<b>Chapter 159 </b>
The morning sun filtered through the curtains, pulling Nivera out of a restless sleep. She blinked against the light, rubbing her temples.
For the first time in days, Nivera forced herself out of bed without lingering too long in thought. She had cried herself into resolve the night before, and this morning, she reminded herself of it.
She needed her life back.
She sat up sharply, swinging her legs off the bed. Today would not be wasted inside these suffocating walls, drowning in thoughts about Alejandro. She needed to get her life in order, piece by piece.
The first step: independence.
Her bank card had beenpromised months ago, and with Alejandro practically caging her in this mansion, she hadn’t had the chance to rece it.
If she wanted any shot at leaving–and she was determined to leave–she needed ess to her own money.
After a quick shower and light makeup to cover the faint bruising still lingering on her cheek, she changed into a simple cream blouse tucked into loose jeans and swept her hair into a loose ponytail. It wasn’t anything morous, but it would do.
When she descended the stairs, Darren was already by the door. Alejandro must have instructed him to tail her, but for once, she didn’t protest.
If a bodyguard was the price she had to pay for some freedom, she’d take it.
The city was alive when they stepped out–cars honking, vendors shouting, and the hum of life she’d been starved of in Alejandro’s mansion.
Yet, as she walked toward the bank, a strange prickling crept over the back of her neck. It was the unmistakable sensation of eyes. following her.
She slowed and nced over her shoulder, wanting to see who was watching her, but there was nothing.
Just people going about their morning–an old woman bncing a basket of oranges, two men arguing at a corner, and a teenage girl on her phone.
She let out a shakyugh under her breath, trying to shake it off.
‘You’re being paranoid,‘ she told herself.
“Is something wrong, miss?” Darren asked, his tone casual but his gaze sharp, scanning their surroundings.
“No,” she said quickly, brushing it off. She didn’t want him reporting back to Alejandro that she was imagining things. “Just the
heat.”
But as they entered the bank, the feeling persisted, wrapping around her like an invisible cloak. Her pulse quickened even as she forced herself to focus.
Recing her card took longer than expected–forms, signatures, verification. The clerk assured her the new card would be mailed to her address within days.
<b>10:12 </b><b>Tue</b><b>, </b><b>2 </b>Septe
Relief flickered through her chest. It wasn’t much, but it was something. A step closer to reiming herself.
By the time she left the bank, the morning had melted into afternoon.
Her stomach gave a low rumble, reminding her she hadn’t eaten breakfast, mainly because she didn’t want to have to go through the torture of being in Alejandro’s presence.
Perfect timing, because she had agreed to meet Celeste for lunch.
By the time she reached the restaurant where she was meeting Celeste, her nerves had steadied somewhat.
The restaurant was located on a quiet street, with all ss walls and chic interiors.
Seeing her manager already waiting at a corner table brought herfort. Celeste was brisk and elegant as ever, her tablet open beside a half–drunk cup of coffee.
“You’rete,” Celeste pointed out, though her lips twitched with relief at seeing her.
“Traffic,” Nivera replied, sliding into the seat opposite.
Celeste didn’t waste time. Her eyes gleamed as she set down the tablet.
“You will not believe the news,” Celeste started, barely letting Nivera sit before blurting it out.
“You’ve been chosen as Vanessa’s recement for the campaign tomorrow.”
Nivera blinked. “Wait–what?”
Celeste leaned forward, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “Vanessa’s scandal tanked her contract overnight. The sponsors didn’t want to take the risk, so the agency scrambled for a recement. And guess whose name was at the top of the list? Well, with a little persuasion from me.”
Her heart lurched. “Mine?”
“Yes, yours!” Celeste grinned. “Nivera, this is huge. You’ll be leading the runway after more than a year–it’s theeback ofebacks. Everyone’s going to be talking about it. It’sst–minute, yes, but you’ll be ready. I’ve already said yes.”
Nivera pressed a hand to her chest. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. The runway, the lights, the audience. The rush she had thought she’d lost forever.
Tears prickled her eyes, but she blinked them away, not wanting to make a spectacle of herself in public.
“I<i>…</i><i>” </i>Sheughed shakily. “I don’t know what to say. I can’t believe it.”
“Believe it,” Celeste said firmly. “This is your moment, Nivera. You’ve been given a chance most models don’t get twice. Don’t waste
it.”
Relief and joy warred inside her chest. For once, the dark cloud that had hung over her seemed to be lifting as things were turning around.
