The encounter

Both women worked executive roles in her father's entertainment industry. Maria was Cordelia's personal manager—a ruthless woman who had helped orchestrate the golden child's rise—and Luisa was nothing more than a pathetic dog blindly following her master's footsteps.

"Well, look who decided to crawl back," Maria started, her voice dripping with venom as she arrogantly sized Victoria up from head to toe, taking in her slim, athletic new silhouette.

"I honestly thought you were dead," Luisa followed up, a disgusting, smug smirk spreading across her face. She leaned in closer, her eyes scanning Victoria’s refined facial features. "So, you went abroad and did plastic surgery, huh? Trying to look pretty?"

Victoria’s hands subtly clenched into fists inside her pockets. Every ounce of her mafia training screamed at her to break their jaws right here in the lobby, but she knew better. She couldn't fight them in public. Doing so would expose her presence to her father and Cordelia before her trap was even set. So, she kept completely quiet, her face dropping into a cold, unreadable mask.

Noticing her total quietness, the two bullies mistook her silence for absolute submission. They exchanged a malicious look. Grabbing Victoria by the arms, they aggressively shoved her backward, throwing her into a dark, unlit storage room directly opposite where they were standing. Before Victoria could even turn around, the heavy door slammed shut, and the deadbolt clicked into place. She was locked in.

Through the thick wood of the door, Maria’s muffled, spiteful shout echoed clearly into the darkness: "If you think you can just show up and steal Cordelia's spotlight again, you are dead wrong! Rot in there, psycho!"

The click of the deadbolt echoed like a gunshot in the pitch-black space. Victoria stood perfectly still in the center of the dark room, letting her eyes adjust to the shadows. She took a slow, deep breath, reigning in the cold fury vibrating through her veins. Assessing her surroundings by touch and outline, she realized it was a deep, expansive janitorial storage room.

As she ventured deeper into the cluttered room, away from the locked door, her eyes caught a small silhouette on the floor. She moved closer, realizing it was a young boy, curled up and sleeping soundly as if he didn't have a single care in the world.

Seeing the child changed her strategy. She knew someone would eventually come looking for him, which meant she wouldn't be trapped here forever. She reached into her pocket for her phone, intending to call Anna, but the screen remained black. The battery had completely died; she had used the last of its power navigating the security grid at her grandfather's estate, fully expecting to return to her suite to charge it and sleep. She tried forcing it to switch on again, but the screen flickered once and died.

Frustrated, Victoria moved her hand along the damp wall, searching for a light switch. Her fingers brushed against plastic. She flipped it, and a dim, humming fluorescent bulb flickered to life. The light was weak, casting long, eerie shadows across the concrete floor, but it was enough to work with.

She turned her attention back to the child. He hadn't moved an inch since she had entered, which instantly triggered her motherly instincts. Something was wrong. She knelt beside him, brushing his hair away from his face, only to find the poor child was burning with a severe, terrifying fever. His skin was flushed, and his breathing was shallow.

Victoria's gaze snapped to a small sink in the corner of the room. She turned the rusted tap, but the water sputtering out ran yellow and dirty. It was contaminated. But if she didn't use it to cool his core temperature, the boy’s condition would rapidly worsen. Over the years, she had long since learned to mind her own business and ignore the suffering of strangers. But children were her breaking point. Deep within her hardened soul, the phantom pain of losing her own newborn baby left a soft, fiercely protective scar. She could not let this child die.

Pulling off her heavy, layered outer jacket, she soaked the fabric under the tap, ignoring the rust. She returned to the boy’s side, methodically pressing the damp cloth against his forehead, neck, and chest. She wiped him down continuously for what felt like hours, keeping a vigilant watch as the night dragged on, until finally, the intense heat radiating from his skin began to break.

The boy shifted slightly, his small fingers reaching out blindly. He gripped Victoria’s hand tightly, his breathing easing as he drifted into a peaceful, natural sleep.

The physical and emotional toll of the day finally caught up to her. Exhausted from the flight, the emotional reunion with her grandfather, and the hours spent fighting the boy's fever, Victoria didn't have the strength to stand. Gently lifting the child onto her lap, she wrapped her arms around him, holding him close to her chest. Locked in a dark closet, surrounded by the ghosts of her past, sleep finally claimed her.

"Open it up! Right now!"

A booming, authoritative voice from the outside violently shook Victoria awake. The heavy door was thrown open, and the sudden, aggressive influx of brightness from the hotel corridor almost blinded her.

Blinking through the glare, Victoria forced herself to stand up while securely cradling the sleeping boy in her arms. She tried to step forward, but her legs instantly rebelled. The severe exhaustion of the past forty-eight hours, combined with acute dehydration, turned her vision blurry.

Her knees buckled. As the world tilted, Victoria collapsed heavily onto the concrete floor—but even as consciousness slipped away, her arms remained locked around the boy, refusing to let him go.

Before her head could collide with the brutal stone, a massive, powerful arm wrapped firmly around her waist. The grip was unyielding—an absolute anchor of muscle and heat that caught her entire weight effortlessly, halting her descent just inches from the ground.

Through the roaring static filling her ears, a deep, commanding voice cut through the dark. It was a voice accustomed to absolute obedience, vibrating with a rare, suffocating panic.

"Stay with me," the man ordered, his breath hot against her temple as he pulled her and the child tightly into his chest.

Victoria tried to blink, tried to focus on the sharp, elite silhouette bending over her, but the words felt like they were being shouted from the bottom of an ocean. The blinding hallway lights dissolved into streaks of meaningless gold. The iron grip holding her safe was the last thing her body registered before the exhaustion finally won, dragging her down into a deep, velvety blackness.