Chapter 3
Somewhere cold. Somewhere dark.
The first thing I felt was the ache.
In my skull. In my limbs. Behind my eyes.
The second thing?
The burn in my veins.
They drugged me.
Not the first time.
Wouldn't be the last.
I blinked slowly.
Flickering lights above. Bare floor below. My arms were heavy. My head felt like concrete. The taste of metal on my tongue.
I sat up, barely.
And then I saw him.
Marco Vercetti.
Standing across the room like this was a business meeting.
"Morning, Miss Stonebrook," he said like we were old friends.
I didn't respond.
I knew better than to play his game.
He stepped forward slowly, hands behind his back. "You've been a bit... out of line lately."
Another shadow moved behind him.
Valentina.
Standing at the edge of the room, arms crossed, face tight.
She wouldn't look at me.
Marco glanced at her, then back at me.
"My daughter tells me you've been saying... things. Insults. Cruel words. You called her an insecure bitch."
I blinked again.
"And—" he chuckled, "—Daddy's princess."
Still no answer.
So the first slap came.
Hard.
Right across the cheek. My head snapped sideways. Copper filled my mouth.
Still didn't flinch.
"She's been crying over you," Marco said, voice colder now. "Crying over some orphan who thinks getting a perfect score makes her important."
Second slap.
"You'll apologize," he said.
I stared at him.
Flat.
Dead inside.
"No," I whispered.
Third slap.
Then fists.
To the ribs. To the jaw.
Boots to the side of my leg.
Every time I tried to speak, they told me to shut the fuck up. Every time I stayed quiet, they hit harder.
Eventually, Marco stepped back.
And nodded once.
Two men walked forward.
I already knew what was coming.
Hands grabbed my shirt.
Ripped.
Jacket, hoodie, shirt, everything.
Pulled away from my skin like it was nothing.
I didn't scream.
Not even when they shoved me out the back door of the warehouse—naked.
No clothes.
No shoes.
No phone.
Just concrete and cold wind and humiliation sticking to my skin like frost.
"You walk home now," Marco called behind me.
"Think about what happens to orphans who bite above their bloodline."
And the door slammed shut.
8 kilometers.
Barefoot.
Bruised.
Broken?
No.
Just cold.
And angry.
Because this wasn't the first time I had nothing.
But they were about to find out what happens when you leave a girl with nothing left to lose.
Unknown Location. Late Night.
They thought I'd walk 8 kilometers home.
They thought I'd cry.
Break.
Beg.
But they forgot something important.
I don't live in just one place.
I don't belong to just one identity.
I made it through the city's backstreets like a shadow, borrowed a coat off a line, stole a phone from a guy too busy vaping to notice, and walked straight into a building that didn't exist on any public record.
Keypad.
Retina scan.
Silence.
Doors opened to marble floors and glass walls.
My real home.
My secret home.
The world knew me as Emily Stonebrook.
But in this place?
I was Anna Maricella.
I changed.
Showered.
Stepped into something black, sleek, and dangerous.
Sat at the edge of my bed.
Lit a cigarette.
Dialed a number from memory.
Valentina Vercetti.
She answered on the third ring.
"Who the fuck—"
I cut her off.
"You think you're powerful?" I said coldly. "Sitting behind your daddy's money. Your guards. Your name."
She paused.
"Who is this?"
I smiled.
Didn't answer.
Just let the venom flow.
"You think you're feared. But you're just a placeholder. A daddy's slut who only matters because the man who owns you gave you a title."
Silence.
"Everything about you is borrowed. Your power. Your threats. Your personality."
My voice dropped.
"You're not scary, Valentina. You're pitiful. An insecure little girl who bullies the weak because you know, deep down, you're weaker than all of them."
"You don't know shit about me—" she snapped.
"Oh, I know more than you'd like," I whispered. "Like the fact that your daddy will never let you lead. You'll always be his little whore. His little doll in leather and lipstick."
Her breath hitched.
"I'll kill you," she hissed. "Say that again—say it to my fucking face—"
"I already did," I said. Calm. Dead calm.
And then I hung up.
No name.
No trace.
Just silence.
Because next time we speak?
She'll be the one begging for answers.
And I'll be the one deciding if she deserves them.
Saturday. Late Morning. City Park.
It was quiet today.
No screaming bells. No tray food. No Marco. No Valentina. No blood in my mouth.
Just trees. Wind. The occasional screaming toddler too far from its mother.
I sat on the same bench I always did.
It wasn't special.
Paint peeling off the wood. One leg shorter than the others so it tilted slightly. The kind of bench people pass without noticing.
Felt right.
I had my books out. Opened to page 317.
Linear algebra. My safe space.
I had tilltomorrow to figure out rent.
Or I'd be living on this bench.
Wouldn't be the first time.
Probably wouldn't be the last.
I underlined a sentence. Scribbled notes. My hoodie was pulled over my head, shielding me from the sun.
