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
As I slowly open my eyes, they sting from the sudden assault of brightness in the room. Reflexively, I shut them tight to shield them from the intense light, feeling momentarily blinded. After a few moments, I brave another attempt, cautiously reopening my eyes only to find the bright light still piercing through. Squinting, I take in my surroundings, greeted by the sterile whiteness of the room. Everything is white - the floors, the ceiling, even the door, creating an almost surreal atmosphere.
Confusion sets in as I try to make sense of where I am, my brows furrowing at the unfamiliarity of it all. With a sense of urgency, I try to sit up, but my efforts are met with resistance. Panic begins to rise within me as I realise that my wrists, ankles, and even my stomach are securely strapped down tightly to the cold, clinical surface of a hospital bed.
My heart hammers in my chest as I struggle against the restraints, the sharp tang of fear flooding my senses. Questions race through my mind like a whirlwind. How did I end up here? Who would dare to restrain me like this?
Then it hits me like a bolt of lightning—I remember the moment Roman called me. He sounded frantic, warning me that the Morroto's were in my house. How could I have been so careless?
I curse under my breath, cursing myself for letting my guard down. But as fear threatens to overwhelm me, a steely determination begins to take hold. I may be trapped for now, but I refuse to be defeated. I am Veronica, the formidable leader of the Spanish mafia, and I will not rest until I've dealt with those who dared to challenge me. With that resolve burning within me, I brace myself for whatever comes next.
As I continue to look around the all-white hospital room, my eyes quickly catch on the details of my surroundings. The fluorescent lights overhead cast a harsh glow, illuminating every sterile surface. The room is devoid of any personal touches, no comforting photographs or familiar objects to ground me in this unfamiliar place.
My gaze falls upon my own attire, the light blue hospital gown contrasting sharply against the clinical whiteness of the room. It hangs loosely around me, coming just above my knee. The realisation sinks in that I'm not only restrained, but also stripped of my usual attire that serves as a symbol of my authority and identity.
A surge of frustration courses through me. How could I have allowed myself to be rendered so vulnerable? In my world, weakness was a luxury I couldn't afford, yet here I was, confined to a hospital bed, clad in a flimsy gown like a mental patient.
I steel myself for the challenges that lay ahead. Whatever awaited me beyond these sterile walls, I would face it with the same unwavering determination that had carried me through countless trials before.
Suddenly, my head snaps toward the high-pitched beeping sound, my senses sharpening as I become acutely aware of my surroundings. The click of a door draws my attention, and I realise that I would need a keycard to escape. But escape isn't an option with my current predicament.
