Lola gripped the phone, unbothered that she was only in a bloody towel. She walked stealthily, keeping her eyes on the group of men approaching the bathroom door. She approached the door on her tiptoes.
Taking advantage of their distraction, she tiptoed out of the bedroom. Though her steps were short, she moved fast, and each step was silent. She had already confronted one assailant, but against all of them? Lola didn't have a death wish.
In her mind, if there weren't anyone downstairs, she would go straight outside the penthouse. Ideally, avoiding a confrontation was the best route. However, part of her knew she was being too optimistic.
And she was right. When Lola reached the mezzanine, she saw a figure idling near the railing.
She leaned against the hallway, taking advantage of the darkness. She closed her eyes for a moment, weighing her options. When she opened them, she knew she had only one option: fight.
Fight and survive—just like she had done all these years.
