Lucia; a young and beautiful woman with her whole life ahead of her was shot dead protecting the biggest secret of her life.
Her three year old daughter, Kiara.
The circumstances of her death remain an unsolved case whilst Kiara is left without a...
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"Hello?"
The young man's tired, deep voice echoes around his empty apartment.
The shrill ringing of his phone had jolted him awake from his unplanned nap on the sofa after a long day of press and interviews.
"Hi, this is LA PD, is this Mr Wiley speaking?" The woman on the other end of the phone responds.
This causes him to shoot out of his seat in alarm and panic whilst his expression instantly falls into a frown.
"...yes? Why, has something happened?" He asks, uncertainty dripping from his tone.
He wonders for a moment if in actuality, he's still asleep trapped reliving the day he received the call that his mother and father were killed in a tragic car accident all over again.
"I'm sorry to say we aren't able to disclose this matter over the phone. Are you able to come down to the department as soon as possible? It's unfortunately urgent."
The police woman tried to make her tone as gentle and sympathetic as possible which did nothing to stop the young man conjuring up endless theories of what could have happened in his mind.
His heart was pounding in his chest and his hands shakily held the phone to his ear as he tried to convince himself that his beloved family members were safe and that nobody had died.
He'd lost his parents at such a young age. He couldn't bare the thought of losing anyone else, specifically his older brother who acted more like a father figure.
"Yeh...I'll be there as soon as possible."
He chocked out before pressing the red 'end call' button and shoving his phone in the pocket of his black jeans.
On unsteady legs, he wobbled over to his walk in wardrobe in search of an oversized black hoodie to hide his identity from prying paparazzi.
He pulled it over his head, messing up his soft red hair and tightened the drawstrings around his face; finishing the disguise with a large pair of black sunglasses despite it being dark outside.
His journey down the elevator from his penthouse to the private, secluded car park was a blur.
He was walking like a zombie; not fully present and stumbling from time to time.
He barely registered the painfully long journey to LA's police department and was only brought back to reality by the flash of the intrusive paparazzi's cameras that were shoved in his face.
