Miranda's POV
I hurried across the campus quad, backpack slung over one shoulder, dodging clusters of students glued to their phones. The morning sun filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the path to my lecture hall. Sociology class started in five minutes, and I couldn't afford to be late again. Not with midterms looming like a storm cloud.
Inside the room, I slid into my usual seat next to Sarah and Jake, my study buddies from last semester. Sarah was scribbling notes already, her curly hair tied back in a messy bun. Jake lounged back, tapping a pen against his knee.
"Hey, Miranda," Sarah whispered as the professor droned on about social structures. "You ready for that psych exam? I pulled an all-nighter, and I'm still clueless on Freud."
I chuckled softly, keeping my voice low. "Tell me about it. I've been cramming, but my brain's fried. Living with Aunt Carla isn't helping. She's been so weird lately—barely talks to me since Mom and Dad's accident. It's like I'm invisible unless she needs something."
Jake leaned in, eyebrows raised. "That sucks. My folks are annoying, but at least they're around. You okay? Need a place to crash if it gets bad?"
I shook my head, forcing a smile. "Nah, I'm managing. Just focusing on grades. Gotta keep that scholarship."
The lecture dragged on, but we whispered back and forth, venting about tests and sharing tips. By the time the bell rang, I felt a bit lighter. We gathered our stuff and headed out together.
"See you in the library later?" Sarah asked, hugging her books.
"Definitely," I replied. "Bring coffee."
As we spilled out onto the lawn, the day felt normal—until it wasn't. A line of sleek black luxury vehicles rolled up to the curb, engines purring like contented cats. They looked out of place here, shiny and expensive amid the beat-up student cars.
Sarah nudged me. "Whoa, check that out. Some celebrity visiting?"
Before I could answer, two guys in sharp suits stepped out from the lead sedan. They scanned the crowd, then zeroed in on me. My stomach twisted. They approached fast, expressions blank.
"Miranda Hayes?" the taller one said, his voice flat but firm.
I froze. "Uh, yeah? What's going on?"
"Your aunt sent us. Family emergency. You need to come with us right now."
Emergency? Aunt Carla? My mind raced. She hadn't mentioned anything this morning when I left for class. "What kind of emergency? Is she okay? And where did all these car comes from?"
"No time to explain," the other guy cut in, glancing around. "Let's go."
I backed up a step. "Hold on, I need to call her first."
They exchanged looks, then the tall one grabbed my arm gently but insistently. "Phone call is not necessary right, she's waiting, so come on."
Panic surged. "Hey! Let go!" I yanked away, my voice rising to a shout. "Help! These guys are trying to grab me!"
Heads turned. Students paused, murmuring. A couple of teachers nearby frowned but didn't move. Jake stepped forward. "Dude, back off! And who the hell are you?"
The suited man ignored him, tightening his grip. "Miss Hayes, don't make this harder."
Sarah pulled out her phone. "I'm calling campus security! Hold on Miranda!"
But the display of wealth seemed to cow everyone. Whispers rippled: "Those cars... must be important." No one intervened. The men hustled me toward the vehicle, my screams echoing futilely.
"Stop! Please, somebody help! Help me please, they're taking me away!"
The door swung open, and they pushed me inside onto plush leather seats. The lock clicked as we sped off. My heart hammered against my ribs.
Inside the car, I fumbled for my phone in my bag. "I'm calling my aunt on you all because this is crazy!"
The driver glanced in the rearview. "Signal's blocked for security, please relax, miss. It's a short ride."
Blocked? What the hell? I tried anyway— no bars, no service. I banged on the window. "Let me out! This is kidnapping! I'm going sue you!"
The guy next to me sighed. "It's not kidnapping, your aunt arranged it, so sit tight and you're not suing anyone."
Tears stung my eyes as buildings blurred past. Where were they taking me? Aunt Carla had been acting strange, sure—snapping at me, disappearing for hours—but this? My parents' crash six months ago had left me with her, and things had gone downhill fast. Was she in trouble? Or was I?
The city gave way to winding roads, then gated estates. Finally, we pulled up to a massive house—no, a palace—sprawling across manicured lawns. Towers of stone and glass gleamed under the afternoon light.
The door opened, and they escorted me out, hands firm on my elbows. "This way."
I stumbled along, legs shaky. "Where am I? What's happening?"
No answer, we entered through grand double doors into a foyer that screamed money: marble floors, crystal chandeliers, artwork that probably cost more than my tuition.
And there, in the center, stood Aunt Carla. She clutched a bulky briefcase, her lips curled in a chilly grin. Relief flooded me at first—thank God, she was here. But then I noticed the cash peeking from the case's edge. Stacks of bills.
"Aunt Carla! What's going on? These guys dragged me here!"
Her eyes flicked over me, detached. Beside her, a man emerged from the shadows—tall, chiseled jaw, dark hair perfectly styled. He was stunning, like a model from a magazine, but his gaze pinned me in place, hungry and intense.
Albert Mondragon, I realized somehow, though I'd never met him. The name floated in my mind from tabloid whispers. And that look... it sent a shiver down my spine, not entirely from fear.
Aunt Carla's smile widened, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Miranda, darling. Welcome to your new beginning."
The man, Albert—stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. His eyes locked onto mine, dark and commanding, like he already owned me.
I swallowed hard, the air thick with unspoken danger.