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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IWAKEUP, disoriented, surrounded by the familiar softness of my silk and satin sheets. The delicate fabric feels out of place against the lingering unease in my chest.
Recounting the events from just a few hours ago, I sit up abruptly, my heart racing. I glance around, realising I'm in my normal room, not locked away in some cold cell. Confusion churns in my stomach as I try to make sense of it all. I rush to stand, but a sudden, firm tug on my wrist stops me. Looking down, I see a cuff tightly secured around one wrist, chaining me to the bed.
I struggle against the cuff, my fingers curling into a tight ball as I desperately twist and tug, trying to free my wrist. Panic surges through me as I glance at the clock—8:46. My heart races as the crushing reality hits me:
I'm trapped here, while Gianna and Kai are still in that house, their fates hanging by a thread. Time is running out.
I realize my phone is gone, though at this moment, it hardly matters. Desperation floods me as I frantically try to pry the cuff off, pulling, tugging, and twisting with every ounce of strength I have. It feels like hours pass, my wrist aching, but I refuse to give up, knowing what's at stake.
Blood seeps from the raw skin of my wrist, now bruised and aching from the relentless struggle against the cuff.
In a burst of desperation, I whip my head toward the bedside table and yank the drawer open, frantically digging through it, hoping to find a bobby pin—anything that could set me free.
However, as I dig through the drawer, a sinking realisation hits me—they've taken everything. No bobby pins, no tools, nothing I could use to free myself. Panic tightens its grip on me as I stare at the empty drawer, my escape slipping further from reach.
As my frantic gaze sweeps the room, something catches my eye—a camera, tucked discreetly in the corner. Its lens stares back at me, cold and unblinking, watching my every move.
A chill runs down my spine as I realise I've been under surveillance this whole time.
"Roman!" I shout, my voice raw with desperation as I glare at the camera. "Look, I'm sorry, okay! But you need to let me out—something really bad is going to happen!" My voice cracks as I plead, hoping against hope that he's watching and will listen.
I fix my gaze on the camera, its small red light blinking back at me, tauntingly bright. Every blink feels like a silent response, cold and indifferent to my pleas.
"Roman, please!" I beg, my voice breaking—something I've never done before. I stare at the camera, hoping for a response, but the red blinking light suddenly stops.
He's turned it off. He's ignoring me.
I clench my free fist in frustration. "Maldita sea!" I groan, the anger bubbling up as I grab a pillow and hurl it across the room, watching it hit the wall with a dull thud, powerless to change anything.
