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" 𝑖 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑖 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑜 " ˡᵃⁿᵃ ᵈᵉˡ ʳᵉʸ
ooo. 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐬 was born into a life of broken promises. Her beauty was like the stars-distant, cold, admired from afar, yet close enough to burn those who dared to approach. She had tasted the bitter tang of survival, learning that beauty held no currency in a world fed by despair.
Violence had been a constant presence in her life, but nothing compared to the night she took her father's life.
Arturo Flores, her father, was not a man but a storm. His addiction to drugs had rotted away any humanity left in him. He'd come home after days on the streets, demanding money they barely had, his eyes wild and his hands quick to strike. Both women bore the brunt of his abuse, their faces etched with years of suffering.
But the worst was always when he demanded money. Each time he came home empty-handed, his threats grew more chilling, vowing that the next time would be worse.
Priscilla grew up in a shabby California apartment, where the walls seemed to close in on her, suffocating her dreams of escape. She and her mother scraped by, living paycheck to paycheck, but it was never enough. Arturo drained them dry, leaving behind nothing but fear, abuse, and desperation. This was their cycle, until that fateful night.
It began like so many others. Arturo came home, high and crazed, demanding more money than they had. When Maria told him there was nothing left, he snapped. He lunged at her, his hands wrapping around her throat, squeezing the life out of her. Sixteen-year-old Priscilla stood frozen, watching her mother's face turn pale, her feet kicking weakly as she struggled for air.
Something inside Priscilla snapped. Without thinking, she grabbed the gun Arturo kept hidden in the kitchen drawer and fired. The crack of the gunshot echoed through the tiny apartment, and Arturo crumpled to the floor, lifeless.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then Maria screamed not a cry of relief but one of pure grief, a sound that would haunt Priscilla forever. She stared at her father's body. The man who had terrorized them for years and felt the weight of what she'd done.
In a panic, she and her mother buried Arturo in a shallow grave and fled to Miami, hoping to leave the nightmare behind. But even though Arturo had been a monster, Maria mourned him. She couldn't look at Priscilla without seeing her dead husband. Her resentment festered, poisoning their new life.
In Miami, life wasn't any easier. Maria found work as a cashier, and Priscilla, desperate to keep them afloat, started waiting tables by day and stripping by night. Even with two jobs, it was barely enough, and Maria's bitterness only grew. She blamed Priscilla for everything that had gone wrong.
Priscilla hardened herself, telling herself she didn't care. But there were nights when regret gnawed at her. She had killed her father to save her mother, yet sometimes she wondered if it had been worth it.
Years passed. Now twenty-five, Priscilla was long accustomed to her double life. By day, she smiled as she served food to customers, concealing the bitterness inside her. By night, she danced under flashing neon lights, her body an object of desire for the wealthy men who frequented the club.
Some of them took an interest, filling her ears with promises of love and luxury, but the lies never lasted. The men always left when they grew bored, leaving Priscilla with nothing but empty words.
But everything was about to change.
One night, while working at the infamous Babylon Club, Priscilla caught the eye of someone different. Tony Montana. His dark eyes followed her from across the club, radiating dangerous charisma.
She'd heard his name whispered among the girls at the club-a man who lived a life of wealth and power, someone who could change her fate with a single word. Priscilla didn't know it yet, but meeting Tony Montana would set her on a path she could never have imagined, one that would pull her deeper into a world of danger, deceit, and, possibly, escape.
