CHAPTER FIVE

I woke up the next morning to the scrape of heavy boots against the floor. For a moment, half-asleep, I thought I was dreaming. Then came the thud of boxes, the low rumble of men’s voices, and I bolted upright in bed.

My apartment door was wide open. Strangers in dark suits moved in and out lifting my things piece by piece — the chipped lamp from the bedside table, the books stacked by the wall, even the worn rug my mother had given me when I first moved here.

“What the hell are you doing?” My voice came out hoarse, sharp with panic.

One of the men glanced at me, unbothered. He had a square jaw, earpiece tucked neatly under his collar. “Orders,” he said simply.

“Orders?” My heart slammed. “From who?”

He didn’t answer.

I already knew.

I rushed forward, grabbing for one of the boxes, but another guard blocked me with one arm, firmly but gently, like he was swatting away a child. “Please stand back, miss,” he said. His politeness made it worse.

“This is my home!” My voice cracked, helpless against their quiet efficiency. They didn’t argue, didn’t threaten. They just kept packing, as though the decision had been made long before I even dialed Mario’s number.

By the time they were finished, my apartment looked stripped bare. Empty. A shell of the life I had tried to hold together.

“Where are you taking my things?” I demanded, breathless.

The first man finally met my eyes. “To your new residence Miss Selene. Don Mario insists.”

Before I could answer, one of them opened the door wider and gestured for me to follow.

---

The car was waiting outside, a black SUV. I slid into the back seat, my hands trembling in my lap. Neither guard spoke during the drive. The silence felt scary.

Through the tinted glass, I could see the city blur past us — crowded sidewalks with different kinds of people, the comfort of the familiar slipped away too fast, like I was watching my freedom vanish before my eyes.

I thought of calling Amaya, but my throat closed. What would I say? Hey, your father just moved me out of my home and into one of his cages. The thought made my chest tighten. She could never find out. I also had to figure out an explanation for the sudden change, the thought of lying to her suffocated me more than anything else.

---

The car slowed to a stop. When the door opened, I stepped out onto polished stone steps leading into a building that seemed to scrape the sky. Glass walls caught the city lights, spilling them back in fractured, dazzling reflections. A doorman bowed his head as the guards escorted me inside.

The lobby gleamed with marble floors and chandeliers. I didn’t belong here, not in my scuffed shoes and yesterday’s jeans.

“Elevator,” one of them said, pressing the button.

The ride was silent except for the hum of cables lifting us higher and higher. My ears popped when the doors slid open.

The apartment stretched out before me like a magazine spread: walls of glass opening to the skyline, a living room big enough to swallow my old place whole, velvet furniture untouched and waiting. My clothes were already hanging neatly in the closet. My photographs had been placed carefully on a dresser, like I’d always lived here.

Mario hadn’t just moved me. He had rewritten my life.

I stood in the center of the room, numb, when my phone rang.

---

The hospital.

My heart leapt into my throat as I answered.

“Miss Selene?” The voice on the other end was warm, professional. “We’re calling to inform you that your mother has been transferred to our VIP wing. She now has a private suite, full-time nurses, and upgraded treatment options. All expenses are covered.”

My knees went weak. I had to grip the edge of the counter to stay upright. “I—I don’t understand. How—”

The doctor chuckled softly, as if this kind of miracle happened every day. “A benefactor arranged it this morning. Please rest assured, your mother is receiving the highest quality care available.”

I whispered a thank you, my throat raw, and ended the call.

The phone slipped from my hand onto the glass table. My mother was safe. She had everything she needed now.

And I had nothing.

No choices. No home. No freedom.

I walked slowly to the floor-to-ceiling window, the city glittering beneath me like a thousand diamonds scattered in the dark. For years I had dreamed of being above it all, of escaping the grind and the struggle.

Now here I was — high above the world, and trapped more than ever.

A whisper slipped out before I could stop it, my breath fogging the glass.

“He owns me.”

The words settled in the empty room, heavier than any chain.

I stood there for a long time, forehead pressed against the glass, watching the city blur through my tears. Relief and despair twisted together in my chest, and I couldn’t tell which one was winning.

A soft knock pulled me back. One of the guards stepped inside. In his hand was a sleek black box. He placed it on the table with the same care someone might give a crown.

“Mr. Mario instructed me to deliver this to you,” he said.

I opened it slowly. Inside lay a phone unlike any I’d ever seen — slim, heavy, its case gleaming with polished metal. Luxury disguised as technology.

The guard’s expression didn’t flicker. “This device is for one purpose only. You will answer when he calls. And if you need him, you use this number. Nothing else.”

The guard gave a short nod and left, the click of the door echoing through the silence.

I sat down on the velvet sofa, staring at the phone as if it were a live wire. My fingers hovered, afraid to touch it, but the screen lit up on its own.

Incoming call.

Don Mario.

My breath caught.

The ringtone echoed through the empty apartment, each note sinking deeper into me, until it felt like the sound itself was inside my bones.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.

The phone kept ringing.