LUCIANA VARGAS

I can't shake off the strange feeling in my gut. Am I expecting bad news? Yes. Considering what my life has become lately…

It's not every day you realize your life has been a mystery. That everyone around you has been keeping secrets. Secrets that involve a huge part of your entire existence.

My mind is flooded with thoughts of recent revelations as I drive back home. I knew my parents were not saints. What I didn’t expect was for them to be cold-hearted monsters. How could they? And how do they even sleep at night after what they did?

It's a miracle when I get home without causing an accident, considering how occupied my mind has been throughout the drive. However, the environment that greets me is nothing like what I’d expected. I didn't have a clear vision of my expectations, but it wasn’t a semblance of peace.

Paula, my nanny, had called about half an hour ago. She sounded strange.

“Something happened to your mother,” she’d said, stuttering. “You need to get back home as soon as possible.”

Then she hung up immediately. I tried to call back a few seconds later, but it went straight to voicemail. Strange, right?

Why would she tell me that and then go silent? The whole situation makes me uneasy. This looks like a typical day at the Vargas Manor. No signs of any bizarre situation. A few guards walking around with guns–yeah, that’s normal for us. Others, holding their weapons, stand alert at various entrances.

Ignoring all the ordinary activities, I rush into the manor. The inside of the house isn't any different from the outside. Everything is just as typical, which heightens my confusion. The maids are walking around, performing their usual duties.

If something really happened to my mother, there should be whispers going around, right? Yet the world is oddly…quiet.

Perhaps I’m the one who's overthinking? What if mother just fell ill? I know she's the last person I should be worrying about, but I can’t help it. I still find reasons to care, despite the recent discoveries about my parents. Discoveries I haven’t fully processed.

The first place I run to is their bedroom, but I find no one. If she’s not here, then…

Maybe I should find Paula first. It was strange of her to hang up on me.

I search for her in different corners of the house, but she's nowhere to be found. When I ask the other maids, all of them tell me almost the same thing.

“I saw her leave a while ago.”

“I haven't seen her since morning.”

“Paula? I have no idea.”

“We rarely talk.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Urgh..

I can sense something is wrong. I know something is amiss, but I don’t know what exactly. Paula called to tell me about mother, and she's not home. And where's that mother? And why isn’t anyone telling me anything?

My mind is racing with a million thoughts per second. I’m about to take a seat in the living room, to try to put my thoughts in order, when I remember one place I haven't checked. A very important place. The study.

How could I skip that one?

Clouded brain, that’s how.

Surprisingly, my father is around. For someone whose wife I'm worried about, he looks…calm.

What the hell is going on?

He lifts his head, shifting his attention from the paperwork on his desk.

“What's going on?” I ask, approaching his desk.

He takes off his reading glasses. A few seconds pass before he answers, like he's been thinking hard about my question. “Thank goodness you’re here. I thought you’d never come back.”

In case you think my father is relieved to see me back home because he’s been worried, newsflash, you’re wrong. We’ve had a strenuous relationship for a while now. I might as well call myself an asset in his eyes. And I’m not even hyperbolizing.

“What do you mean?” I narrow my eyes. “Where’s Paula? And where's…mother?”

He clears his throat and rests his elbows on the desk. His nonchalance should be the final indication that mother is truly okay. “My wife is fine,” he confirms. “She's running errands to make sure the plan goes perfectly.”

But Paula said…

I blink a few times. Genuinely confused. “What plan?” I ask.

“Plans to save the family.”

“Save the family from what?”

“It’s not a matter of what…Who.” His eyes bore into mine. The look in his eyes shows the gravity of the situation, which sends my heart racing.

“I don’t follow,” I say.

He scoffs and then shakes his head. “I didn’t raise you to be stupid. I’m talking about Dario Morata. Open your eyes, Luciana.”

Oh.

A soft laugh escapes my lips, and it annoys him even more.

“You think this is funny?”

“Well, it’s almost funny. That’s why I didn’t laugh out loud.”

“We're on the edge of a blood war. Dario Morata won't stop until he's eliminated all of us. Which is why we need to make some things happen.”

Some things?

“You know we wouldn't be in this situation if your greed for power hadn’t taken a turn for the worse. How could you—”

“I don't have time for this, Luciana,” he cuts me short. “You've been quite the troublemaker. I've tried to be patient. By now, we both know that’s not a virtue I possess. I tried with you.” He points out.

Those are the most ridiculous words I’ve heard today. I’m the troublemaker? I sigh, gripping the nearby chair.

“You just don’t get it.” He massages his temples. “The Moratas and the Vargas can never co-exist. You’re not going to betray us at the climax of a deadly war.”

“Betray you?” I laugh. “You expect me to side with you after what I just discovered?”

“Then you leave me no choice,” he mutters.

