Rain slapped the windshield harder. Camela couldn't stop shaking. Her hands gripped the edge of the backseat tightly. Her dress was soaked, her bare feet were numb."Is he still following?" she askedThe woman driving—Cynthia, she had introduced herself—checked the mirror. "No sign of him now."Camela turned, her heart pounding. There was nothing but a dark road behind them."He was there," she whispered. "I saw him."Cynthia's voice remained calm. "You're safe now.""No, I'm not," Camela replied. "Not with him out there."The phone buzzed again in her lap.Unknown caller.Camela didn't answer.Cynthia's eyes flicked to the phone. "Do you want me to throw it out the window?"Camela remained silent. Instead, she opened the door just a little and tossed the phone out into the storm.Cynthia nodded. "Good girl."But Camela didn't feel good. She felt like prey.They arrived at a small-town police station, where a single streetlight flickered above the building. Cynthia opened Camela's door. "Come on. These guys will help you," she saidCamela stepped out, holding the torn skirt of her dress like it still meant something. Inside, the warmth hit her like a wave.A sleepy-looking officer stood behind the desk. "Can I help—oh." His eyes landed on her bruised cheek and ripped gown.Cynthia spoke first. "She's in trouble. Big trouble."Camela stepped forward. "I need protection," she said. "From Vincent Castellano."The officer blinked. "You mean… the Castellanos? The wealthy ones?"Camela's jaw tightened. "Yes."He hesitated. "I'll call the sheriff."Call whoever you want," she said. "Just don't let him near me." The sheriff arrived twenty minutes later. He was an older man with a tired expression who pulled Camela into a side room."You want to tell me what's going on?" he asked."He locked me in his house," she said. "Told everyone we were engaged. My father… made the deal. I didn't have a choice."The sheriff looked down at his notepad. "You've got bruises. But do you have proof?"Camela frowned. "What kind of question is that?""I mean written proof—video, witnesses.""I have a journal," she said. "I wrote everything down.""Where is it?" The sheriff asked "Hidden."The sheriff sighed. "Look, Miss Siegel. I don't doubt you. But people like Vincent… they don't get scared of the law. They own the law."Camela leaned forward. "So you're saying you won't help?""I'm saying we have to be careful," he said. "Or someone ends up missing."She stood. "Then I'll help myself."The police begin building a public case—but they don't believe herCynthia pulled up outside a dusty roadside motel. The neon sign blinked weakly. "This is where I leave you," she said softly.Camela turned to her. "You don't have to go. You can come in. Just for tonight."Cynthia shook her head. "I've helped you as far as I can. But people like Vincent… they don't forget faces."Camela's throat tightened. "Thank you."Cynthia gave her a quick hug before driving off.The apartment was quiet—too quiet. A "safehouse," the sheriff had called it. It looked like a retired bachelor's basement: dust on the furniture, blinds half-closed, cold air, and dead silence.Camela walked up to the front desk, her head lowered. Room for one," she said.The man behind the glass window barely looked at her. He slid her a key: Room 6.She shut the door behind her and locked it twice. Then she pulled the chair to the door, heart racing, ears ringing.She hadn't eaten all day but she was too scared to care, Sitting on the bed with her knees pulled to her chest, she waited.Alone in her room, Camela stared at the wall. The safehouse bedroom was plain, but in her mind, she was back in his house—back in that cold, elegant room with no lock from the inside.His voice still echoed in her head. "Smile for the cameras, darling. Don't forget whose bride you are."The memory snapped forward to a dinner party. His hand on her waist—tight, controlling."Don't talk to the waiter again," he had whispered with a smile."Why not?" she had askedHis voice remained sweet. "Because I don't like it when my things flirt."She tried to laugh it off, tried to pull away, but he had leaned closer. "You're not going to make me angry in front of guests, are you?"No one noticed the tension in her jaw. No one saw her fingers dig into her arm beneath the tablecloth. Vincent stood, raised a glass, and toasted to her beauty like a charming prince. Everyone clapped.That was the moment she knew—no one would ever believe her.That night, a knock on the safehouse door jolted Camela from her sleep. It was the sheriff."Someone's