
twenty-four hours.
Twenty-four hours since I slipped out of that club through blood-slicked shadows and broken glass.
I had showered.
But I hadn't slept. I hadn't touched my phone.
The world could've burned and I wouldn't have known.
I sat on the edge of my bed for hours, motionless, staring out at the night-washed skyline like it owed me something.
I wasn't hurt. At least not physically. But I felt anger, confusion, relief. At some point. To some extent.
It wasn't the bullets that haunted me. It was the fact that someone wanted them in my direction.
And it wasn't random. Not when it was me sent in with an envelope. No backup, No warning. Just a name that didn't exist.
At least I thought it didn't.
...
By dusk the following day, I'd reached the end of myself.
I stood, stripped out of my clothes, and took a long, scalding shower. My skin turned red. I didn't care.
When I stepped out, I didn't bother with the ritual.
No skincare. No soft cotton robe.
Just war paint.
We'll, no war paint, I didn't have any.
Black jeans and a Fitted shirt. Boots that could crush a man's foot without warning, depending on how hard I stomped.
My hair was still damp when I looked at myself in the mirror.
Eyes, cold and mismatched. Lips pressed.
I moved through the penthouse with precision.
°°°
You know that feeling, when you arrive at a place and then be like 'why did I even bother?' or even 'I should've just stayed home'?
That was exactly how I felt leaning over the bathroom sink, in my family estate. Staring back at myself in the mirror after the bomb that was just dropped on me.
Why me?
The question replayed in my thoughts.
I'd walked into the room already pissed off. Not just pissed, scorched. My bones were tight with rage, my knuckles aching from how hard I'd gripped the steering wheel all the way here. And yet… nothing could've prepared me for what was waiting behind those double doors.
The air felt heavier the second I stepped in.
Nacho was the first person I saw — my brother, jaw tight, shoulder pressed to the wall like he needed it to hold him up. His arms were crossed, eyes flickering toward me, but he said nothing. That was the first red flag.
Sophia was lounging on the edge of the couch like she was posing for a magazine spread, legs crossed, fingers tapping against her knee in that bored, calculated way she always did when she wanted people to believe she was unfazed. But I knew her. Her resting bitch face was pulled a little too tight.
My mother sat still, hands folded in her lap, eyes trained on the carpet. Not a hair out of place, but her thumb was twitching — a tell she hadn't grown out of since I was eleven.
And my father… elbows on the armrests, fingers steepled under his chin.
The only words I registered after our small argument on how he almost got me killed...
"You're going to marry Moretti."
That's it.
There was No buildup, No warning. Just words dropped like dead weight into the silence.
At first, I thought I misheard. I blinked. Once. Twice. Then my body just... locked. Like the message had jammed somewhere between my ears and my spine.
Marry.
Moretti.
The name alone was enough to make my stomach twist. I'd never met him, neither had I heard of him.
But from what I could gather from dad's tone, he wasn't the kind of man whispered about in salons or drunken dinners. No, he was the kind they spoke of in boardrooms, in hushed meetings behind bulletproof glass. Dangerous, Powerful. The kind of man who never asked, only took.
"Excuse me?" I finally managed, voice low, like dragging broken glass across tile.
He didn't flinch. "In exchange for the assistance he's willing to give us. It was part of the agreement."
Agreement.
Like I was livestock. A bargaining chip in a deal scrawled in blood and desperation.
I didn't remember walking further into the room. I just knew my feet had moved, like they wanted answers even if my brain hadn't caught up.
"So what, you sold me off like some mafia discount bride because you couldn't clean up your own mess?"
My voice cracked at the edges, more fury than sound.
Nacho shifted beside the wall, arms uncrossing. He looked at me, eyes wide with something between rage and guilt.
Sophia raised an eyebrow, lips parting like she wanted to say something smart, but—for once—she didn't.
My mother... she still didn't look up.
And Santiago?
He just sat there, as calm as ever.
"It's done," he said, like that made it final. Like I was a package shipped and signed for.
I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I think that's what shocked them most.
I just stood there, skin buzzing, heart splintering like glass under pressure.
Because in that moment, between my father's cold words and everyone else's silence, I realized something.
I was alonein this room.
*Knock knock knock*
Tuning back to the sound of Ignacio banging on the bathroom door, as he had been the moment I ran and locked myself in here.
To cry? Not really
I couldn't, even if I tried.
But I was feeling all the emotions that could make one cry.
Anger, betrayal.
