Prologue

The cutting wind of the early morning stung my skin as I crossed the gardens of the Mendonza mansion, my heart pounding so fast it felt like a suffocating pressure in my chest.

Each step echoed in the darkness, a reminder that I was alone in this attempt to escape. At any moment, one of the guards could spot me and stop me. But the possibility of being caught wasn’t enough to make me stop.

I had to get out before sunrise—before my fate was sealed forever.

All I knew was that I had to run.

I had to escape the life Diego had decided for me. I tried to hold back the tears as I ran toward the garage. The promise of freedom burned like a weak flame inside me, something I knew could be extinguished at any second.

I reached the black car—the only one I knew was unlocked. My hands trembled as I tried to hotwire it. I had read something about forcing the ignition to start a car without a key, and though I wasn’t sure how it actually worked, I was desperate enough to try.

But my hands were shaking more and more. Panic and anxiety rose in a wave I couldn’t control. The adrenaline that had once pushed me forward now felt like it was swallowing me whole, a crushing weight on my chest, making it hard to breathe.

I started hyperventilating, my body frozen. My hands clutched the steering wheel, incapable of following through with the plan that now felt insane and doomed to fail.

“No… not now…” I whispered, feeling my heart race even faster. My chest rose and fell uncontrollably, and a shiver took over me.

Every time I tried to breathe, the air slipped away, like my lungs couldn’t hold anything in.

The world around me began to fade, the edges of my vision darkening until all I could see was the dashboard and the reflection of my face—pure desperation.

Suddenly, I heard a male voice beside me.

“Hey, are you okay?”

I turned my head sharply, still trembling, and saw a man standing there, his eyes fixed on me with a steady, attentive gaze. His presence startled me so much I thought I might pass out.

He stepped closer slowly, raising his hands in a peaceful gesture, as if trying to show me he meant no harm.

“Breathe, okay? Just take a deep breath,” he said, his voice calm, almost soothing.

Those words made me try—but my body wouldn’t obey.

It was like I was trapped in a nightmare, in a panic I couldn’t escape.

He noticed it, and without waiting, walked around to the passenger side and got into the car. He closed the door and reached out gently, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“Look at me,” he said, his tone firm yet gentle enough to make me focus on his face. His eyes were dark, intense, but held a strange calm—almost hypnotic. “Take a deep breath. In slowly… and out.”

I stared at him, still hesitant, but slowly I began to try what he said. I inhaled and exhaled, feeling the tension gradually loosen.

He kept his hand on my shoulder, and though I didn’t know why, that simple touch made me feel safer.

“That’s it. Keep breathing. Slow and steady,” he whispered, his voice like a balm.

Little by little, the world around me began to return to normal. My vision adjusted, and air finally filled my lungs. I let out a shaky sigh and rested my forehead against the steering wheel, exhausted.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, still too weak to meet his eyes. “I… I had to get out of here. I need to run before they force me to marry a man who’s considered a monster.”

The stranger was silent for a moment, as if absorbing what I’d just said. I was still tense, but the panic had passed—thanks to him.

“Marry against your will?” he asked, with a tone of genuine curiosity laced with something I couldn’t quite decipher.

I nodded, still unable to meet his gaze.

“My stepfather… he wants me to marry Javier Herrera, the heir to the rival cartel,” I said, venom dripping from my words. “This marriage… it’s a nightmare. I can’t. I just can’t.”

As I said it, I finally looked at the man beside me. He watched me with an unreadable expression, but there was something in his eyes—an intensity that made me nervous. The way he looked at me, it was as if he already knew everything I’d just said.

“Running away may not be the solution you’re hoping for,” he said, his voice low and serious. “Do you have any idea what would happen to your family if you left?”

I lowered my head, knowing he was right. Running meant leaving my mother and sister at Diego Montoya’s mercy. I knew the price would be high for them, but still—the fear of that marriage was eating me alive.

“I don’t know what to do,” I admitted, tears pooling in my eyes.

He was silent for a moment, then gently placed his hand over mine, which was still clenched around the steering wheel.

“Sometimes, it’s not so simple to escape certain fates. Especially when others depend on us,” he said, his voice calm and steady. “But maybe facing the situation is the first step to changing something, even if it’s small.”

I took a deep breath, trying to absorb his words. There was wisdom in them—something that calmed me, even if the thought of returning to the mansion still felt unbearable.

“Go back home,” he suggested, his voice surprisingly gentle. “As hard as it is, maybe this isn’t the right time to run. You might be acting too fast.”

Somehow, those words hit me deep. The anger and desperation were still there, but he’d planted a seed of doubt, a small hesitation that made me reconsider.

I let out a long sigh, drained, and finally nodded slowly. I knew he was right. Leaving without a plan could end badly for everyone. But part of me still resisted—still ached from the pain of a lost freedom.

Before opening the door to leave, I looked at him, curious.

“I don’t even know your name.”

He looked back at me, and a small smile curved his lips. It wasn’t kind, nor threatening—but it carried a cruel, hidden truth.

“Javier,” he said slowly, savoring the impact of the revelation. “Javier Herrera.”

A chill ran down my spine.

My whole body froze, and I felt the blood drain from my veins.

He… he was Javier Herrera. The man I had just confessed I hated. The man I was being forced to marry. And he had heard every desperate word I said about that marriage.

He took my hand again—the same one I had clutched to the wheel in fear—and his gaze locked onto mine with a dark, almost possessive intensity.

“You’d better go back home, Camille,” he murmured, his voice soft, but with a tone that felt more like a command disguised as advice. “I’ll see you soon.”

Without another word, he opened the door and stepped out, leaving me there—alone and paralyzed.