Chapter 7: Chapter 7

Valeria’s POV

Pain. It’s the first thing I register when my eyes flutter open. But it’s different this time—not the sharp, unbearable agony from before. This pain is dull, a constant ache woven into my bones. Manageable.

I breathe in slowly, wincing at the tightness in my ribs. My head feels heavy, my mouth dry. For a moment, I wonder if I imagined it all—the police, the betrayal, Dominic's men lurking in the shadows.

But then I see the room.

Soft golden light filters through thick curtains, too heavy and expensive for anywhere I’ve ever been. The sheets beneath me are clean, smelling faintly of flowers. This isn’t a prison cell. It’s not the streets.

It’s real.

I shift slightly, and a groan escapes me as pain flares in my ribs. At the sound, a figure moves from the corner of the room.

An older woman approaches, watching me with a steady gaze. She has tired but kind brown eyes, streaks of gray in her hair, and a calmness that feels... familiar.

She steps closer, her voice soft. “It’s okay,” she says gently. “You’re safe here.”

I swallow hard, my throat raw. “Who... who are you?”

She sits down on the chair beside the bed, folding her hands in her lap. “My name is Lucia,” she replies kindly. “I’m the housekeeper here. I work for Miss Emilia.”

The name sends a fresh wave of unease coursing through me. My jaw clenches. Emilia. She brought me here.

I glance around the room again, looking for any sign of her, but it’s just Lucia and me.

“Why am I here?” I rasp.

Lucia’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Miss Emilia thought this would be the safest place for you after she found you.”

“She found me?” My voice cracks as I force the words out.

Lucia nods. “Yes, she moved heaven and earth to find out where you were. She really cares about you.”

I let out a bitter, hollow laugh that hurts more than it should. “Rich girls don’t care about people like me.”

Lucia watches me quietly for a moment, then offers a small smile. “Some of them care.”

I study her closely, noticing the lines on her face, the way her hands are rough and calloused. “You’re not like her,” I mutter. “You’re... like me.”

Lucia’s smile fades slightly. “Perhaps. I understand more than you think.”

A wave of exhaustion threatens to pull me under again, but I fight it, needing answers. “You from the neighborhood?” I ask, my voice hoarse.

Lucia nods slowly, her eyes distant. “A long time ago.”

I stare at the ceiling, processing. “Then you know what it’s like,” I whisper. “You know what they do to people like me.”

She sighs, reaching out to gently place a warm hand over mine. “I do,” she says softly. “And I know that trust is not easy when you’ve lived your whole life looking over your shoulder.”

“And you know Dominic will find me wherever I am, even if I’m here,” I murmur, tears stinging my eyes.

“I know,” she says heavily, resting her hand on mine in a comforting gesture.

“Then you should help me get out of here before he finds me. This is the first place he’ll look,” I plead, trying to sit up, but pain shoots through me, forcing me to collapse back onto the bed.

“This is not something I can decide, mija. Maybe you can talk to Miss Emilia when you’re feeling better,” she says, her voice kind but firm. I can tell she’s trying to make me trust Emilia, but there’s no way I’m going to do that again. Everything that’s happened to me is because I got tangled up in her problems.

I glance at her hand on mine but don’t pull away. “You say you understand me, understand what it’s like to be me. So why are you here?”

Lucia leans back, her expression thoughtful. “Because sometimes, life offers you an escape. And sometimes, you take it.”

I scoff. “Escape isn’t real. Not for people like us.”

Lucia’s lips press together. “Maybe not. But sometimes... you find people who want to help. Even if you don’t trust them yet.”

I don’t answer, staring at the ceiling.

Safe. That’s what she called this place. But I know better. There’s no such thing as safe. Not from Dominic. Not from the streets.

And definitely not from rich girls with good intentions.

Lucia pats my hand gently and stands. “Try to rest, mija. You need your strength.”

---

Emilia’s POV

The camera clicks, the flash illuminating the model in front of me, but my mind isn’t here. It’s with her. I adjust the lighting, directing the model to tilt her head slightly, but even as I go through the motions, my thoughts drift back to the dark-haired girl lying in my guest room.

“Lia,” Claire’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts, “are you even paying attention?”

I blink, forcing a smile. “Yeah, yeah. Just... distracted.”

Claire gives me a knowing look but says nothing as I reposition my camera and refocus.

Just as I’m about to take another shot, I hear a familiar voice behind me. “Miss Emilia.”

I turn to see Lucia standing at the edge of the set, hands clasped in front of her, that same calm presence she always carries.

I lower my camera instantly. “Lucia?”

“She woke up,” Lucia says softly, stepping closer. “We spoke.”

The words send a jolt through me. I hand the camera to Claire without a second thought and step toward Lucia. “She did? What happened? Is she... okay?”

Lucia gives a small nod. “She’s scared. Confused. But she’s lucid.”

I exhale a shaky breath. “Did she—was she rude to you?”

Lucia shakes her head with a gentle smile. “No, dear. She was very kind. Just wary and terrified as expected.”

Before I can say anything, Dani snorts from across the set. “Kind?” she scoffs. “Lucia, don’t let her fool you. Girls like that aren’t nice. She’s probably just after Lia’s money.”

I stiffen, turning to glare at Dani. “Dani, stop.”

She shrugs, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking. You’re too soft, Lia. People like her don’t change. They just take and leave when they’ve had enough.”

