Chapter 2 The Stranger's House

I opened my eyes but quickly shut them again.

The world was spinning. My head throbbed with a sharp, unforgiving pain. Groaning, I gripped the sides of my head and took a few shallow breaths before slowly cracking my eyes open again.

This wasn't my room.

Gone were the familiar pink walls. The warm, floral scent of lavender I loved so much had vanished. My fluffy pink rug wasn't beneath me, and the dresser that once held photos of my mother and me was nowhere in sight.

Instead, I found myself in a massive, unfamiliar space; clean, white walls with elegant paneling, sleek crown molding, and a high vaulted ceiling that let in soft morning light through expansive, arched windows. The king-sized bed I lay in was dressed in crisp, ivory sheets and layered with velvet throw pillows in muted tones. A chandelier dangled above, glittering in the light like fallen stars.

Everything screamed wealth. Sterile, quiet, luxurious wealth.

And absolutely none of it was mine. That's when it hit me.

The explosion.

The gunfire.

My mother's lifeless body.

I bolted upright, heart slamming against my ribs. I stumbled out of the bed, frantically searching for a way out.

Just as I reached for the ornate door, it creaked open, and an elderly woman stepped in.

"Oh my! You're awake!" she gasped, placing a hand over her chest. She hurried toward me, reaching out with trembling fingers, but I flinched away.

"Who are you? Where's my f–family? We... we were just together..." My voice cracked like fragile glass.

Before I could finish, she wrapped her arms around me. Her embrace was soft but firm, like a mother trying to hold together what little was left of a broken child.

"I'm so sorry, dear," she whispered, her voice full of sorrow. "I'm so, so sorry."

I didn't move. I couldn't cry. I didn't feel anything. I just sank into her arms like dead weight.

She pulled back and cupped my face gently. Her wrinkled skin was pale, her hazel eyes glossy with empathy. Age had softened her appearance, but I could tell she'd once been stunning-high cheekbones, thick silver hair pulled into a neat bun, and a delicate beauty that hadn't fully faded.

"I'll run you a hot bath," she said, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. "You've been unconscious for nearly two days. I'm just so relieved you're alright."

She offered me a soft smile before disappearing through a door, which I assumed led to the bathroom.

Moments later, she returned. "The bath is ready. Let me know if you need anything, darling." Then she was gone.

I stood there for a moment, numb, before heading toward the bathroom.

It was bigger than my old bedroom. Marble floors and a freestanding tub that looked like it belonged in a palace. Everything gleamed with luxury, but it all felt cold. Hollow.

My heart ached. My house-the only place that ever felt safe-was now a pile of broken memories.

I paused in front of the mirror.

The girl staring back at me looked like a ghost.

My hazel eyes, once so full of light, were dull and distant. My lips were dry and cracked. My face was swollen and pale, though I hadn't shed a single tear. My wild curls were tangled beyond recognition.

I looked shattered.

As I peeled off my clothes, I noticed a tight bandage wrapped around my ribs. Slowly, I unwrapped it, revealing sutures. A long, neat wound stitched together, proof that someone had saved me. But why?

I had no memory of what happened after my mother fell.

I forced the thought away and slipped into the tub.

The warm water wrapped around me like a second skin. I sank deeper, closing my eyes and letting the heat try to melt the sorrow away.

When I finished, I returned to the bedroom. A soft floral dress lay across the bed. Beside it, a small card in loopy handwriting read:

"Come down for breakfast when you're ready."

I slipped on the dress, still confused, still lost.

Why me? Why did they kill my family and let me live? And who was the person that carried me away?

Driven by the need for answers, I stepped outside the room.

The hallway was as extravagant as the room-artwork hung in perfect symmetry along the cream-colored walls, a long Persian rug ran the length of the corridor, and intricate gold sconces illuminated everything in a warm, amber glow.

Eventually, I found a spiral staircase with polished mahogany rails that led down into what looked like a grand dining hall.

The old woman from earlier was there, setting the table.

A crystal chandelier sparkled above her, and the table-long enough to seat twelve-was covered in fine china and silver cutlery.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked sharply.

