CHAPTER TWO: CARLA'S POV

I kept running until I couldn't see the school anymore. My legs were beginning to hurt, and my breathing had become uneven, but I didn't care. I just wanted to get as far away from Queen's University as possible.

Passersby kept staring at me in disgust. Some whispered among themselves, while others moved away whenever I came close.

That was when I remembered I was still covered in red paint.

Oh, God! Could this day get any worse?

I looked down at my uniform, which was completely ruined. My once-white shirt was stained red, and my hair was sticky with paint.

I must look like someone who just escaped from a horror movie.

I found a quiet spot beside an empty building and sat on the cold pavement, hugging my knees tightly against my chest.

The memories of what happened at school kept replaying in my head.

Ella's mocking laughter.

Bella's painful slaps.

Rena's cruel words.

And worst of all, Dylan's disgusted expression.

The same Dylan Eddie I had been crushing on for years.

The same boy whose smile could brighten my entire day.

He didn't even give me a chance to explain myself. Instead, he believed his girlfriend and forced me to kneel before her.

I buried my face between my knees as fresh tears rolled down my cheeks.

"Why does everyone hate me?" I whispered.

Nobody answered.

Of course, nobody would. I was just a lonely girl sitting beside the road, covered in red paint.

I cried until my eyes were swollen, yet nobody stopped to help.

Was this how my life was supposed to be?

No friends. No boyfriend. No mother. And a father who barely had time for me.

At twenty, I couldn't even defend myself. How pathetic!

Who would believe I was Carla Mayday, the only daughter of John Mayday, one of New York's wealthiest businessmen? Dad kept my identity private, claiming it was for my protection.

Still, his wealth couldn't compare to Bryan De Luca's.

The most dangerous and ruthless mafia boss in New York.

A man whose name made powerful businessmen tremble. Rumors claimed he controlled countless companies and criminal empires, destroying anyone who challenged him.

Did such a man even have a heart? A family? A girlfriend?

I shook my head. Why was I thinking about him when my own life was miserable?

All I wanted was someone who genuinely cared about me. A loving mother, an attentive father, a loyal best friend, and a handsome boyfriend like Dylan Eddie.

But Dylan barely noticed me.

My thoughts returned to kindergarten, where the bullying began. Dylan was two years older, and I'd adored him since childhood, secretly hoping he'd protect me.

He never did.

High school was worse, and now, even at Queen's University, nothing had changed.

With two years left before my final year, I still couldn't remember a single school year when I'd truly been happy.

Sometimes, I wondered if I was ever meant to belong anywhere.

Maybe life simply wasn't made for girls like me.

Girls who were born into beautiful houses but carried sadness in their hearts.

I lifted my head and stared at the sky.

"Mummy, why did you leave me?" I whispered.

My mother died shortly after giving birth to me.

I never had the opportunity to see her face outside the photographs my father kept.

I never heard her voice.

Never felt her arms around me.

Never experienced what it meant to have a mother kiss my forehead and tell me everything would be fine.

Sometimes, I blamed myself for her death.

If I hadn't been born, perhaps she would still be alive.

Perhaps my father would still have his wife.

Perhaps he would smile more often instead of burying himself in business meetings.

A tear escaped my eye.

"I'm sorry, Mummy," I whispered.

I had always feared that my father secretly blamed me for taking his wife away from him.

But he never treated me that way.

He loved me.

I knew he did.

He bought me everything I wanted, provided the best education, and made sure I never lacked anything money could buy.

Except attention.

I didn't need another expensive necklace.

I didn't need another designer bag.

I didn't need a bigger bedroom.

I just wanted my father to sit beside me and ask how my day went.

Was that really too much?

I wiped my face with the back of my hand, only to remember that my hands were still covered in paint.

"Oh, wonderful, Carla! Now you've made yourself look even worse."

I almost laughed at my miserable condition.

Almost.

I couldn't remain on the pavement forever.

People were already staring at me as though I were a stray cat that had fallen into a bucket of paint.

I needed to go home.

But how could I face my father looking like this?

If he discovered that his precious daughter was being bullied at school, he would probably turn Queen's University upside down.

And I didn't want that.

I didn't want people suddenly becoming my friends because they feared my father's influence.

I wanted genuine friendship.

Not fake smiles.

Not forced kindness.

I slowly stood up, dusted my skirt, and examined my reflection in the glass window of a nearby shop.

Goodness gracious!

I looked like a red villain from a children's cartoon.

My hair was a complete disaster, my uniform was ruined, and my face looked as though someone had painted it for Halloween.

"Congratulations, Carla Mayday. You've officially become the red paint princess," I muttered sarcastically.

