"you can't leave Blake. You were mine" he hissed with menace.
"please…." he cut her off with a jab of the knife he was holding, making her cry in pain.
Startled and sweating, Susan snapped her eyes open. It felt so real for a second that she thought she was still there. She glanced at her digital clock and sat up, scoffing at herself. Why did she always bother setting alarms when she wakes up hours earlier than it? Stretching her toned arms above her head, she climbed out of bed. The oversized thrift-store shirt she wore reached mid-thigh as she stood by the bed. After straightening her small mattress, she walked a few steps to her tiny closet and pulled out the day's outfit a pair of jeans, a shirt, and her favourite jacket tossing them onto the bed.
"Breakfast," she murmured to herself.
She padded out of her cramped bedroom and into the corner of the apartment that served as a kitchen. Between the long hours she worked and her determination to save money, variety wasn't on her menu. Saving had rescued her once before, and she wasn't about to stop now.
She ate, standing up, washing it down with a quick glass of water before tidying the small space. In the bathroom, her reflection stared back at her for the first time that day. Large, black eyes blinked in the mirror. People often called her beautiful, even striking, but she never quite believed them. All she saw was the same face she'd carried from her old life to this new one in New York. With a shake of her head, she slipped out of her oversized pyjama shirt and stepped into the shower.
Later, Susan crossed the busy road toward the coffee shop, where she worked the ground floor of a five-story building, mostly serving the office workers upstairs. Customers came and went in a steady stream, sometimes ordering deliveries, sometimes lingering just long enough for a caffeine fix.
Her name tag read Susan D. Johnson, as she stood behind the counter, a practised smile fixed on her face. She wore it effortlessly, though she never truly felt it.
For twenty-three years, she had drifted through life in shadow, always following someone else's lead from the orphanage to community college, from her first boyfriend to the last one, the man who nearly killed her, a man she knows is turning the world upside down to find her. But that pain had shaped her into who she was now: a woman determined to live with her own mind and ambition to never be found by the monster that have her constantly looking over her shoulder in fear.
Across New York, in the wealthier residential district, inside a gleaming penthouse, Christian C. Lopez broke another woman's heart.
He listened impassively as she hurled insults, words he had heard countless times before. When she stormed out, he turned away without regret, retreating to his bedroom to prepare for work.
Tall, broad-shouldered, and flawlessly put together, Christian wore power like a second skin. His tanned complexion glowed against tailored suits that seemed crafted just for him. Waves of dark hair framed a face so perfect it lured women in straight into the arms of a man whose heart was colder than steel.
As his driver manoeuvred through the morning traffic, Christian scrolled through the schedule his assistant had emailed. His first meeting of the day was with his least favourite person: his aunt, May, Spoiled, entitled, and meddling. She insisted on interfering in his life.
He disliked her almost as much as he despised the woman who had broken his heart two years ago. At thirty, he had been ready to settle down, foolish enough to believe Stephanie was the one. He had even dreamed of building a family with her. But she had betrayed him, and the humiliation had hardened him further.
His aunt still tried to push him toward her friend's daughter, but Christian had no patience for schemes. If murder were legal, Stephanie would have been two years in the ground already.
Christian walked into the room, and she was already there perched like the world bent to her will. He rolled his eyes and made his presence known.
"Why?" she began abruptly.
He paused, surprised. That's new, he thought. His aunt had always been unpredictable, bratty in the way of a teenage girl.
"What?" he asked flatly, continuing toward his chair. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat down.
"I have another meeting in five minutes," he said. "Please, Aunt May, what do you want?" His voice dropped with deliberate weight on the last four words.
The woman pouted. "I moved out of my apartment."
Christian just stared at her, waiting for the rest.
"It's too small. The views are terrible," she went on.
"What do you want?" he sighed, clearly uninterested.
"Can I stay at your…."
"No." His voice cut her off, final and sharp.
"The Lopez estate is there," he added. "Nobody occupies your wing of the estate. Will that be all?" He left no room for argument.
But he should have expected her whining.
"You know I can't stand Jane! She's insane."
"Then you'll fit together perfectly," he said coolly, glancing at his expensive watch.
"I have a meeting. If that's all, leave."
"You should treat family differently," she huffed, chin raised as she stormed out.
"Sure," he muttered, pressing the intercom.
His PA, a man in his late thirties, appeared.
"May Lopez should not appear on my schedule again," he ordered.
"Yes, sir. Anything else?"
He waved him away without looking. To him, people were interchangeable, hardly worth his regard.
Later, his mood shifted. The night held promise, a house party. Drinks, distraction, and a new body to warm his bed. As his car took him back to the penthouse, he felt anticipation building.
At 3:30, Susan removed her apron and left the coffee shop, heading to her second job. The Beast, a nightclub only a few blocks away, was the loudest place she'd ever worked.
When she arrived, it was quiet staff still setting up, soft music pulsing through the dark space. She dropped her bag in the locker room.
"Just who I was looking for."
Susan turned. The manager, Mrs. Smith stood glittering under fluorescent lights, her eyeshadow always loud enough to be seen across the room.
"Good evening, Mrs. Smith," Susan said politely.
"Nonsense. Call me Vanilla." The woman grinned, though Susan forced a smile in return. Vanilla was forty, yet insisted on nicknames like a teenager.
"We're going out tonight," Vanilla announced with a cheer, thrusting a revealing dress into Susan's hands. Susan's stomach sank. The last party she'd attended had ended with a man trying to grope her.
"You don't look happy," Vanilla teased.
Susan smiled again, hiding her unease. She needed this paycheck, every cent of it.
"It's in the rich part of town," Vanilla continued, eyes glittering as much as her makeup. "And guess what? Chris C. Lopez himself will be there. Not that he'll notice you, but still!"
Susan bit her tongue. She didn't dare ask questions. Vanilla loved to overshare.
"Of course. I'll change into this," Susan said with a polite nod, heading for the bathroom.
She stared at herself in the mirror, taking short breaths, rolling her shoulders, forcing composure. In the stall, she slipped into the maroon two-piece a crop top with thin straps and a long skirt slit high up her thigh. She turned away from the mirror, refusing to admit how the outfit clung to her curves, revealing more than she ever wanted. She had never accepted her beauty, never embraced the shape others envied.
The party wasn't the wild chaos she expected. it started elegant... but as the night wore on, inhibitions loosened. The crowd was wealthy, refined, and uninterested in her. That comforted her. She poured champagne, refilled glasses, and served with a polite smile, completely unaware of the eyes locked on her.
Christian had arrived late, as usual. He never went to parties early. His best friend Michael greeted him with champagne, and soon Christian was surrounded by men eager to win his favour, shoving business proposals into casual conversation. It fed his arrogance.
But then she appeared.