I cock a brow.

“Boys!” he yells.

It takes a few seconds to realize the last part wasn't for me. Three beefy men walk into the room to join us.

After a short glance, I turn back to my father. “What's this?”

“Part of the plan. Something to make sure you stick to our side.”

“What?” I can’t believe I was still holding a tiny bit of hope for my family. I never learn, do I?

“Do you know who came up with this genius plan?” asks my father.

I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know, but he’s going to tell me anyway.

“Vicente.” He announces, a proud smile spreading on his face.

“That evil traitor,” I spit.

“Traitor?” He laughs. “It won’t hurt to look in the mirror, Luciana. Vicente’s loyalty to this family is unmistakable. Unlike you. It took what, one kiss from Dario, and you forgot your family?”

It wasn’t just one kiss. Hell, it wasn’t just a kiss.

“Family?” I shoot back. “And are you seriously placing Vicente and loyalty in the same sentence?”

He snorts and leans back. “Well, his plan is going to work like a charm. You’ll see. I told you, the guy was smart after all.”

What does my father see in him? He’s a manipulative bastard. It won’t be long before he stabs him in the back. That shouldn’t be my concern right now. My father’s words are alarming.

“I hate to admit it, but Dario Morata is a smart man,” he continues his rant. “The moves he’s pulled—” He shakes his head as an evil laugh escapes his lips. “Which is why, if we're going to win this war, we'll have to think smarter to beat him to it.”

What’s this big plan? And why does it feel like Dario is in danger?

I should warn him.

I suddenly feel the need to rush out of my father's office to find Dario, and warn him of the impending danger. He’ll definitely find a way to counter-attack. However, my father’s next words leave me stunned.

“Paula, is okay. For now. But whatever happens to her next is entirely dependent on you.”

My heart sinks. A million possibilities swirl through my brain. The knots in my stomach tighten with every word that leaves his lips.

What plan has my diabolical father cooked up?

“What have you done—”

“Take her away,” he orders the heavyset men before I can probe.

The next thing I know, a hand grabs me from the back. Just when I want to retaliate, a wet cloth covers my mouth and nose, suffocating the hell out of me. A sharp, unfriendly smell hits my nose. He presses so hard, cutting my air. I’ve never wanted to live so badly until this moment. Am I going to die?

I grab the man’s wrist, fighting for my dear life. My energy isn't anything close to his. I groan in frustration.

I struggle to break free for a while—in vain.

Then I see black.

LUCIANA

Change.

They say change is inevitable. But sometimes I ask myself: at what cost?

It’s safe to say my life was once normal-ish. There was a routine in my family that looked normal. And by that, I mean, waking up, going to work and coming back home in the evening for dinner, business meetings, business trips, busy parents, outings with friends…

The little laughters felt like home.

Until the melody began to fade away. Slowly.

It all began when the family company was on the verge of collapsing, and it felt like I was using my hands to hold it together, which was stressing the hell out of me.

It was almost as if someone had suddenly unleashed an attack on the Vargas family.

And it all started three months ago.

Yes, three months ago.

*

*

*

THREE MONTHS AGO

I’m sinking into a bottomless pit. The harder I try to fight my way back up, the faster I am sucked into the void, like a vortex from which I cannot escape.

My savior is only an inch out of reach. I try to grasp his hand, but just as our fingers brush, two mean-looking men the size of polar bears appear beside him, and one lands his beefy hand on my savior’s shoulder. In the blink of an eye, they are gone, and I fall rapidly into the darkness.

“Luciana,” a gentle, yet panicked voice whispers in my ear. “Wake up.”

I jolt up as I force my eyes open. Through my haze, I notice a familiar figure sitting on my bed.

“Dylan?” I whisper, blinking the drowsiness away.

She makes a show of looking down at her chest. Last time I checked, I was a woman, and my name is Paula.

Her joke is lost in the void, much like I was in the dream I just woke up from.

“Are you having nightmares again?” She feels my forehead.

Nightmares…is that what it was? It felt so real. I know dreams are insane and often make no sense, but it felt like much more than that.

Paula shuffles out of my room and returns with a glass of water and painkillers.

“I’m fine,” I tell her.

“What you are is far from fine if you're having nightmares, Luciana,” she says sternly, practically shoving the water in my face so I can drink it.

It’s only when I take the first sip that I realize how thirsty I am, and I end up gulping the whole thing in a few huge swings.

The recurring nightmares only worsen when I’m stressed, and between trying to save my family's company and several clients canceling on me, the last few weeks have been hectic. I’d explain this to Paula, but she would still make a mountain out of a molehill.

When I try to get out of bed, she presses my shoulder down. “You need to rest, young woman. You were up working late last night.”

