1. Chapter 1 #2
Just slides into the driver’s seat, starts the engine, and pulls away without a second glance, leaving me standing there on the wet stone steps, drenched and shaking, staring after the man who saved my life —
And knowing, somehow, that I’ll never forget him.
Alone in my room, I peel off my wet clothes with shaking hands, letting them drop in a soggy heap on the floor.
My skin is cold, goosebumps prickling across my arms as I pull on a sweatshirt, crawl into bed, and collapse onto the pillows.
For a long moment, I just stare up at the ceiling, my heart still thudding faintly in my chest, my mind spinning in a dozen directions at once.
I should be grateful to be alive.
I should be terrified of the punishment waiting for me in the morning.
But all I can think about… is him.
Zasha.
The gun in his hand.
The sharp, cold commands he gave.
The strength of his body as it covers mine, shielding me from death.
I squeeze my eyes shut, pulling the blanket up to my chin as heat creeps across my cheeks.
“He is so fierce,” I whisper into the dark, my voice barely a breath. “And so… brutally handsome.”
The words taste strange on my tongue, making my heart flutter awkwardly in my chest.
Why am I thinking about that right now?
Why can’t I stop picturing his face?
The realization comes slowly, sinking into me like a pebble dropped in still water, sending ripples through everything I thought I understood about myself.
I’m… having a crush.
My first.
And it’s not on some boy at school.
It’s on him — the cold, dangerous man who saved my life tonight.
I bury my face in the pillow, a shaky, embarrassed laugh escaping my throat as the truth settles in.
I’m a damn naughty girl.
They say the worst mistakes are the ones you plan—and tonight, I planned mine to perfection.
I’ve been dreaming of this moment for months. Not the party itself—no, that’s just an excuse. What I’ve been craving is the taste of freedom, something sharp and intoxicating, something that reminds me I’m alive and not just a fragile ornament locked behind my father’s endless walls.
They call me the princess in the luxury glass cage.
Everyone does. It’s whispered at parties, murmured in schools, and plastered across the gossip blogs.
Mara Delgado—gorgeous, privileged, and untouchable.
People admire me, envy the clothes, the cars, the polished world wrapped around me like silk. But none of them know the truth.
The truth is, I’m a prisoner. Everyone can see me, but no one lets me breathe. No one dares get close. My life is a performance, scripted and controlled to the last second. And I’ve had enough.
So tonight, I break out.
“Are you sure about this?” Camila whispers beside me, her eyes darting nervously to the gates of our elite boarding school.
I nod, pulling my oversized hoodie tighter around me. “I’ve never been more sure.”
Valentina grins, tossing her long hair over her shoulder as she slips the fake ID into her pocket. “We’re gonna have the best night of our lives.”
I don’t answer. Because this isn’t about the party. This is about me reclaiming something that’s been stolen piece by piece since the day I was born—control.
We slip past the guards exactly as planned, disguised in baseball caps and baggy sweatpants, looking like we belong anywhere but here. The decoy car circles the block, and by the time my father’s men realize we’re missing, we’ll be long gone.
The adrenaline rush is electric. As we speed away from the campus, windows down and music blasting, I laugh—really laugh—for the first time in months.
We’re free.
The party is already in full swing when we arrive.
It’s bigger than I expected—rows of luxury cars parked outside a sprawling villa on the outskirts of the city. Music thunders through the walls, and flashes of neon cut across the night sky. The place is packed with cartel heirs, influencers, and people who thrive on the edge of power.
I step out of the car, heart racing. For once, no one stares at me like I’m fragile. No one’s watching me like a hawk. I’m just another girl in a sea of reckless youth.
And it feels incredible.
We push through the crowd, Camila grabbing my hand and dragging me toward the bar. Someone hands me a drink—a sparkling something—and I take it without thinking. One sip, then two. It’s sweet and light, and for the first time in forever, I don’t feel the weight of my last name crushing me.
I let the music swallow me whole.
It hits faster than I expect.
The dizziness creeps in, soft at first, then heavy. The room blurs at the edges, and my stomach twists uncomfortably. I search for Camila and Valentina, but they’re gone—lost in the crush of bodies and noise.
I step outside for air, heart pounding. The night is cool against my flushed skin, but it does little to clear my head.
That’s when they approach.
Two men, maybe late twenties, slick smiles and expensive clothes. I don’t recognize them, but they act familiar, like we’ve met before.
“You okay, princess?” one of them says, steadying me as I sway. “You look like you need a ride.”
