Chaos & Ruin (FALLEN SAINTS #1)

Chapter 1

ONE

CARMEN

Some stories are meant to be told. Others are meant to stay buried. Mine sits in between, sealed and paused for two years.

Looking back, I lost everything. I lost part of myself with it.

When you become a forgotten character in someone else’s story, no one believes you. Or worse, they choose not to believe. The version they tell has a better beginning and a cleaner ending, just not for me. I’m collateral damage in a tragic case that they locked away and labeled as solved.

I breathe slowly.

The only sounds are the sharp click of the caseworker’s heels and my own shallow breaths as we walk down the corridor of Juvenile Hall.

My heart beats faster than it did just a moment before she came.

My hands hang stiff at my sides, fingers tapping against the navy blue sweatpants as we approach the front door.

“Carmen, are you ready?” Simona asks.

She says it like she knows me. Like a month of paperwork makes her familiar with my whole life.

The question burning in my throat is far simpler and uglier.

Who would adopt a problematic teenager from a juvenile center?

I bite it back. I nod instead.

The door opens.

The square window catches my reflection as I pass.

Long dark brown hair falls in soft locks down my back, brushing against the white T-shirt.

I look like a ghost. My skin is paler than I remember.

My cheeks hold a faint pink color, and my blue eyes stare back at me, as if I am watching a stranger walk out of my body.

Simona walks two steps ahead, files slipping in her arms as she tries to carry too much with just her two hands. The door closes behind us. I glance back anyway.

Two years passed inside those beige concrete walls, two years of being behind the locked doors, and still, saying goodbye feels strange.

“Carmen.”

Her voice calls from behind me, followed by the sound of keys skidding across the ground.

I turn. She stands in front of a blue sedan, frozen mid-step. One brow lifts as she straightens her posture, like she remembers she is supposed to look in control before bending down to pick them up.

“Coming?”

“Yes,” I say, already moving.

I run down the steps toward her, sneakers slapping too loudly as I approach. She points at the front passenger seat. I circle the car as she opens the back door, shoving files and her bag onto the seat before slamming it shut.

I slide inside. The seat feels cold. I can sense it through my sweatpants as I lean against the leather. She gets in, closes the door, and the space fills with silence and the faint smell of stale coffee.

“The Harringtons are a good family,” she says, starting the engine of the car. “They adopted a boy back in 2006. They felt ready to adopt again.”

My head snaps toward her.

“Harrington. As in Judge Harrington. The one who put me in here?”

I blink twice, just to make sure my brain is not playing tricks on me. Her jaw tightens. The words spill out before I can stop them.

“Oh, hell no.”

I grab the door handle—her hand clamps firm around my arm, strong enough to stop me.

“Carmen.” She inhales slowly. “Do you know how rare it is for someone to adopt a sixteen-year-old from Juvenile Hall?”

I roll my eyes and fold my arms across my chest. 1“No me importa, loca.”

She turns the car on. “Before you call me crazy, you should be grateful. Cases like yours usually get filed away and forgotten. Consider yourself lucky, young lady.”

She pulls out of the lot, then glances at me. “And put on your seat belt.”

“This is hell,” I mutter, staring out the window as I click it into place.

“No,” Her voice sharpens as she presses the gas. “Hell is you getting out in two years and ending up on the streets. Or God forbid, in a ditch somewhere.”

“Do you give this pep talk to every teen who leaves, or…?” I exhale. “It’s not working. That man is the devil himself.”

Simona breathes out through her nose, eyes fixed on the road. For a split second, she looks at me.

“You ended up there because of your actions. Not because he magically wanted you locked away.”

When you are young, the whole world feels wrong. Nothing is your fault. And when you lose everything, you don’t blame yourself. You blame everyone else in it.

“Yeah.” I roll my eyes. “Right.”

Her voice fades into background noise. I lean my head against the window and watch the road blur past. The glass is cracked open just enough for the air to slip through. The faint smell of salt brushes my nose, even though we are still far from the ocean.

I close my eyes.

Sun smears into thousands of floating dots, pulling me backward into the night where everything began. The night I lost everything, including myself.

2014.

All I could hear was my own breathing and my heart pounding as I ran toward the front door. My ears rang as my bare feet slapped against the wooden floorboards. Every time I looked down, I saw red.

My bare thighs were coated with blood.

I looked at my palms. They shook. I turned them over. My hands were covered in blood. The metallic smell clung to me as I moved through the house, disoriented, searching for anything.