She turned toward me, startled. "Why am I setting the table?" she asked with a raised brow.

I followed her gaze and realized she'd set two places.

"I mean... why are you helping me? What is this place?" I pressed.

She gave me a soft smile. "Sit, dear. Eat something."

I hesitated but obeyed, thinking she'd sit with me. But instead, she turned and walked away without another word.

I was about to stand and follow her when a deep voice-no, a command-froze me in place.

"Sit. Back. Down."

The voice was painfully familiar.

I turned slowly.

A tall man entered the room like a shadow stretching across the walls, broad-shouldered, dressed in black, his muscular frame cutting a sharp silhouette against the light. His dark hair was tousled but neat, his jawline sharp enough to wound, and his eyes-dark, unreadable-held the weight of authority.

He didn't need to raise his voice to be obeyed.

But I wasn't one to obey.

I stood. My height was no match for his, but I tilted my chin defiantly.

He looked surprised as if no one had ever dared stand up to him before.

"Didn't you hear me?" he growled, taking another step forward towards me.

His voice was like smoke-rough, dangerous... and addictive.

I should've been afraid. Instead, I found myself wanting him to speak again.

I glared at him. "Who are you to tell me what to do?"

And that's when his lips curled-half anger, half intrigue. Like he'd just found a challenge.

"I own you now, Lucía."

The way he said my name, it slid off his tongue like silk laced with venom. Smooth. Deliberate. Dangerous.

But his words made my blood boil.

Own me?

A bitter laugh escaped my throat. "Own me?" I echoed, disbelief and rage knotting in my chest. "You're insane."

I shoved at his chest, tried to push past his towering figure. I didn't want his mansion. I didn't want his pity. I didn't want him.

But he grabbed my wrist.

His grip was tight, unyielding. His touch seared against my skin like fire. I yanked, twisted, but he didn't budge. He stepped closer.

So close I could see the flecks of gold in his dark brown eyes. So close I could taste the danger rolling off him in waves.

"Let me go," I snapped, but my voice cracked betraying the fear that was crawling its way up my throat.

He leaned in, eyes dark and cold. "I saved your life. That makes you mine. You don't walk away until you've repaid the debt."

My heart froze.

"Debt?"

His gaze narrowed. "Everything your father took from me. I'm taking back through you."

I blinked, stunned. "My... father?"

A cruel smile curled on his lips. "Your father stole from me. Millions. And when I came for him, the coward vanished. Left everyone behind, left you behind. But now I have what he loves most. His daughter."

I felt like the ground beneath me cracked open. My chest tightened. "Fuck you..." I hissed. "And fuck Alex. That man is dead to me. He left us long before you came. He stopped being my father the day he chose himself over us."

His jaw clenched. But I wasn't done.

"And you-you were there that night." My voice rose, shaking, broken. "You were there when my house was blown to pieces. When my mother was murdered. Were you the one who gave the order? Were you the monster who stood back and watched as my family was slaughtered?"

Something flickered in his eyes. A pause. A shift. Regret? Guilt? No-he buried it before I could name it.

"DID YOU?!"

I was screaming now. Hitting his chest with clenched fists. I didn't care how solid he felt, or how tall he stood over me. Rage poured out of me like acid.

"You fucking psychopath!" I screamed, tears blurring my vision, pouring freely now. "You killed my mother! My sister! My brother! Why didn't you go after Alex? Why didn't you find that bastard and put a bullet in his head instead?"

My body shook uncontrollably. I couldn't stop the flood.

"I hate you! I fucking hate you!" I sobbed, still hitting, my fists turning weak and useless against his unmoving chest. "You ruined everything... and now you want to claim me like I'm some prize in your sick game?"

His arms shot forward, grabbing me. I thrashed, screamed louder. I couldn't breathe. The room spun. My chest heaved. My throat closed.

Panic took over.

I was spiraling. Hyperventilating.

Then I felt a sharp pain in my arm. A prick. Cold spreading through my veins.

I turned my head in time to see a man in black lower a syringe.

"Wha... what did you-"

Darkness crept in. Everything became distant.

"Take her back to her room." The chandelier above me blurred. The man's voice was a muffled echo in the distance.