They talked and ate, Celeste excitedlyying out ns for rehearsals and fittings. But as the afternoon waned, Celeste’s phone buzzed nonstop. Work called.
“I have to run,” Celeste said apologetically, rising from her chair. “There’s so much to coordinate before tomorrow. Stay and enjoy
dessert, though–it’s on me.”
Packing her bag, she turned to face Nivera. “Celebrate, but get some rest. Tomorrow will be demanding.”
Nivera nodded, watching her leave. Alone now, she lingered, savouring the quiet happiness curling in her chest.
Without thinking, she picked up her phone, eager to tell him the good news. She had already typed out the message, ready to press send, when she stopped herself just at thest moment.
What the hell has she almost just done?! She scolded herself.
It was a habit of hers to update Alejandro on almost everything that happened, and she had almost done so again.
The happiness she had felt slowly became reced by a wave of sadness as she deleted the message and set down the phone.
He himself had said that she didn’t need to update him on whatever was happening to her, and so she was respecting his wishes.
She broke out of her thoughts when a waiter appeared suddenly at her table, setting down a dish in front of her.
“I think there’s been a mistake,<i>” </i>she said, frowning. “I didn’t order this.”
The waiter shook his head politely. “It was ordered and paid for on your behalf.”
Her brows drew together. “By whom?”
“The gentleman who just left, ma’am.”
Her heart stuttered. “What, gentleman?”
But the waiter only gestured vaguely toward the door.
Pushing back her chair, she rushed outside, scanning the street. People bustled past, and cars zipped by, but there was nothing out of the ordinary.
No one was waiting, which was strange. Why would a stranger buy another stranger lunch just like that?
Her pulse pounded as she went back inside. And then she froze.
On the table, where the dish sat untouched, a note had been slipped beneath her ss. She hadn’t seen it there before.
She immediately picked it up and unfolded it.
The handwriting was sharp and unfamiliar.
“Do you ever wonder if you’re really alone?”
The air punched out of her lungs. Her throat closed as though invisible fingers were squeezing it.
She whipped her head around, searching the restaurant, her eyes darting to every corner. Nobody looked her way.
“Excuse me,” she said breathlessly, gging the waiter down. “The note–who put this here?”
The man looked at her nkly. “Note?”
“Yes, this note!” She held it out, her voice rising.
10:12 Tue, <b>2 </b><b>Sept </b><b>17 </b>
The waiter’s eyes flicked to her hand and then back to her as his brows knitted. “Ma’am, that’s just a serviette.”
“What do you mean it…” Her stomach dropped as when she looked down–he was right.
She was just holding a nk napkin, folded neatly. No words. No ink.
“I–1…” she stammered, her voice faltering. She could feel the stares of other customers, their curiosity sharp as knives.
The waiter’s expression was polite, but there was something else there too–a flicker<b>, </b>sharp and maybe even suspicion.
Realization mmed into her: she was
sing a scene. A crazy scene.
Her cheeks burned. Swallowing hard, she shoved the serviette aside and grabbed her things abruptly.
“Never mind. I must have been mistaken.”
“Of course.” The waiter bowed slightly before retreating.
The weight of every gaze clung to her as she hurried out of the restaurant.
The street air hit her like a p, but it did nothing to clear the dizziness clouding her mind.
She stopped on the sidewalk, her breath shaky. Again, that prickling sensation slid down her spine. Watching. Someone was watching.
She turned sharply, her eyes sweeping the street, the windows above, the alley across the road.
Nothing.
In the midst of her panic, she heard a voice. “Is there an issue, ma’am? You look pale.”
He
She startled, turning to see Darren a few steps away. He was holding the car door open, watching her carefully.
She forced a tight smile, shaking her head. “No. No issue.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” The word was too quick, too sharp. “Just… let’s go.”
She slid into the car before he could ask more questions. Darren studied her for a moment longer before shutting the door and circling to the passenger seat.
As the car pulled away, Nivera kept her eyes glued to the window, scanning the street. But all she saw were ordinary people living ordinary lives.
Still, her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
Because she knew–she knew–she hadn’t imagined that note.
And yet… what proof did she have now? None.
How was it even possible?! Where the hell had the writing gone?!
The thought wed at her as the city slipped by, her reflection in the ss pale and unsettled.
<b>4/5 </b>
<b>10:12 </b>Tue<b>, </b><b>2 </b><b>Sept </b>W
She had seen that writing; she was sure of it, but as time passed with her pondering on it, she became less and less certain.
Had she really imagined the note?
B
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