Chapter 3

The bed felt impossibly soft that afternoon, like sinking into a cloud. Selena Dundro stirred, letting out a soft moan as she burrowed deeper into the sheets of the room she’d known her whole life. Her eyelids were heavy, body sluggish from the unexpected nap.

She rarely slept during the day. Nights were for deep rest after long shifts, and days were for work—no time for laziness. But this morning at the restaurant, her father had surprised her: half the day off to rest, with strict orders to return by evening.

The free hours had thrilled her. She’d called Mikey right away, hoping for some company, but he’d brushed her off as usual. “Busy working for our future, babe.” She didn’t mind—he was handsome, rich, generous. Most of the money came from his father, sure, but he had his own apartment, paid his own bills, and her dad approved of him. Maybe too much.

When he couldn’t come over, they’d video-chatted instead. She lounged on the bed, laughing at his jokes until he had to “get back to work.” Boredom crept in after that. She downloaded a few games on her phone to kill time, playing until her eyes drooped and she drifted off.

Now she rolled over, yawned lazily, and stretched. She buried her face in the pillow, willing sleep to take her again. No luck. After long minutes of staring at nothing, she groped for her phone—tucked under her thigh—and powered it on.

The game screen glowed back at her. She swiped home.

“SHIT!”

2:16 p.m.

“I’m so late. Dad’s going to kill me.”

She bolted upright, heart racing. Scrambling out of bed, she stripped and wrapped a towel around herself, dashing to the bathroom. No luxurious bubble bath today—time was her enemy. She showered in under five minutes, cursing her haste.

Back in her room, she rifled through her wardrobe. Normally she’d try on half a dozen outfits, but now every second counted. Phone check: 2:20 p.m. Her pulse spiked.

She grabbed dark gray jeans, a simple vest, and a light coat. Sandals? No—too casual. She eyed the new pumps Mikey had bought her last week. Perfect. Slipping them on, she snatched her handbag and flew out the door.

Worry etched her face as she hurried down the street. Visions flashed: her father scolding her in front of customers, everyone staring. She pushed them aside and walked faster.

Her phone buzzed with missed calls—Jenny. She turned up the volume. Silent mode. “Dammit.”

Focused on the screen, she didn’t see the man until she collided with him.

“Oh crap—lady, watch it!” he snapped.

“I’m sorry!” Selena bent to help gather his scattered papers. “I was distracted by a call—didn’t see you.”

She brushed hair from her face and glanced up. He was young—maybe 20 or 21—dark brown skin, shaved head, black sleeveless tee under a leather jacket, cargo pants, shiny loafers. An earring glinted in one ear, Bluetooth in the other. Papers suggested student or office work.

He glared. “What are you staring at, bugger?”

“Sorry,” she muttered. “But you don’t have to be rude. I didn’t mean—”

“Piss off.”

He snatched his documents and stormed past.

Selena didn’t look back. Time was ticking, and New York streets were full of people ready to take offense. She wasn’t looking for trouble.

She turned right, spotting the familiar billboard: CIBO SPECIALE RESTAURANT.

Relief flooded her. Phone: 2:35 p.m.

She quickened her pace, dodging traffic with practiced ease, ignoring curious glances. At the door, she paused, took a breath, and stepped inside.

The restaurant buzzed—VIPs sipping wine in the corner, families enjoying hearty meals, waitstaff weaving through tables with trays of steaming plates. The air smelled of garlic, fresh bread, and rich sauce.

No sign of her father barking orders or charming wealthy patrons. Maybe in the kitchen? Or—better yet—not here at all.

Then she spotted Jenny across the room. Her best friend smiled and hurried over.

“Hey, Sely!” They hugged quickly.

“Hi, Jen. Sorry—”

“Why so late? It’s been over half an hour. I called nonstop—you worried me sick!”

Selena opened her mouth, but Jenny’s gaze shifted past her shoulder. Her words died.

A deep, familiar voice cut through the noise behind Selena.

“Yes, I am right here.”

Her father’s voice—calm, but edged with that unmistakable tone.

Selena’s stomach twisted. She turned slowly, bracing for the lecture she knew was coming