11: I was free

The gravel crunched beneath my shoes, every step echoing too loud in my ears, threatening to give me away. I pressed myself into the shadows of the courtyard wall, breath sharp, heart racing.

My ears caught a sound, making me hold my breath. A guard’s voice drifted somewhere close. Low, in Spanish. Another answered, closer. I crouched against the stone, as their boots scuffed over the cobblestones, rifles clinking softly as they turned the corner. Too close.

I waited until they passed, every muscle locked, adrenaline pounding like a drum. I didn’t have time for this – any second Santiago could return to his room to finish my punishment and discover I wasn’t there. So, the moment their backs disappeared into the dark, I darted across the open yard, legs burning, every nerve screaming. Just a little further.

The gate. Wide iron bars, lanterns flickering on either side. I froze. Movement. A man shifted, leaning lazily against the stone, rifle hanging from his shoulder. Fuck.

Panic swept over me like a cold, damp blanket. Freedom was just within reach, on the other side of that gate. But there was no way past. I crouched lower, praying that he wouldn’t see me in the dark.

Beyond the wall, a rumble stirred. A motor. A delivery truck. Its headlights swept across the guard. He straightened, raising his hand to wave the vehicle through.

Salvation.

As the gate slid open, I pressed myself tight to the wall, running low, keeping to the shadows of the wall until the truck rolled inside.

The guard turned. My chest tightened. It was Tomás.

For a heartbeat, I thought his eyes locked on me. But a second voice called out to him, and he turned away, casting his attention elsewhere. That was my cue – I slipped through the gate in the exact second no one was watching.

My heart was racing while I ran. Away from the fortress’ lights, until they were a distant glow behind me, too far to reach me. My lungs seared. My body shook. The night air was ruthless, but at least it didn’t hold me prisoner.

I was free.

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By the time I reached my building, the city had swallowed me whole again. Ordinary streets. Flickering lamps. The faint smell of rain on asphalt.

Home.

The sight of the old brick made me sigh with relief. I climbed the narrow stairs, keys rattling in my shaking hands as I unlocked my small, silk-less, cramped apartment. The door shut behind me with a dull thud.

Silence.

I let myself fall against it, collapsing onto the floor – exhausted, trembling, tired, and relieved.

For the first time since the café, I let myself breathe. Really breathe.

He didn’t know where I lived. He never asked my last name. To him, I was just Valerie. A stranger. A chance meeting in the rain.

He’d never find me.

Hope poured through me in a wave.

I peeled off my damp dress, pulled on an oversized T-shirt, and collapsed onto the bed.

Tomorrow I had work. My shift at the hotel. My real life. My safe, totally boring ordinary life.

My lips curled in a fragile, hopeful smile. I got away.

THIRD PERSON POV:

Across the street, hidden in the shadows, Marek lit up a cigarette. The ember flared against his scarred face as he exhaled smoke, ice-blue eyes fixed on the window where Valerie had just drawn the curtain.

He smirked, flicking ash into the gutter.

“Does El León know his little lamb has slipped the fold?” he murmured, voice low and cold.

He grinned, a menacing sound in the dark.

“He won’t like this.”

And then he waited.

VALERIE’S POV:

The alarm buzzed like a drill in my skull. For a second, I didn’t know where I was. My eyes flew open, heart pounding - I expected to see stone walls, red silk sheets, Santiago’s molten gaze.

But instead, I saw flowery wallpaper, barely hanging on the walls, peeling at the edges. Old, cheap furniture. A crooked lamp.

My own bed.

My apartment.

Home.

Relief crashed over me. I slapped the alarm silent and pushed myself up, beginning my day like it was any other.

A cold shower to wake me. Strong, bitter coffee sputtering from the secondhand coffee machine, bought at a thrift shop for almost nothing. Wandering around wearing nothing but a towel, while I finish my coffee and a piece of roasted toast, edges burnt.

Outside the window, on the fire escape, Tom - the friendly black neighborhood cat – sat waiting, meowing a sharp good morning, demanding breakfast.

I laughed, digging out a can of tuna. The second I peeled it open, his paws scrabbled at the sill, eyes wild with anticipation.

“Easy, Tom, I’ve got you,” I grinned, sliding the plate outside.

Three seconds later, it was gone. As always, he tried to squeeze past me into the apartment. But I blocked him with one hand, while snatching the empty plate with the other.

“Sorry, honey,” I murmured, stroking his soft fur. “But you know the rules: no pets.”

I closed the window, heart aching as he meowed in protest. One day, I promised myself again. When I have a house, you’ll have a home too.

My phone beeped, catching my attention. A text message lit the screen. It was from Victoria: Derek’s in a foul mood today. DON’T BE LATE.

My gaze darted to the time in the corner.

Then down at myself - still wearing just a towel.

“Oh, damn.”

I was going to be late.

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The city was already awake, brimming with life, when I stepped outside. Buses hissed, street vendors shouted, cars honked in the distance. The smell of coffee and fried dough hung in the air. Familiar. Safe.

I hugged my thin jacket tighter and walked quickly, head down, until the hotel’s glass front doors loomed ahead.

Inside, the lobby was shining – polished marble, brass fixtures, chandeliers dripping crystals.

This was my world: rooms to clean, sheets to fold, Derek’s sharp eyes watching for any mistake.

I could do this. Just one shift. Just normal life.