BOOK 2
Trapped within the iron grip of the notorious Morroto family, Veronica Garcia's fate hangs precariously in the balance. Days bleed into nights in the suffocating darkness of her prison, where despair threatens to consume her spirit. Each pass...
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IWOKEUP groggy and flustered, feeling as though I had a cold, though I knew it was just a stupid hangover. My head throbbed, and the room seemed to tilt slightly as I tried to focus my eyes. The events of the previous night were a blur, filled with laughter, dares, and unexpected surprises.
Groaning, I sat up and rubbed my temples, trying to will away the pounding in my skull. The dim morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. I glanced around, taking in the dishevelled state of my surroundings—clothes strewn about, empty bottles on the floor, and a vague memory of the chaos that had unfolded.
I dragged myself out of bed and stumbled toward the bathroom, desperate for some water and a few painkillers. My reflection in the mirror showed dark circles under my eyes and a pale complexion. "Great," I muttered to myself, turning on the faucet and splashing cold water on my face in a feeble attempt to wake up fully.
As I gulped down a glass of water, memories from last night began to surface. The truth-or-dare game, the closet kiss with Roman, the pantry incident with Nico and Gianna—everything played back like a hazy movie reel. I couldn't help but smirk at the toxic, yet interesting events that took place, despite the throbbing headache.
I crack each of my knuckles, one by one, then move on to my neck, relishing the satisfying series of pops that follow. It feels like a small victory against the hangover, a way to reclaim a bit of comfort and control over my body.
Leaving my bathroom, I head down the hall and into the kitchen. The house is still quiet, a peaceful aftermath of the night's chaos. I make my way over to the toaster and grab a bagel, feeling the comforting weight of the knife as I pull it from the knife block. Carefully, I begin to slice the bagel, the blade gliding through the soft, dense bread with satisfying precision.
"Good morning sunshine."
I jump out of my skin when I hear an amused voice behind me, causing the knife to slip from my grasp. It slices through my finger, not too deep, but enough to sting sharply. I hiss in pain, instinctively bringing my finger to my mouth to stop the bleeding.
Turning around, I see Felix leaning against the doorway, a smirk playing on his lips. "You always this jumpy in the morning?" he teases, his eyes glinting with amusement.
"Thanks for the heart attack," I mutter, rolling my eyes as I grab a paper towel to wrap around my finger. "And the cut."
"You look terrible," Felix says honestly, his eyes scanning my face.
I scoff at his words, turning my back to him and continuing to cut my bagel. "Gee, thanks for the compliment," I mutter, popping the halves into the toaster.
Felix chuckles softly, leaning against the counter. "Just calling it like I see it. Rough night?"
"Rough morning," I correct, my tone laced with sarcasm as I grab a mug and fill it with coffee. "Hangovers and Dickheads don't mix well."