I adjusted my bag and began the journey home.

The walk felt longer than usual.

Every step reminded me of the humiliation I had suffered.

I could still hear the students laughing.

I could still see their phones pointed at me.

By now, the videos were probably circulating on the school blog.

Tomorrow would be another nightmare.

I sighed.

Maybe I should convince Dad to transfer me to another university.

But what if the students there treated me the same way?

Would I spend my entire life running away?

"Nanny always says I need to become stronger," I whispered.

Perhaps she was right.

Perhaps it was time I stopped allowing people to treat me like rubbish.

But saying it was easier than doing it.

By the time I reached our estate, my legs were aching.

I greeted the security guards at the entrance and walked toward our mansion.

However, something unusual immediately caught my attention.

Cars.

Lots of cars.

Expensive black vehicles were parked around our compound.

I stopped walking.

"What in heaven's name is going on here?"

I had seen expensive cars before. After all, my father owned an impressive collection.

But these were different.

They looked intimidating, with dark-tinted windows and polished bodies that reflected the afternoon sunlight.

Some were parked near the main entrance, while others occupied almost every available space.

I couldn't even count them.

Whoever owned these vehicles was definitely not an ordinary businessman.

I swallowed nervously.

Could Dad be hosting an important meeting?

But why would he bring so many guests home?

He usually conducted business at his office.

Unless...

My eyes widened.

What if Bryan De Luca was here?

I immediately shook my head.

"Impossible!"

Why would the most dangerous mafia boss in New York visit our house?

My father might be wealthy and influential, but even he wouldn't willingly invite such a dangerous man into our home.

Or would he?

Perhaps the visitor was Bryan's younger brother.

Did Bryan even have a younger brother?

Nobody seemed to know much about his family background.

I shook my head again.

"Carla, stop imagining nonsense."

I took another step toward the entrance before remembering something.

My appearance.

Oh, no!

I looked down at my paint-covered uniform.

How could I enter the house looking like this when Dad had important visitors?

I would embarrass him.

Worse still, I might frighten whoever was inside.

I glanced toward the side entrance, wondering if I could sneak through the kitchen and reach my bedroom without anyone noticing.

That sounded like a brilliant idea.

For once, my brain was actually working.

But what if Dad saw me?

He would demand an explanation.

And I wasn't ready to tell him about Ella, Bella, Rena, or Dylan.

I sighed deeply.

Sometimes, life had a funny way of reminding you that money couldn't solve every problem.

It didn't matter whether you were rich or poor, young or old.

As long as you were alive, challenges would always find you.

And apparently, challenges had made me their favorite person.

I took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

The moment I stepped inside, something felt terribly wrong.

The atmosphere was unusually tense.

Our beautiful living room, which was normally filled with warmth and laughter whenever Nanny was around, felt strangely cold.

Several unfamiliar men dressed in black suits stood in different corners of the room.

Their expressions were serious, and their eyes were alert.

My heart began beating faster.

Who were these people?

I looked toward the sitting area.

And what I saw nearly made my knees give way.

My father.

John Mayday.

The man who commanded respect from some of the most powerful businessmen in New York.

The man who never appeared frightened of anything.

He was trembling.

His forehead was covered in sweat, and his hands shook uncontrollably.

Beside him sat my nanny.

Her face was pale, and she looked as though she might faint at any moment.

I had never seen either of them so terrified.

"Dad?" I wanted to call out.

But the word remained trapped in my throat.

My gaze slowly travelled toward the other side of the room.

There, surrounded by intimidating bodyguards, sat a man whose presence seemed to control the entire atmosphere.

I couldn't see his face clearly from where I stood, but everything about him screamed danger.

The guards stood perfectly still.

Nobody spoke.

Nobody dared move unnecessarily.

Even my father seemed afraid to breathe.

A strange chill travelled down my spine.

Whoever this man was, he wasn't someone to be taken lightly.

For the first time that day, I forgot about my ruined uniform.

I forgot about Ella and her friends.

I forgot about Dylan's betrayal.

All I could think about was the terrifying scene unfolding before me.

Why was Dad so frightened?

Why did Nanny look as though she had seen a ghost?

And who was the mysterious man sitting in our living room as though he owned the entire house?

I tightened my grip on my schoolbag.

Something deep inside me warned that I should turn around and leave immediately.

But my legs refused to move.

I stood frozen at the entrance, staring at the unfamiliar men and the fear written across my father's face.

I didn't know who our visitor was.

I didn't know why he had come.

And I certainly didn't know what he wanted from my father.

But one thing was painfully clear.

The moment I walked through that door, I had a terrible feeling that my life was no longer mine.