Then I heard them.
Footsteps. Laughter.
Familiar.
Two guys. One girl. All wearing overpriced sneakers and insecurity like cologne.
"Oh look," one of them sneered. "The homeless genius."
I didn't look up.
Just turned the page.
"She studying for her future cardboard box?"
"She probably jerks off to scholarship letters," the girl laughed. "That's the only love she gets."
They circled the bench.
One kicked my foot lightly.
"You gonna cry, Stonebrook?"
Another leaned over and snapped a pencil from my hand.
I didn't flinch.
Didn't blink.
I just... grabbed another pencil.
And kept writing.
Like they didn't exist.
Because they didn't.
Not in my world.
Not when I had bigger things to worry about.
Like surviving.
Like keeping it together.
Like deciding if I was gonna let Emily Stonebrook fall...
...or let Anna Maricella rise.
Saturday Evening. One day before rent's due.
$450.
That's what I had.
I needed $600.
I had twenty-four hours.
I walked into my apartment. Dropped my bag on the floor. Took my books out one by one and stacked them neatly on the table.
My rent envelope sat there like a ticking bomb. Every time I looked at it, it felt heavier.
No shifts left this weekend.
No side gigs.
Just $150 standing between me and the street.
So I did what I had to do.
An hour later.
The street was loud. People shouting. Cars honking. The usual.
I sat across from Northvale High—my hell, my battleground, my stupid glass castle.
Same hoodie.
Same shoes.
Only difference?
The plastic cup in my hand.
I sat on the curb.
Hood pulled low. Face hidden.
Cup out.
Nothing written. No signs. No stories. Just... silence.
Let people assume what they wanted.
Some walked past without looking.
Some glanced and looked away like I was a disease.
One guy tossed in a quarter without breaking stride.
I just sat there.
Still.
Breathing.
Focused.
Because I needed that $150.
And I didn't care if I had to beg outside the very school that made my life hell.
Let them laugh.
Let them stare.
Let them film it.
I'd take it.
Because I wasn't begging for sympathy.
I was begging for survival.
And tomorrow?
Rent would be paid.
Even if my soul wasn't.
Sunday Morning. 8:07 AM.
Three knocks.
Loud. Aggressive.
I already knew who it was.
I didn't open the door right away. Just sat there on my mattress, staring at the sunlight crawling across the floor like it was counting down for me.
I had $470.
Rent was $600.
Math didn't lie.
"Stonebrook!" Mr. Dreyson yelled. "Clock's up. Get your shit out."
No more time.
I didn't argue.
Didn't beg.
I just stood up.
Packed my textbooks first. That was the priority. Not clothes. Not shoes. Just my future.
I threw what little I owned into my backpack.
Folded my hoodie.
Picked up the envelope with the money I did have.
Left it on the kitchen counter.
Didn't write a note.
Didn't owe him one.
By 8:36 AM, I was outside.
No home.
No address.
No bed.
Just me.
And the street.
I walked back to the park.
Same bench.
Still slightly crooked. Still peeling.
I sat down. Placed my bag beside me. Pulled out my notes.
Opened my textbook to page 319.
And started studying.
Because life doesn't stop just because you're homeless.
There was no dramatic music.
No slow-motion crying.
Just traffic.
Birds.
People walking their dogs.
And me—freshly evicted. 16. Alone. Still trying to pass my upcoming chemistry test.
Because as far as the world was concerned—
I was just another girl on a bench.
And as far as I was concerned?
That was still better than being a Vercetti.
Sunday. 6:42 PM. City Park.
I hadn't eaten since yesterday.
Didn't have breakfast. Didn't even drink water.
There was a bottle in my backpack, but I'd already finished it around noon. I tried to ration it, but—whatever.
I hadn't showered.
My hoodie smelled like sidewalk.
My stomach growled so loud, I thought someone else would hear it.
I clutched my backpack like it was a body pillow and curled up on the bench.
My eyes stayed open.
I didn't want to sleep yet. Not in public.
Not when people walk past and look at you like you're a fucking disease.
And then—
I felt it.
Eyes.
That strange burn on your skin when someone's staring too long.
I looked up.
And there she was.
Valentina Vercetti.
Leaning on a lamppost twenty feet away.
Arms crossed.
Expression unreadable.
I didn't care.
I looked away.
She didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Just watched.
Like she expected me to say something. Ask for something.
Nope.
Not today.
Not from her.
Not ever.
The ache in my head got sharper.
My vision started to blur around the edges.
My body was done pretending I was okay.
I tried to shift, tried to sit upright again, but everything was too heavy.
My hands trembled.
My legs wouldn't move right.
I bit the inside of my cheek—hard—trying to force myself to stay alert.
Didn't work.
I blinked slow.
The world tilted.
The sky got darker.
Valentina was still there.
Or maybe I was imagining her now.
Didn't matter.
My body folded in on itself.
My heart thudded once—
And then everything went black.