I give her the look that lets her know not even chains of steel can keep me down. She gives up, but says, “Have some breakfast, at least. I’ll make you some of those sunny-side-ups you love, and if you say no, I’ll shove them down your throat.”

I smile. She's talking about the sunny-side-ups she used to make, with pineapple pieces on the edges. With two strawberries on the face and a banana a few inches beneath them, my breakfast plate would resemble a smiling sun.

She’s one of the best things that has ever happened in my life, even if she thinks I’m still six.

I’ve freshened up by the time Paula returns with my breakfast, and I’m sitting on the couch, pondering a new strategy.

She places the plate on the coffee table before me as she mutters, “If this is about Vicente again…”

I laugh at her unfinished threat.

“That's water under the bridge, Paula.”

She nods and leaves, but her words linger in my mind. Vicente who?

I’m trying to save a famous multimillion-dollar company—it may be on the verge of bankruptcy, but it used to be the only real estate agency anyone worth mentioning would look to.

Am I grasping at straws?

I know I am. Vargas Real Estate is a sinking ship, and my efforts will probably go to waste. But if it keeps me from thinking about my traitorous ex-boyfriend, it's a welcome distraction.

_________

I’m about to head off for work, but not before having a word with my dad. I walk to his study.

He's been juggling between reviving VRE and the new Construction Company project he's been working on for months. He calls that his Plan B.

He’s on the phone when I poke my head in, but he waves me over and ends the call soon after.

“Looks like I’m not the only one pulling all-nighters around here,” I tease, nodding to the documents strewn all over his desk. One of us is going to give the worrisome Paula a stroke.

“Just an early bird.” He adjusts the rims of his glasses. I realize he has grown a few more wrinkles in the last few weeks, and it gnaws at me. I need to put VRE back on its feet pronto.

“So,” I take a seat. “Caught any worms, yet?”

“Someone got to it before me.” He knits his brows in frustration, but attempts a smile when he looks at me. “How’s it going with you?”

“Same old. It must be because I wasn't the early bird.” I attempt a joke to lighten the mood, but the situation is too dire to be pushed under the rug.

He doesn't ask for details, but his disappointment is apparent—not in me. I know he blames himself somehow, when none of this is his fault. Times change, and we just happen to be on the wrong side of it this time.

I promise myself to revive VRE by hook or crook.

______

When I enter my office, my secretary follows me in, and I look at her over my shoulder.

“You look like you have good news for me. Did some billionaire perhaps get redirected to the wrong website and end up booking an appointment with us?”

She winces through a forced smile, and I don't need a verbal answer. We have been too down on our luck for such a miracle to happen.

“So what grenade exploded in our kitchen this morning?” I ask as I sit at my desk, as if that will help me brace for the inevitable bad news.

“The Coopers’ attorney sent a contract termination letter.”

“How could they? It's not even been—” never mind. There's no point arguing. It was bound to happen sooner or later, as usual.

Sofia is still standing before me, her clipboard clutched tightly close to her chest.

“Anything else?” I probe.

“Someone has been waiting for you in the conference room.” She mutters, sneaking a glance at the door like she's ready to bolt out in avoidance of my wrath.

She’s acting quite strange for someone who's worked for me so long that we've become more like friends than boss and employee.

“Is it the Grim Reaper or something?”

“I think you should see him for yourself,” she says and quickly retreats.

“Give me ten minutes and then let him in,” I tell her.

I use the time to check my emails in case I've missed anything.

So far, my inbox is exactly the way I left it—as empty as my ex-boyfriend’s ability to come up with a believable excuse.

I'm sailing on a ship of thoughts when the door cracks open. I expect Sofia to be back with more news, but what meets my eye is someone I would rather poke my eyes out than see.

“What are you doing here, Vicente?”

“My morning has been great. Thanks for asking.” He struts in like he owns the place, as though I owe him a second out of my busy day.

Can we reverse time back to when Sofia announced someone was here to see me? I would prefer meeting the Grim Reaper to this dork, thank you very much.

He makes himself comfortable in the seat opposite me, usually reserved for clients. If I knew he was coming, I would line it with cactus.

“I have a solution to your problems,” he offers, opening his arms wide and glancing down at his chest. “Me.”

LUCIANA

The distaste I feel must be evident on my face, because he frowns in irritation. “I am just trying to help, Luciana!”

“I don’t need it.” I’m on the verge of losing the battle against my anger. What makes him think he has the right to strut into this building like he owns it, order my staff around, and tell me what to do?

My family’s company may be teetering on the edge of bankruptcy, but that doesn’t justify any of his actions. Maybe I would be more willing to accept a lending hand if the man offering it wasn’t the same one I found rolling in bed with a real estate agent in the very house we were supposed to move into.

I would rather make a deal with the devil.