Claire rolls her eyes, stepping in between us. “Dani, can you not? Lia’s trying to help someone. Show some respect.”

“Respect?” Dani crosses her arms. “For who, Claire? She’s not a guest. She’s a stray.”

“That’s enough,” I snap, my patience wearing thin. “Lucia, come with me.”

I guide Lucia away from the set, my jaw tight with frustration. Once we’re alone, I rub my temples. “Ignore Dani,” I murmur. “She doesn’t understand.”

Lucia’s smile is kind but knowing. “People fear what they don’t understand, Miss Emilia.”

I sigh, then hesitate before asking the question that’s been gnawing at me. “Do you think... do you think she’s ready to see me? Or talk to me?”

Lucia considers this for a moment before speaking. “She’s still wary, but she will need to face you eventually. For now, give her space. Let her come to you when she’s ready.”

I nod slowly, absorbing her words. “I just... I don’t want to make things worse.”

“You won’t,” Lucia reassures me. “You just have to be patient.”

I offer a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Lucia.”

The air in the studio feels heavier after my conversation with Lucia. I glance at my camera, the weight of the day settling in my chest. The set, the lights, the polished smiles—it all feels so shallow compared to what’s waiting for me at home.

I take a deep breath, then set my camera down. “That’s enough for today,” I announce.

The team looks at me in confusion, murmurs rippling through the room. Dani, of course, is the first to speak up.

“That’s enough?” she repeats, crossing her arms. “Are you seriously cutting the shoot short?”

I meet her gaze firmly. “Yes. Everyone can go home.”

Dani narrows her eyes. “Let me guess, you’re going to check on her, aren’t you?”

I clench my jaw. “Dani, stay out of my business.”

“This is my business, Lia,” she snaps, her voice rising. “You’ve been completely distracted since she showed up. You’re throwing everything off for someone who doesn’t even belong here!”

“That’s enough!” My voice echoes through the studio, silencing everyone. “This is my studio. My house. And if I say the shoot is over, it’s over. You and Claire can both go home now.”

Dani opens her mouth to argue, but Claire places a hand on her shoulder, shaking her head. Dani huffs but doesn’t say another word. Instead, she grabs her bag and storms out, muttering under her breath. Claire gives me a small, understanding nod before following her out.

I leave the studio, stepping into the hallway that connects it to the main house. The shift in atmosphere is immediate—the hum of creativity in the studio fades into the hushed stillness of home. The hallway feels colder, quieter, the faint sound of footsteps echoing softly as I make my way toward Valeria’s room.

By the time I reach the door leading into the house, the weight in my chest feels heavier. Each step toward her room is deliberate, my pulse quickening as I approach.

When I finally reach her door, I pause, my hand hovering over the handle.

I push the door open slowly, careful not to make a sound.

Valeria is still asleep, her face turned slightly to the side. The swelling has gone down, but the bruises remain—a painful reminder of everything she’s endured. I sit down in the chair beside her bed, the same spot I’ve found myself in so many times over the past few days.

For a moment, I just watch her. Her chest rises and falls steadily, the sound of her breathing filling the room. There’s something peaceful about it, yet it doesn’t ease the knot in my stomach.

Minutes pass, maybe more. My thoughts swirl, questions I don’t have answers to.

Valeria stirs, her eyelids fluttering open. For a moment, her gaze is unfocused, scanning the room with a dazed expression. Then her eyes land on me, and I see the flicker of recognition—followed by an unmistakable wall going up.

She doesn’t say anything at first, just looks at me with guarded eyes, her body tensing despite the obvious pain it causes her.

“Hey,” I say softly, leaning forward. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

She flinches at the movement, her fingers clutching the blanket like a lifeline.

I stop in my tracks, holding up my hands to show I mean no harm. “I’m not going to hurt you,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

Her lips press into a thin line, and she looks away, refusing to meet my gaze. The tension in the room is palpable, her silence louder than any words she could have said.

“Valeria...” I try again, my tone gentle. “I just want to help.”

At that, her head snaps toward me, her eyes narrowing. “Help?” she repeats, her voice hoarse but laced with disbelief. “You’ve done enough.”

The words cut deeper than I expect, and I swallow hard. “I didn’t—”

“Don’t,” she interrupts, her voice sharp despite its weakness. “Don’t pretend like you care. I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity,” I say quickly, desperate to break through the wall she’s built. “I just... I want to make sure you’re okay.”

Her laughter is bitter, more like a scoff. “Right. Because people like you care so much about people like me.”

“That’s not fair,” I murmur, leaning back slightly. “I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t care.”

She doesn’t respond, her gaze darting to the window as if searching for an escape.

I try a different approach, my voice softening. “Are you in pain? I can get the doctor—”

“I don’t need anything from you,” she says firmly, cutting me off again.

I hesitate, the weight of her words pressing down on me. Every time I try to bridge the gap, she pushes me further away.

“Okay,” I say finally, standing up slowly. “I’ll give you space. But I’m here if you need anything. Anything at all.”

She doesn’t respond, her eyes fixed on a spot on the wall.

I linger for a moment, hoping for... something. A word, a glance, anything to show she doesn’t completely hate me. But she stays silent, her body language screaming distrust.

With a heavy heart, I turn and leave the room, the sound of the door clicking shut behind me echoing in my ears.