Chapter 4: The Price of Freedom

Dalia’s POV

By the grace of God, I finally made it out of that condo alive.

My hands were still shaking when I reached the street, my heartbeat thundering in my ears.

Thank heavens the receptionist had already gone off duty when I peeked downstairs—

otherwise, there’s no way I could’ve slipped out unnoticed.

I waved at the first taxi I saw and climbed in, my chest tight with panic.

Only when the apartment came into view did I finally allow myself to cry.

Jessie was waiting for me by the door, worry written all over her face.

“Hey, hey—easy.” She rushed to me the moment I stepped inside.

“Here. Drink this before you pass out.”

She handed me a glass of water.

My fingers trembled as I took it, my lips quivering with each sip.

But no matter how much I drank, the cold water did nothing to calm the fire in my chest.

My nerves were still shot; even the taste of water felt foreign.

“I almost didn’t make it, Jessie…” My voice cracked. “If Sir hadn’t helped me—wait, what was his name again?”

“Sir Lucas. Lucas Daniel,” she corrected softly.

“Right. Sir Lucas.” I let out a broken laugh. “If it weren’t for him, I’d probably be behind bars right now.”

And just like that, the tears came again—hot, uncontrollable, humiliating.

Jessie sighed, sitting beside me. “You’re lucky, girl. At least he helped you. I heard he’s going through a lot himself.”

I blinked at her. “Going through what?”

“Well…” she leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Rumor has it, Madam broke off their engagement. She told him earlier today.”

My brows shot up. “Wait—what? Seriously?”

“Yeah. They had a big fight the night before you worked at his place.She was even planning to cancel your cleaning job but apparently forgot.”

For a second, I just stared at her, lost in thought.

So that explains why he’s drunk and everything.

“That’s why…” I murmured under my breath.

“That’s why what?”

“Huh? Oh, n-nothing,” I said quickly, forcing a weak smile. “That’s why Sir Lucas didn’t know I was coming.”

I didn’t want to talk about it anymore.

It didn’t matter. Not now.

I had bigger problems to face—my own life was hanging by a thread, and someone else’s heartbreak wasn’t my battle to fight.

Jessie nodded, stretching her legs out. “Anyway, she said sorry and promised she’ll still pay your full balance.”

I exhaled, long and shaky. That should’ve comforted me—but it didn’t.

I was still in trouble.

If I didn’t fix my papers soon, I’d lose everything.

I couldn’t live like a ghost in America forever.

“So,” Jessie said carefully, “what’s your plan now?”

“I guess…” I swallowed hard. “I need to talk to your attorney.”

“Good choice.” She smiled faintly. “Don’t worry, it’s on installment. A bit heavy at first, but it gets easier later.”

I didn’t respond.

Deep down, I wasn’t convinced—but what choice did I have?

I was trapped.

Cornered between two impossible roads:

either I pay a fortune to become legal,

or I face deportation and lose everything I’ve fought for.

I checked my bank account, and my heart sank.

Months of savings—money I earned from scrubbing floors and cleaning rooms—

now threatened to disappear in an instant.

A bitter smile crept onto my lips.

Life was cruel.

It really was hard being poor.

Jessie’s voice broke through my thoughts.

“I’ll call the attorney. Let’s set an appointment.”

I nodded weakly, feeling the weight of it all settle on my shoulders.

Each breath hurt a little more than the last.

Because for the first time since I arrived in America,

I wasn’t sure if I was running away from danger—

or running toward it.

Two days later, I found myself standing in front of a glass door that read:

“Law Office of Benjamin Rivera – Immigration Specialist.”

My stomach was in knots.

The air smelled faintly of coffee, new paper — and fear.

Jessie squeezed my hand before pushing the door open.

“Relax,” she whispered . “He knows what he’s doing. Helped my cousin last year — that’s why I chose him.”

I forced a weak smile and stepped inside.

The receptionist gave us a polite nod before pointing toward a corner office.

“Attorney Rivera will see you now.”

My heart pounded louder with every step.

Inside sat a man in his late forties — crisp suit, kind eyes, and the calm confidence of someone who’d seen it all.

“So, Miss Dalia Reyes” he began, flipping through my forms. “You’ve been here for…a year now?”

I nodded slowly. “Yes, sir.”

He adjusted his glasses. “And you don’t have any legal status?”

My throat went dry. “None, sir.”

He sighed, leaning back. “Well, there are options — but most of them take time. And money. A lot of it.”

My chest tightened. I already knew that. I just didn’t want to hear it out loud.

He let out another sigh, this time softer. “I suppose your friend already told you my professional f*e?” he asked, glancing at Jessie.

“Yes, Attorney,” Jessie replied quickly. “I already told her.”

His gaze returned to me — assessing, waiting.

“I—I have money,” I stammered. “Not much, but enough for a down payment. Just… please, make sure we can start the process as soon as possible.”

His lips curved into a small smile. There was a glint in his eyes — the kind that made me uneasy.

“Good,” he said, nodding. “Now, before anything else, let me explain the steps we’ll take. Once we settle the payment, I can begin your file immediately. Here—”

He slid a slip of paper toward me. “This is my account number. You can deposit the money there.”

I couldn’t help raising a brow.

Of course. Every minute here had a price tag.

What else should I have expected from someone like him?

Still, I took the paper and began typing on my phone.

The room was silent except for the faint sound of my fingers tapping against the screen.

Just as I finished sending the transfer, the office door burst open.

“Sir, we have an emergency.”

We all turned to see his secretary — a young woman looking flustered and pale.

Attorney Rivera frowned. “What kind of emergency?”

“It’s… the boss’s son,” she said, her voice shaking slightly. “He’s here.”

“What?” Rivera shot up from his chair. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir. He called the reception desk and said he’ll be here in a few minutes.”

She darted a quick, nervous glance at us before looking back at him, her tone almost warning.

“Damn it,” the attorney hissed, pressing his fingers to his temples. “I thought he wasn’t due until next week.”

The tension in the room doubled. Jessie and I exchanged a confused look.

“Um…” the attorney cleared his throat, forcing a calm smile. “Miss Dalia, Miss Jessie, I think we’ll have to pause our meeting for now. But don’t worry — once I handle this matter, I’ll continue your process immediately.”

I hesitated. Something about the situation felt… off. But I had no choice except to nod.

“I’ll count on that, Attorney,” I said quietly.

Jessie gave my hand a reassuring squeeze, her thumb brushing over my knuckles. “It’s okay. Let’s give him time.”

“Claren,” Rivera called out to his secretary. “Please escort them outside.”

“Yes, sir.”

We followed her through the hallway, our footsteps echoing softly against the tiled floor.

I tried to calm the nervous energy in my chest, but it was useless — the air itself felt charged, restless.

And just as Claren opened the door for us to leave, a deep, low voice echoed from the entrance.

“Does he already know why I’m here?”

I froze.

That voice.

Even before I turned around, my pulse had already started racing.

Standing by the doorway, looking effortlessly powerful in a navy suit, was Lucas Daniel.

Our eyes met for the first time since that night—

and suddenly, every nerve in my body remembered exactly how it felt to be in his presence.

Oh my God… what he was doing here ?”

The words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them.

Jessie turned to me, her brow furrowed. “Wait—you know him?”

My heart was pounding so hard I could barely breathe.

I wanted to answer, but my tongue refused to cooperate.

How could I even explain that night—how could I tell her that the man now standing by the door was the same man who passed out drunk on his condo floor while I was just trying to clean his living room?