He’s looking at me like I’m the unreasonable one, as though I should be overjoyed to get help from him. He sighs in frustration and says, “Look, Luciana. I know what I did was wrong, and I have apologized for it a thousand times.”

I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off.

“Are you going to let your parents’ hard work go to waste just because you don’t want to speak to me?”

What I don’t want is to stare at the man who betrayed everything we had and called it a ‘one-time mistake’, but whatever floats his boat. I cross my arms. “We will get clients soon enough.”

The chortle that leaves his mouth must have been unintentional. He covers his mouth awkwardly but can’t take it back, so he clears his throat. “What clients? Everyone is checking out listings online these days. It would be best if you sold what is left of VRE and—”

Sofia interrupts by opening the door, thankfully. She pokes her head in. “Luciana, there’s a Mr. Morata here to see you. I can’t find his name on the booking list, but he swears he made an appointment online with you.”

I shoot a look at my perplexed ex. “You were saying?”

He huffs, swiping imaginary lint off the shoulder of his cashmere sweater. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

I bite my tongue to stop myself from responding to his jinx.

“Yeah, sure.” I roll my eyes. Why did I ever think I’d struck the jackpot with him? I must have messed with a higher power in my previous incarnation to receive this kind of retribution. “I hope you remember your way out. I have an important client to tend to.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but the look I shoot him shuts him up.

‘Don’t let the door hit your ass on your way out.’

I return to my emails—my inbox may be empty, but I would rather answer non-existent messages than listen to Vicente.

When the door opens again, I’m on the verge of groaning when I look up and realize Vicente is not back as I feared. An Adonis is standing before me, looking dashing in a crisp, black three-piece suit. He stands there wordlessly for a while, making me wonder if he mistook my office for a modelling agency—he certainly looks like a model, even if he is dressed like one of those imposing lawyers I’ve had to deal with lately.

The thought of yet another lawyer makes me want to curse. What is it this time?

I don’t have it in me to be friendly. “May I help you, sir?”

“I need a house as soon as possible,” he says.

I’m about to tell him to hand over whatever legal documents he has when my brain registers what he just said. A what?

Sofia did say someone booked an appointment with me. Unless my sanity is farther gone than I thought, we haven’t had anyone ask about us, leave alone book an appointment.

I try my luck nonetheless. “Mr. Morata?”

“That seems to surprise you.” He cracks a smile.

He should do that often.

On second thought, he shouldn’t. I’m already having enough lapses in my brain’s functionality without factoring in the sight of man who looks like a walking aphrodisiac.

His brown hair is neatly combed back, save for a few strands that hang over his face right beneath his brows. They must have defied whatever overpriced pomade he used, but they add charm to his already heaven-defying looks.

I find myself lost in his looks for a tad longer than is professionally acceptable before I remember my manners and stand. I circle my desk and offer my hand in greeting.

“There was a slight mix-up. I’m sorry.”

He casts those ocean-blue eyes at me, making me shiver slightly, although I’m sure it’s quite warm in the office. “You have nothing to be sorry about, Miss…?”

“Luciana Vargas,” I supplement.

He shakes my hand, and I have to pretend not to notice how his hand covers mine. He is much taller than me, so I look up to meet his eyes. Our gazes lock for a few heartbeats, my hand still in his. He doesn’t look like he has any intention of letting go anytime soon.

Not that I’m complaining, but we have to get started on finding that house if there’s any chance to get the job done today.

He lets go of my hand just as I’m about to retract it, so I offer the visitors’ seat opposite my chair. “Make yourself comfortable, Mr. Morata.”

He still looks imposing when he sits, and I’m beginning to question how my brain will function while looking at that handsome face.

“Thank you, Miss Vargas.”

There’s something odd about the way he says my name, but I don’t have time to dwell on it.

I take out a writing pad and click my pen as I ask, “Tell me about yourself.”

I wait a few moments for him to speak and look up when I don’t hear a response, only to find him staring at me with that charming smile.

“Why do you need to get to know me? Your job is to find me a house.”

“This is how I do my job. I have to know details that will help me pair you with the perfect house.”

He pushes his chair back and stands, making me wonder what I did to shoo this one off so fast. All I did was ask one question.

Seeing my confusion, he explains as he heads to the left side of my office, my mini-resting lounge, sparsely furnished with a couch and coffee table. “The chair is too stiff, and you did tell me to make myself comfortable.” He slouches on the couch and kicks his legs up on the armrest, crossing them at his ankles.

‘Get your legs off—’ I don’t finish my thought. Clients can have their quirks sometimes, and this man could be the key to saving Vargas Real Estate. Besides, those perfectly polished shoes probably cost twice as much as the couch.

Once he is as comfortable as he prefers, he flashes me a goofy grin. “You were saying something, Miss Vargas.”

I’m lost for words. I may not be a fortune teller, but I know this is going to be an intense roller coaster.