, heavy and suffocating. "I should've done more," I murmur, my voice barely audible. "I shouldn't have let this happen to you."

Her lashes flutter slightly, but she doesn't wake. I take a shaky breath and brush a loose strand of her hair back, noticing the way it feels rougher than I imagined.

"You saved me," I continue, my voice breaking. "And I—" I pause, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. "I won't let anything happen to you again, okay?"

She doesn't answer, of course.

I lean back in the chair, exhaustion finally catching up with me. My father's words echo in my mind—You should rest. But how can I?

A soft knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts. I turn to see Claire standing in the doorway, her expression a mixture of concern and uncertainty.

"I brought you some tea," she says, holding a steaming cup in her hands. "I figured you might need it."

I force a small smile, taking the cup from her with a whispered, "Thank you."

Claire hesitates, glancing at Valeria before shifting her gaze back to me. "Is she going to be okay?"

I nod, my grip tightening around the cup. "The doctors said she just needs rest."

Claire steps inside, her eyes scanning Valeria's battered frame. "I still don't get it... why did she help you? People like her don't just—"

I cut her off with a sharp look. "She did," I say firmly. "That's all that matters."

Claire sighs, clearly sensing that I won't entertain any doubt about Valeria. "Alright," she says softly. "I'll leave you to it. Let me know if you need anything."

I nod again, watching as she quietly slips out of the room.

Taking a sip of the tea, I stare at Valeria's face, willing her to wake up. To say something—anything.

Instead, the silence continues, stretching endlessly between us.

I sigh and lean back, determined to stay by her side