When she returned to the ballroom, the first thing Cecilia did was scan the room, searching desperately for the exit. Thankfully, no one was blocking her way anymore, and in less than five seconds, she slipped out of the building.

The moment she stepped onto the landing, the cool, humid city air, far damper than what she was used to back home, hit her face and chilled her lips. Her clothes were too light for the late hour, and a shiver ran down her spine, but the lack of a coat wasn’t enough to stop her. Her awful experience with Victor had taught her one thing: act while you still have the chance.

She darted straight for the wide staircase separating the grand, luxurious ballroom from the driveway that led to the street, like a modern Cinderella fleeing from a prince she had no interest in. Unfortunately, no carriage was waiting at the bottom of the steps. And she knew Gerardo wouldn’t have much trouble catching up to her.

She practically jumped down the first steps, mind racing. First, she would go back to the hotel, grab her ID and money; and catch the earliest flight home. Meanwhile, she’d get in touch with Manuel and have him take Ismael somewhere safe.

In the middle of her rising panic, running away felt like the best option she had.

Cecilia wished she could tell herself she didn’t believe Gerardo’s threats. But the idea of her story becoming public, leading to Victor taking Ismael away from her, was terrifyingly real. And as much as Gerardo had always pretended to be kind, she knew now just how poorly he took being defied.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, her plan hit a major flaw. The ballroom was in a secluded area, and finding a taxi out here was next to impossible. Worse, she had no money on her. Maybe she could ask the doormen for help, but Gerardo was surely right behind her.

Then she noticed them. A line of sleek, luxury cars parked in front of the venue. Her earlier thought was wrong. Maybe her life wasn’t a fairy tale, maybe her prince had abandoned her, and her supposed best friend was anything but. But at least there was a carriage waiting to whisk her away, and this one didn’t even have a guard watching it.

Without hesitating, she bolted toward the nearest car by the entrance, a sleek black sports car. Her pulse quickened when she spotted the keys left inside.

Climbing into the driver’s seat, a pleasant, almost familiar scent enveloped her. She exhaled shakily.

"I'm sorry, I’ll give it back," she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. As she started the car, she couldn’t help but think how much easier this would have been if she and Gerardo had arrived in a rental instead of a chauffeured hotel car. At least then, she wouldn’t have to steal.

She reversed out of the driveway, narrowly avoiding one of the oversized flower pots decorating the wrought-iron fence. Her heart pounded as she passed the security guard at the gate, who had no idea she was driving off in a car that wasn’t hers. With a screech of tires, she pulled onto the main road and floored the accelerator.

She had no idea where to go. But that hardly mattered. She had just stolen a luxury car, it had GPS, a basic feature in vehicles like this.

After driving half a block, she decided to call Manuel. She turned on the hands-free, dialed, and gritted her teeth while the phone rang. Voicemail. Her stomach twisted with frustration.

A moment later, her phone rang. Hope flared for an instant, only to be crushed when she saw Gerardo’s name on the screen. She hung up immediately, a sick feeling pooling in her gut. The hotel felt like it was a lifetime away.

A thousand thoughts slammed into her all at once. She still couldn’t believe that to Gerardo, she and Ismael were nothing more than cash and leverage in his business war. That when he looked at them, that’s all he saw.

Cecilia inhaled deeply, trying to stop the rising panic. Maybe Manuel was just busy. She could try calling Laura or the house. Surely someone would pick up. She couldn’t afford to think the worst, couldn’t let herself believe Gerardo might’ve already done something to them.

The memory of standing so close to Victor gnawed at her. After all these years, after all the ways she’d imagined confronting him, and she had done nothing. Not a word, not a question. Just stood there, the same powerless, poor girl expected to stay silent and take it, unless she wanted to make things worse.

The GPS instructed her to turn, and she did. Her phone rang again. It was Gerardo. She hung up quickly and, in doing so, accidentally pressed the remote assistance button.

A cheerful jingle played, followed by a woman’s voice. "Good evening, Mr. Villafuerte. How may I assist you?"

Cecilia gasped, her heart leaping into her throat. She stared at the speaker like it had just delivered the most horrifying news. She hit the button again. And again. Desperate to hang up.

Had she really just heard Villafuerte?

"Are you alright, sir? How can I assist you?" the voice asked again.

Cecilia shook her head, then remembered she was still driving. She looked up, just in time to see a car directly in her path. Instinct kicked in and she yanked the wheel hard. The tires screeched, and her head slammed against the door as the airbags deployed, throwing her painfully back into her seat. The seatbelt cinched tightly across her chest, and the car lurched to a stop.

She thought she saw a streetlight pole crashing down—or maybe it was just her vision blurring—but she never heard the sound it made when it hit the ground. Everything faded into darkness.