Maya sat on the bed, eyes fixed on Carlos’s phone. Today was the day. Her uncle had promised her news—and she couldn’t stop imagining what it might be. She pictured herself calling her aunt, hearing the phone ring, and then.... “Maya!” Star’s voice. Excited. Safe. Alive. Her heart raced just thinking about it. The past few days had been nothing like she expected when she first arrived. Carlos had been… unexpectedly kind. Gentle. Respectful. Aside from the occasional hug or the way he kissed her forehead at night, he had never once tried to touch her inappropriately. And she noticed. She appreciated it more than she could say. Even if she left tomorrow, she knew she would never forget him. Sometimes he cooked for her. Other times, when she tried to cook for him, he would stroll into the kitchen and insist on helping, despite her protests. He was thoughtful in ways that made her uncomfortable, only because they were so unfamiliar. There were moments she almost asked
Maya dreamt of Star. Her little sister ran to her with outstretched arms, laughing through tears. Their uncle and aunt stood nearby, but their smiles were hazy, and distant. Still, Star proudly clung to Maya. Maya’s heart swelled with so much joy it physically hurt. She smiled so wide, her cheeks burned. And yet, she was crying—sobbing so hard. She couldn't tell if it was tears of joy or something else. “Maya,” someone called softly. She stirred, the dream slipping away like mist. “Maya.” Her eyes flew open. For a moment, she was confused. The room was bright with morning sunlight, the warmth of the sheets still clinging to her skin. Then she saw Carlos. He stood at her bedside, shirtless, wearing only grey sweatpants. The morning light danced across his skin, outlining every muscle with gentle gold. For a moment, still half-asleep, Maya just stared. 'He looks like an angel,' she thought dazedly. 'An angel with a deep voice and quiet eyes.' She hadn’t realized sh
Carlos leaned back in the chair, phone still in his hand, listening closely as Maya’s voice echoed softly. “I can’t talk long,” she whispered. “But please, Aunt… I need help.” Then came a deeper voice, firm and protective. “What did you say happened to my little princess?” Maya paused, swallowed, and repeated everything she’d just said. When she called him Uncle Salvador, Carlos tilted his head slightly, piecing the name together. He listened as Salvador asked her where exactly she was. Maya explained that she was somewhere in San Carlos, but didn’t know the address. Then she pleaded, “Please don’t come for me yet. Star is in more danger. One wrong move… they could hurt her. She’s the priority.” Carlos exhaled slowly, heart tightening as he listened. Salvador’s voice rose. “But you’re nineteen, Maya. The thought of you being forced to please a man in bed...... how can I live with that?” “I’m okay,” Maya said quickly. “I haven’t been touched. Carlos… he seems different.
Maya forced herself to keep going, even as her throat ached and her tears blurred her vision. She remembered the video—the image of Star’s hands being severed—and more panic surged through her veins. Carlos moaned, his head falling back, eyes shut. But then, from somewhere deep inside, an image rose. Maya. In his arms. Trembling. His eyes flew open. He stepped back so fast it startled her. The sudden loss of contact made Maya freeze, confused. Her lips parted, her body still tense. Carlos was breathing hard, a visible war going on behind his eyes. It took everything in him to stop. It was the hardest thing he’d ever done. But that terrified look on her face… it wouldn’t leave his head. “Don’t you like me?” Maya asked quietly, her voice shaky as she wiped her eyes, trying to pretend she hadn’t been crying. Carlos said nothing, still catching his breath. “Did I do something wrong?” she asked again. “I—I can do better. I swear.” She stepped toward him, but his voice
ONE WEEK AGO Carlos’ phone buzzed where it lay beside a stack of unopened travel brochures. He picked it up without checking the screen—he already knew who it was. “Coward,” Don Vargas spat before Carlos could speak. “You’ve become weak. I don’t know what’s more shameful—your refusal to lead or your delusion that walking away makes you noble. You’ve lost your right to call me father.” Carlos didn’t respond. “You think freedom is hopping from country to country with a camera?” the old man scoffed. “Nico has more fire in him than you ever did. I should’ve made him my heir.” Click. Carlos ended the call, jaw clenched, heart thudding with silent fury. His father's voice still echoed in his head, venomous and cold. He balled his fists, knuckles white. He hated his cousin, Nico. Ruthless, bloodthirsty, obsessed with power—and worst of all, the mirror image of Don Vargas. They saw mercy as weakness. Innocents were nothing but collateral. Carlos had seen the aftermath of their o
"We’re here." A deep voice pulled Maya from her daze. Her eyes fluttered open, disoriented at first, then she remembered. She unfastened her seatbelt in silence and followed the suited man down the steps of the private jet. Waiting at the base of the aircraft was a sleek black Toyota Land Cruiser. The driver stood by with a blank expression, but his eyes briefly scanned Maya before he opened the back door. The suited man gestured for her to enter. She obeyed, sliding into the backseat without a word, her hands buried deep in the oversized fur jacket they’d given her.... more for show than comfort. He joined her in the back. She sat stiffly, her body swaying slightly with every turn of the road, but her thoughts locked in place and, suffocating. The fur-lined coat around her shoulders was warm, but it did nothing to stop the cold in her chest. "First time in San Carlos?" The black suited man asked casually, almost like a tour guide. Maya gave a curt nod, then turned her fac