here to see you," he said, looking uneasy. Her stomach dropped. Then she saw him. Her father Mayor Siegel. He looked tired and pale, still wearing the expensive watch Vincent had gifted him.Camela stood frozen."Camela," he said softly.She didn't move.He stepped forward. "I know you're angry.""That's not the word," she whispered."I didn't know how bad it was. I thought… I thought it was just an arrangement. Business.""You sold me," she said. "Like I was a property.""I made a mistake." He said quietly.She folded her arms. "So why are you here?""To bring you home.""No," Camela screamed.Her father's jaw tensed. "You'll ruin us if this goes public. You don't understand what they'll do—what he will do—if you make this worse.""Worse?" she said. "I escaped. That was the worst thing to him.""Camela," he said, stepping closer. "He still loves you."She backed away. "Tell the world I'm sick. Tell them I ran off. But I'm not going back.""You don't have a choice," he insisted, his voice lowering. "He's already two steps ahead of all of us."The next morning, Camela woke to shouting in the hall and rushed out to see the sheriff holding a phone, looking stunned."It's all over the news," He said.She snatched the phone from him.**BREAKING NEWS: MISSING HEIRESS FOUND SAFE — CLAIMS FALSEHer heart dropped.The screen showed Vincent, standing outside a hospital. "She's been struggling for months," he told reporters gently. "Mental health is hard. I just want her to get the help she needs."Then they showed her—a photo of her running through the woods, crying, barefoot, and dirty."She ran away from treatment," Vincent added, voice steady. "We're praying for her recovery."Camela couldn't breathe. He had flipped the script. He made her look insane.The sheriff took the phone back, his face pale. "This changes everything.""No," she whispered. "It doesn't.""I'm not sure we can protect you anymore," He said.Later that afternoon, Camela was brought back to the station. A camera blinked red in the corner.Detective Harland leaned forward across the table. "We need your full statement."Camela nodded, her fingers twisting together under the table."Let's start with the engagement," Harland said. "Did you agree to marry Vincent Castellano?"She laughed bitterly. "Agree? My father traded me to settle a debt. Vincent got a bride, and my father kept his career."Harland raised a brow. "That's… a serious accusation."Camela's hands shook. "You don't believe me.""I'm just doing my job." "I was locked in his house for three months!" she exclaimed. "He took my phone, my freedom, my name. I'm not lying."Harland glanced at the folder. "But the public thinks you're his fiancée. That you ran off with cold feet and had… mental health problems."Camela froze."That's what his family told the press."Camela stood up, eyes blazing. "Of course they did. They always protect him.""You have to understand—Vincent Castellano has never had a single police complaint. No record. No witnesses."She leaned forward. "That's because everyone's scared of him."Camela returned to her room, locked the door, and sat on the bed crying and wailing uncontrollably. Sometime after midnight, she finally closed her eyes.A sound woke her.Tap.Tap.She sat up fast.Tap. Tap.It was the window.She crept closer, her fingers trembling as she pulled the curtain back.No one.Then—A flash.A photograph slammed against the glass from the outside, taped. A Polaroid.Camela gasped.It was her—from just now, sitting on the bed.She tore open the door. No one was there, just the picture and a note."Found you. Again."Her legs almost gave out, Camela ran to the front desk. The man was asleep in his chair."Someone was outside my room!" she shouted.He blinked awake. "What?"She threw the photo at him. "I want to see the cameras. Now."He scratched his head, yawning. "We don't have cameras, sweetheart."Her skin went cold."Then I want another room. A different one."He looked at the key. "All we got left is Room 2.""Fine."He handed her the key.She walked across the lot as her skin crawled. She unlocked Room 2 and switched on the light.Then she saw it.Written on the mirror, in thick red lipstick: "Come home, Camela. Before someone gets hurt."She turned around fast—her heart pounding. But she was alone in the room.The window was open, and a pair of red roses sat on the pillow, next to another photo.Tired and sore from all the tension, Camela wouldn't sleep, even though the police had promised to patrol the safehouse to ensure her safety. Still, she dozed off almost immediately.