# Chapter Eight: The Mansion
It was another scorching afternoon in San Pablo, the sun beating down on the dusty streets with relentless heat. Lolita stood at her stall, bargaining with a customer who seemed determined to squeeze every last peso out of her.
"Fifteen pesos for a dozen oranges," Lolita said, her tone clipped.
"Fifteen? That's robbery!" the man retorted, his face scrunched in mock outrage. "I'll give you ten."
Lolita rolled her eyes. "Then take your ten pesos and go buy from someone else. You won't find oranges this fresh for that price."
The man hesitated, clearly weighing his options. Customers like him were common—always haggling, always trying to get more for less. But Lolita wasn't one to back down. She folded her arms, her expression daring him to push further.
Before the man could respond, the low hum of an engine caught her attention. A sleek black car pulled up in front of her stall, its glossy exterior gleaming under the sunlight. The sight of such a vehicle in their small, impoverished town was enough to turn a few heads.
Lolita's eyes narrowed as the car door opened and a man stepped out. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a sharp black suit that made him look out of place against the dusty backdrop of the village. His face was expressionless, but his piercing gaze locked onto her immediately.
"Monica wants to see you," the man said, his voice low and authoritative.
Lolita stiffened. She hadn't been expecting this. "Now?" she asked, her tone sharp but steady.
"Now," the man confirmed.
She glanced at her stall, then at the man still standing in front of her, oranges in hand. Without another word, she grabbed her bag and closed the stall, her movements quick and efficient.
The man in the suit opened the car door for her, and after a brief hesitation, Lolita climbed in. The interior of the car smelled like leather and faint cologne, a sharp contrast to the dusty streets of San Pablo. The door shut behind her with a soft thud, and the car began to move.
As they drove away from the town, a flicker of unease crept into Lolita's chest. She glanced out the window, watching as the familiar sights of her village faded into the distance. Her mind drifted to her mother, who lay bedridden at home, and Matteo, who would be waiting for her to bring him lunch.
"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice steady despite the unease curling in her stomach.
The man in the suit didn't answer.
Lolita clenched her jaw, forcing herself to stay calm. Her gaze shifted back to the window, and despite her growing apprehension, she couldn't help but marvel at the sights around her.
The city was breathtaking. Skyscrapers towered over bustling streets, their glass exteriors reflecting the sunlight. The roads were smooth and lined with trees, a far cry from the cracked and dusty paths of San Pablo. Lolita had spent almost her entire life in her small, impoverished village, and seeing this level of wealth and grandeur was both awe-inspiring and infuriating.
This was the life she deserved. This was the world she should have been a part of. Instead, she was stuck in a wretched home, scraping by just to survive.
The car eventually turned onto a private road, the noise of the city fading into quiet serenity. They passed through a massive wrought-iron gate, flanked by two guards dressed in black. Beyond the gate was an estate that made Lolita's breath catch in her throat.
The mansion was stunning. It was a sprawling structure of white stone, its tall windows gleaming in the sunlight. The front lawn was perfectly manicured, dotted with vibrant flowers of every color. A large fountain stood in the center of the circular driveway, water cascading down in a gentle, mesmerizing flow.
Lolita's eyes darted across the scene, taking in every detail—the intricate carvings on the mansion's façade, the way the sunlight danced across the fountain's surface. It was beautiful, almost unreal.
The car came to a stop, and one of the guards opened the door for her. Lolita stepped out, her feet sinking slightly into the gravel driveway. She straightened her shoulders, refusing to let her unease show.
"This way," one of the guards said, gesturing toward the mansion's entrance.
Lolita followed, her boots crunching against the gravel. Two more guards stood at the massive double doors, their faces as unreadable as the rest. They opened the doors without a word, and Lolita stepped inside.
The interior of the mansion was even more breathtaking than the exterior. The floors were polished marble, gleaming under the soft glow of chandeliers. The walls were adorned with expensive art, and the air smelled faintly of lavender.
But there was no time to admire the beauty around her. This place screamed danger. The men dressed in black, the silent guards stationed at every corner—it was clear that this wasn't just a home. This was a fortress.
One of the guards led her through a series of hallways, each more ornate than the last, until they reached a large room. The door opened, revealing Monica seated on a plush sofa, surrounded by several men.
Monica looked up as Lolita entered, a faint smile curling her lips. She was as striking as ever, her blonde hair perfectly styled, her blue eyes sharp and calculating. She held a vape pen between her fingers, the faint trail of smoke curling upward as she exhaled.
"Ah, Lolita," Monica said, rising to her feet. "Welcome."
Lolita didn't respond, her dark eyes scanning the room. The men around Monica were all watching her, their expressions varying from curiosity to indifference.
Monica gestured for her to sit. "Please, join us."
Lolita hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward and sitting on the edge of one of the chairs.
Monica introduced the men one by one. "This is Gomez," she said, gesturing to a man with a thick mustache and a sharp gaze. "Andrew," she continued, pointing to a younger man with slicked-back hair. "Shane," a tall, broad-shouldered man with a cocky smirk. "And Waki," who stood silently behind Shane.
They all nodded at her, but it was Shane's eyes that lingered on her the longest.
"You're even more beautiful than I remember," Monica said, her voice smooth as silk. "You'll be perfect for what we're planning."
Lolita's brow furrowed, but she kept her expression neutral. "What are you planning?"
Monica didn't answer immediately. Instead, she leaned forward, her blue eyes locked onto Lolita's. "How would you like to make fifteen million dollars?"
Lolita's heart skipped a beat, but her face remained impassive.
Monica smiled, clearly pleased with her composure. "It's a simple favor" she said. "And in return, I'll erase your debt. I'll take your mother to the best hospital, make sure she's cared for. I'll do anything you want. All you have to do is say yes."
Lolita's mind raced as she processed the offer. The men around the room watched her silently, their expressions unreadable.
"What's the favor?" Lolita asked, her voice steady.
Monica's smile widened slightly. "We'll get to that."
Lolita clenched her jaw but said nothing. Whatever this was, it wasn't going to be simple. But fifteen million pesos… It was more money than she had ever dreamed of.
Her family needed this. Clara's schooling, her mother's health, Matteo's future—it could all change with this one decision.
Monica leaned back, exhaling another puff of vapor. "Think about it," she said.
And Lolita did.
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# Chapter Nine: The Offer
(Coming next...)