BOOK 1
Veronica Garcia, a smart and beautiful fifteen-year-old, had endured enough of her stepfather's abuse. One fateful night, during his drunken rage, she seized her chance to escape, fleeing to her abuelo's mansion for solace. However, her newfo...
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Veronica's POV
My hand glides over the soft velvet material of my white dress, revelling in its luxurious texture. Luxurious doesn't even begin to describe the feeling of wearing this dress.
It's tight-fitted, accentuating every curve and contour of my body flawlessly. Like the tightest glove, it moulds me in a way that feels both comfortable and empowering.
The way it hugs the curves of my body perfectly. Even though it is tight, it is not uncomfortable because the fabric is so soft that it feels like it is made of clouds. The fabric is so soft to the touch but still has the right amount of structure to support all the right spots. The dress is made with the utmost quality, using only the finest materials and craftsmanship. It is designed with a simple yet elegant cut.
It's a cut-off shoulder dress with a daring leg slit, adding a touch of allure to its elegant design. The leg slit has its perks, one being easy access to my thigh holster, where I keep my guns and knives handy for any situation.
I touch up my lipstick, stealing a glance at myself in the mirror, ensuring every detail is just right before I step out again.
Finally satisfied with my appearance, I step out of my room and make my way downstairs to the living room, eager to see what the rest of the evening has in store.
I stride down the hall, the clicking of my heels resonating loudly against the smooth marble floor, announcing my presence with each confident step.
I finally reach my destination and step into the living room. My gaze instinctively moves toward the chair where Roman usually sits, but it's not positioned as usual; instead of facing me, it's turned toward the window.
I clear my throat to announce my presence, and Roman turns toward me with a grin, his glass of vodka in hand. He's clad in a pristine white suit, crafted from the finest materials. The suit fits him like a glove, accentuating his athletic build and muscular arms. Its tailored silhouette flatters his figure, with a slimming effect at the waist and padded shoulders adding a touch of masculinity. Every detail, from the impeccably tailored blazer to the matching trousers and shoes, speaks of luxury and sophistication. Roman exudes confidence and power, his suave appearance commanding attention as he stands before me.
I gawk at him incredulously before pointing a finger at him accusingly. "Hey! You said the dress code was black!" I frown, but he continues to grin mischievously, seemingly unfazed by my accusation.
Roman shrugs carelessly, his grin widening. "I did say that. So why aren't you wearing black, Veronica?" he teases, raising an eyebrow playfully.
I fold my arms defiantly. "I am," I retort confidently, refusing to back down from my claim.
"No you're not-" Roman frowns momentarily, then his expression shifts as he realises what I meant. I stand with my hands on my hips, the confidence radiating from my white dress as if it's waiting to finish his sentence for him. I know I've got him caught out, and a smirk tugs at the corners of my lips.