Loud knocks slammed against the door.

I couldn’t open it.

I was too afraid.

My heart started to beat louder in my chest. A baby cried somewhere upstairs.

“Sofia,” I whispered.

I ran up the stairs, skipping two steps at a time until I reached the top. I rushed into the nursery.

And she was right there in her pink onesie, her chubby pink cheeks wet with tears. Just nine months old.

“Shhh,” I said as I lifted her. I pressed her to my chest, but she kept crying.

“Shh,” I whispered again, trying to calm her, but it did nothing.

My hands shook as I moved. She didn’t stop crying.

I ran downstairs with her, but my eyes blurred as I cried with her.

It was just the two of us left.

The front door stood open, and behind it a deep male voice shouted, “Hey,” but I didn’t stop. I ran faster.

Everything blurred around me. The yard disappeared beneath my feet. Sofia’s cries faded, muffled against my chest, as red and blue lights flashed ahead, but I kept running. My heart pounded even harder now.

“Shh, Sofia,” I sobbed. “Everything will be okay.”

My voice broke.

Strong hands grabbed me from behind.

“No,” I screamed. “No.”

Pain exploded through my chest. My body hurt as they turned me around. A tall officer pulled Sofia from my arms. Her cries grew weaker as they took her away. But I was the one screaming now.

“No,” I shouted as he carried her toward the car. 2“No, hermanita… no.”

They took part of me with her.

Another officer gripped my arms, and soon after, cold metal closed around my wrists. Sirens grew louder as they neared the street.

“It’s my fault,” I cried. “No. No.”

I dropped to my knees in wet grass.

“Please,” I begged. “Bring her back. Please.”

I looked up at him, locking my eyes with his. My bottom lip shook, saliva spilled as I begged, my words tumbling out broken and desperate.

But he didn’t care.

None of them did.

My words. My story. None of it mattered.

It never did.

I open my eyes. A tear slips down my cheek. I wipe it away quickly, still staring out the window as the world rushes past in streaks of color.

I sniff and bring my shaking hands to my chest, searching for the necklace with the small heart medallion. It’s the only thing left. The only thing I have. The only thing that keeps me grounded.

Simona goes quiet. She notices, but she knows better than to get attached, so she says nothing.

It must be hard to act cold-hearted. Watching kids come and go, never knowing where they will end up. Sleeping well at night because you believe you are doing the right thing, even when you don’t really know.

Kids like me don’t get many chances in life. They call us lucky when someone finally comes back for us. And still, we dream of happy endings.

I should feel lucky. But I am not. I never am.

We all have sins to bury. Some are worse than others. No one is a saint here. And the ones who pretend to be usually fall just as hard as sinners.

The car finally stops.

As we pull in, I see the sign: Del Mar.

A rich neighborhood.

The house in front of us is not just a house. It’s a mansion, surrounded by a vast garden and tall gates. The gate opens, and Simona drives inside. When the car stops again, she exhales and looks at me.

“Carmen,” she says, “some kids never get this chance. Don’t blow it.”

She opens the door and steps out.

I know I should be grateful. I really do. But I never asked for this. I never asked for any of it.

My momma used to say God gives you only as much pain as you can take. So why does it feel like I am being punished just for living? Why does breathing feel so fucking wrong?

I take a deep breath and step out of the car, following Simona toward the white concrete fence and the stairs leading to the front entrance.

The door opens, and a couple steps outside.

I recognize his face instantly. The face that locked me away. The only difference now is the gray in his hair and the beard along his jaw. Eyes stayed the same, still judging.

A blonde woman standing next to him smiles at me, her full red lips parting as she sees me. Her face is smooth, almost too smooth, frozen in place with no wrinkles. She wears a white blouse with a navy-blue pullover draped over her shoulders. She looks beautiful.

“Come here,” she says the moment I step onto the stone stairs.

She opens her arms and walks toward me. My hands hang awkwardly at my sides, fingers twitching as she pulls me into a tight hug. My body goes numb.

“You can call me Momma Cat,” she says, tapping the tip of my nose.

I furrow my brows and blink at her. “Okay,” I say.

I already see it. She is going to treat me like I’m six, not sixteen.

“Catherine, for Christ’s sake, why would you call yourself Momma Cat?” the judge says. He looks at her and slams his palm against his face.

“Don’t teenagers do that nowadays?” She looks at him, then at me.