Naela barely made it back to her room before her legs gave out beneath her. She sank onto the bed, clutching the folder of photographs like a lifeline. Her heart raced, her mind a whirlwind of fear, anger, and confusion.
The images of herself the silent, undeniable proof that she had been watched for years felt like an invasion of her very soul. Each photo told a story, but it was a story she couldn't piece together. Who had taken them? Why? And what did they want from her?
Fabricio's words echoed in her mind Stop playing the victim. Start thinking like a survivor.
Her whole life, Naela had endured. Endured the cruelty of Claudia and Isabella. Endured the loss of her father. Endured a world that seemed bent on breaking her. But endurance was not enough now. She had to fight, or she would lose herself entirely.
She spread the photographs out on the bed, forcing herself to study them. Some were taken from a distance her walking through the streets of Boulevar sitting in a café, or browsing at a market. Others were more intimate, capturing moments inside her home. Those sent a chill through her, the realization dawning that someone had been close enough to invade her personal space.
One photo in particular caught her eye. It was an old one, taken during her childhood. She was sitting in her father's study, a book open in her lap, her father smiling down at her. A pang of longing and sorrow shot through her chest. This was before everything had fallen apart, before the accident that had taken him from her.
She flipped the photo over and noticed faint handwriting on the back. The words were smudged, but she could make out a few fragments: "…safe … don't let them…" Her fingers trembled as she traced the words. Was this a message from her father? Had he known something was coming?
A knock at the door startled her, and she hastily gathered the photos, shoving them back into the folder. "Who is it?" she called, her voice unsteady. The door opened, and one of Fabricio's men stepped inside. He was younger than the others she had seen, his expression less hardened, though no less serious.
"The boss wants you downstairs," he said, his voice clipped.
Naela hesitated, clutching the folder to her chest. "Why? What does he want now?"
The man shrugged. "I'm just the messenger. But you'd be wise not to keep him waiting."
She considered refusing, but she knew it would be pointless. With a resigned sigh, she rose from the bed and followed him out of the room. As they descended the grand staircase, Naela's unease grew. The house was quiet, the air thick with tension. When they reached the main hall, Fabricio was waiting, his posture as commanding as ever.
He gestured for her to sit on a leather sofa across from him. "We need to talk," he said simply. Naela crossed her arms, trying to mask her nerves with defiance. "About what? More accusations I can't defend myself against?" Fabricio's lips twitched in what might have been amusement, but his eyes remained cold. "About what happens next."
She raised an eyebrow. "Next? I thought I was just your prisoner until you got your answers."
"You are," he said, leaning forward, "but you're also a liability I can't ignore. And liabilities don't last long in my world."
The bluntness of his words sent a shiver down her spine. "So, what? You're going to kill me?"
"If I wanted you dead, you'd already be in the ground," he replied, his tone maddeningly calm. "But the longer you're here, the more dangerous it becomes for both of us."
Naela frowned. "Dangerous how?"
Fabricio's gaze darkened. "Whoever's behind this has been watching you for years. They've been waiting for the right moment to strike, and somehow, that moment involved bringing you into my life. That means they know more about me than I'm comfortable with, and that makes you a target."
Her stomach churned. "A target for who?"
Fabricio didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stood and began pacing, his movements restless. "You don't survive in my world without making enemies," he said finally. "Some are bold. Others are patient. And the patient ones are the most dangerous."
Naela watched him, her fear mingling with a strange sense of pity. For all his power, Fabricio seemed like a man constantly looking over his shoulder, always waiting for the next betrayal.
"So what do you expect me to do?" she asked. "I don't know who's behind this. I don't even know why I'm here!"
"You will," he said firmly, stopping to face her. "You're going to dig into your past. Every connection, every loose end find out who has a reason to come after you and why they'd use me to do it."
"And if I don't?" she challenged, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her.
Fabricio's expression hardened. "Then you're no use to me, and I don't waste time on people who can't pull their weight."
The threat hung in the air, unspoken but understood.
Naela swallowed hard, her mind racing. She didn't trust him, but he was right about one thing whoever had orchestrated this had been watching her for years. She couldn't afford to sit idly by and hope for answers.
"Fine," she said finally. "But if I'm doing this, I need information anything you have on the people who might be involved."
Fabricio's lips curved into a small, almost approving smile. "Now you're thinking like a survivor."
He motioned for one of his men, who stepped forward with a thick file. Fabricio handed it to her. "This is everything we've uncovered so far. Use it wisely." Naela took the file, her determination hardening. She didn't know where this path would lead her, but one thing was clear: she couldn't rely on anyone but herself.
As she left the room, clutching the file like a lifeline, she felt the weight of Fabricio's gaze on her back. Whether he was her captor, her ally, or something else entirely, she didn't know. But she did know this she wouldn't go down without a fight.