“I’m fine,” I mumble, trying to pull away. But my limbs feel like jelly, and my vision keeps doubling.
“Nah, come on,” the other one says, wrapping an arm around my waist. “We’ll get you home safe.”
Everything inside me screams no, but my mouth is slow, my body slower. Before I know it, they’re guiding me toward a black SUV parked in the shadows.
“Wait,” I whisper, panic bubbling up. “Stop—”
But they don’t.
The door swings open, and I’m shoved inside, half-falling onto the seat. My pulse is a wild drumbeat, my head spinning.
“Let’s go,” one of them snaps.
That’s when it happens.
A blur of motion—fast, lethal. A crack of bone, a grunt of pain. Shouts.
The man nearest me is yanked out of the car so fast I barely register it. The other one lunges, but a fist slams into his face, dropping him instantly.
I blink up, heart racing, and I see him.
Zasha.
Dressed in black, eyes cold and cutting, moving with brutal efficiency. I’ve seen him before, always in the background of my father’s meetings. Silent. Dangerous.
But I’ve never seen him like this.
He turns to me, kneels down, and grips my arms firmly but carefully. “Mara.”
I gasp, tears springing to my eyes. “Zasha…”
“You’re safe now,” he says, voice like steel wrapped in velvet. His eyes scan my face, my body, checking for damage. “Can you stand?”
I nod, shaking.
He helps me out of the car, one arm around me, shielding me as his men rush in to handle the rest. The kidnappers are dragged away, screaming. Sirens wail in the distance.
Zasha never lets go of me.
“Let’s get you home,” he murmurs.
The ride is quiet. I press my forehead to the cool window, eyes blurry with tears, heart still hammering. Zasha sits beside me, silent and watchful, his presence a fortress.
When we pull up to my house, the gates are already wide open. Lights blaze. Security swarms.
My father is waiting at the top of the steps, face pale, eyes wild. When he sees me, he storms down, grabbing me in a crushing hug.
“Jesus Christ, Mara!” he shouts. “What the hell were you thinking?!”
I sob against his chest, too shaken to answer.
His fury turns to Zasha. “What the fuck happened?”
Zasha’s voice is calm, steady. “I was on surveillance nearby. Viktor flagged that villa weeks ago—said something felt off. I saw three girls arrive. Your daughter was one of them. I kept my distance… until I couldn’t.”
Thiago’s jaw tightens, eyes shining with something between rage and gratitude. He clutches me tighter. “Thank you,” he says gruffly. “Get her inside. Double security.”
Zasha meets my eyes once more—brief, unreadable—then turns and disappears into the night.
My father is pacing the room like a caged animal, his voice sharp enough to cut glass.
“What the hell were you thinking, Mara? Do you have any idea what could have happened tonight? You could have been taken—killed!” His fists slam down on the table, rattling the crystal. “Do you realize the position you’ve put this family in? The risk?”
My mother hovers nearby, wringing her hands, her face pale. “We trusted you,” she says, voice tight with fear and frustration. “How could you be so reckless?”
I sit on the couch, numb, my head down as their words hammer around me. I should be crying. I should be apologizing, begging for forgiveness.
But all I can think about… is him.
Zasha.
The way he moved—smooth, lethal, efficient. Even through my tipsy haze, I saw it: how his fists landed with precision, how he handled three grown men like they were nothing. His eyes had been cold, focused, dangerous—but God, he had looked beautiful doing it.
I bite my lip, staring at my hands as my father’s voice rises again, sharp and furious.
I don’t hear it. Not really. Not anymore.
All I hear is the memory of Zasha’s low, firm voice: “You’re safe now.”
All I see is the way he looked at me, scanning for injuries, gripping my arms just tightly enough to keep me grounded.
A shiver runs down my spine, but I stay still, blocking out the world.
Later, after my parents finally give up and storm off—my father barking orders at security to double every protocol—I sit alone at the dining table, picking at my food. I know I should feel ashamed. I should be terrified of how close I came to being hurt.
But instead, I find myself… smiling. Just a little.
Because no matter how scary it had been, no matter how stupid my mistake was, there’s one thing I can’t stop playing over and over in my mind:
Zasha—my quiet, dangerous knight—stepping out of the shadows like he was born to save me.
He hadn’t worn armor. He hadn’t carried a sword. But to me, in that moment, he might as well have.
And for the first time in my life, my heart has found something—someone—worth breaking the rules for again.