I moved to open the door after one last look in the mirror and a heavy sigh.
Nacho stood with a pained expression.
I stepped out and shut the door behind me; looked him straight in the eye "Did you know?"
Silence.
"Answer me, Nacho" my voice desperate.
"yes". I felt... Lost, deceived, shattered.
"I knew..." he continued "...about the arrangement, the Morretis; but I was never aware of that stupid stunt at that club".
I scoffed. Like that made it better.
I couldn't believe my ears.
" And you never thought to tell me!? " I couldn't contain my anger, so I yelled.
" you have to know, I didn't have a say in this, Val." He tried to reach for me but I slapped his hand away.
The hurt on his face, almost moved me.
Almost.
He betrayed me, he lied to me.
Well, he didn't lie, he just withheld important, life changing information.
Same thing!.
" I never would have agreed to this. And God I wanted to tell you, so bad. But I couldn't, he wouldn't let me". His explanation did nothing to pacify my emotions.
But I did recall that one argument they had a few days ago in the hallways.
Dad said something about not mentioning something to a "her".
Nacho was livid that day.
And I've come to the realization that I was the her in question.
"My life has just been signed away to some guy I know abso-fucking-lutely nothing about! At the very least, the very least, Nacho, I deserved to hear it from my best friend!"
With that, I walked away.
Stepping back into the lounge, "Are you done throwing your temper tantrums?" came Sophia's annoying voice.
I didn't have it in me to think of a comeback right now, so I settled with "No, just taking a breather before act two" I deadpanned with a glare.
I noticed that the parents were nowhere to be found.
Ha!
If they thought I was going to go down without a fight—marry some man they pulled straight out of the reject pile of the underworld—they had another thing coming. I wasn't some pawn to be moved across the board for alliances and debts. I wasn't some ornamental daughter meant to smile and curtsy and play the good little obedient—
"Oh, come on, Valerie," Sophia's voice cut through my thoughts like a dull blade. "You should be grateful you finally get the chance to contribute to this family. For once."
I turned slowly, raising a brow, already biting back the list of things I could unleash.
"Not everything in life is handed to you," she went on, voice dipped in that sickly-sweet tone that made me want to strangle something. "Maybe try being useful instead of always... you know, being you."
There it was. The classic Sophia special: high-horse hypocrisy with a side of venom.
I smiled, slow and sharp. The kind that made people uncomfortable.
"Thanks, Soph," I said, voice light. "I'll be sure to write that down in my gratitude journal right after 'Survived attempted assassination because Daddy plays dirty politics.'"
She blinked.
"Just trying to help," she muttered.
"Oh, I know." I took a step closer. "You've always been so generous with your wisdom. But next time? Save it. I'd rather die uninformed."
Worst part is, I was stuck here.
Father said I couldn't leave.
Yet.
Because I intend to, just need to figure out how to bypass security. Though I'm sure they'd already gotten strict orders not to let me out of the estate before I even set foot here.
Marriage.
Funny how it never crossed my mind. I didn't really think about it.
Not that I despised the idea...
Or maybe I do. Not sure.
It just wasn't in my 'Things-to-do-before-i-turn-24 list' not that the list existed to begin with, but you get my point.
I never imagined myself walking down the aisle, in a white dress, saying vows, honeymoon, and all the other sappy shit they portray in movies.
Honestly, I don't know why I'm even thinking about this.
I'm not getting married.
Period.
My anger simmered a bit after coming to my conclusion that I wasn't going to be used like this.
I shifted my gaze to Nacho stumbling into the room.
"Val, please don't be mad at me... I promise you, I tried to talk dad out of it, but he seemed adamant that it was the only way".
He says it like this "only way" wasn't going to throw my life completely out of Orbit.
So, I ignored him. Instead...
"Oh! Cut the bullshit, Ignacio... Our dear little sister has no idea who she's about to get involved with..." Sophia said, smirking at me.
"... And since I've never been one to sugarcoat things, I'm gonna tell you. Massimo Morretti..."
"Enough, Sophia!" came dad's voice
She rolled her stupid eyes, but I couldn't deny that I wasn't too happy about the interruption.
I was curious.
"Why can't Sophia marry him instead, she understands more about the business than I" I asked, desperation seeping from my voice.
I was half expecting a snide remark from Sophia, but she looked to dad too. Like she also wanted to know.
Wait, did this bitch actually want to get sold off to marriage to a total stranger?
And she says I'm the stupid one.
"Él te quería, Val" came his curt response.
Why would he want me?