Paris airport buzzed with noise—heels clicking, wheels dragging, voices tangled in different languages.
Valentina moved through it like a dream. Tall. Effortless. A beige coat falling soft over her shoulders, pale blond hair brushing the collar. Sunglasses hid her eyes, but her rose-gloss lips gave her away—too perfect, too polished, too untouchable.
Next to her was Nora Salazar. All curves, red lipstick, and a leopard-print dress squeezed under a black coat. Phone pressed to her ear, voice sharp, half-Spanish, half-Russian. She cursed someone named Enzo like he'd ruined her life.
Valentina's gaze was everywhere.
Alert.
Aware.
Nora's was locked on her call.
Check-in.
Security.
Another curse spat into the phone.
Nora finally put the device away from her ear—then turned.
Valentina was gone.
Her blood iced.
She spun back, scanning the lines, the crowd.
She was nowhere.
"Hold on—" she snapped into the phone again, leaving her trolley behind. She tried to push back, only for security to block her.
"Señora, you can't return."
"¡Joder!" She slammed her palm to her forehead. Her voice shook as she barked into the line.
"Val didn't check in with me—I don't know! She was just behind me! I turned and she was gone—"
But Valentina didn't vanished, she slipped away.
Away from her father's shadow, away from her gilded cage. But freedom is never gentle. It is sharp, merciless, and waiting in the hands of the man who would ruin her and make her his salvation all the same.