Chapter 6
Next morning. Penthouse. Bedroom.
I opened the closet.
Brows furrowed.
Something was... off.
I scanned the hangers again.
Shirts. Hoodies. Uniforms.
Wait.
No.
Where the fuck—
Where's the hoodie.
The hoodie.
The pastel pink, ultra-cropped, fluffy soft cloud of serotonin I bought last night.
Gone.
Vanished.
I stepped back.
Checked the laundry basket.
Nothing.
Checked under the bed.
Nothing.
I stood still.
Thought back.
I wore it to bed last night. For five minutes.
It still smelled like me—sweet cologne. Vanilla. My shampoo. Warm.
I took it off before I fell asleep. Tossed it on the chair.
Right?
Right??
I checked the chair.
Pillow. Blanket. Bag.
No hoodie.
I blinked.
Once.
Twice.
And then it hit me.
Oh no.
Oh HELL no.
I turned slowly toward the security panel.
Pulled up the hallway cam outside my room.
Scrolled back.
2:14 AM.
Motion detected.
Playback loaded.
And there she was.
Selene.
Tiny. 4'10. Barefoot.
Slid the bedroom door open like she was a cat burglar in a sleepover movie.
Walked inside.
Paused.
Looked around.
Saw the hoodie.
Picked it up.
Held it to her face.
Sniffed it.
Closed her eyes.
Bit her lip.
And fucking purred.
Then walked out with it tucked under her arm like a goddamn baby blanket.
I stared at the screen.
Dead inside.
"...this bitch."
Next evening. Penthouse. My laptop open. Headphones in. Lights off.
I'd had enough.
Hoodie? Gone.
Selene? Radio silent.
She hadn't mentioned it. Of course.
She wouldn't.
Too busy pretending she's not feral.
So I did what I do best.
I opened the firewall bypass software I built at thirteen.
Spoofed a backdoor into her private terminal.
Accessed her room's security feed.
Bingo.
Live feed loaded.
Selene's bedroom.
Dark. Warm lighting. Moonlight pouring through her blackout curtains.
And there she was.
Sitting on her bed.
Wearing my pink hoodie.
Drowning in it.
Sleeves too long. Hem brushing the tops of her thighs. Nothing else visible underneath.
She was holding the collar up to her nose.
Sniffing again.
Eyes closed.
Actually. Fucking. Purring.
I exhaled through my nose.
"Unbelievable."
I clicked over to her personal directory. Mostly encrypted.
But one folder stood out.
"Private."
Classic.
I cracked it in twelve seconds.
Inside: a list of text files.
One stood out.
"anna.txt"
I hesitated.
Then opened it.
And stared.
File: anna.txt
Date created: 14 months ago.
Last modified: 2 days ago.
"I saw her again today.
She doesn't even know I exist.
But she walked past me, hoodie too big, eyes dead, and I swear to god I almost dropped everything.
Her name's Anna. Not really.
That's the name the world should know.
She's brilliant.
Built like a machine.
Cold as hell but you know there's something burning underneath.
I want her to notice me.
I want her to say my name like it matters.
I want to break her open just to see what keeps her going.
She's beautiful when she's angry.
She's beautiful when she's destroyed.
I'd worship the ground she walks on if she let me.I think I'm in love with her.No.I know I am.And if she ever finds out I've been watching her—I hope she doesn't hate me.I hope she uses me. "
I sat there.
Motionless.
No smile.
No anger.
Just static behind my eyes.
I scrolled down.
There was more.
"I stole something of hers today.Her scent's still on it.I don't feel guilty.I want more."
I closed the file.
Sat in silence for a full minute.
Then leaned back in my chair and muttered—
"...I should start locking my doors."
Same halls. Same looks. Same whispers.
"Back again?"
"She wear that same hoodie every day?"
"She must live in it. No home, no bed, just vibes."
I walked like I always did.
Face down.
Books tight to my chest.
He was waiting near the stairs.
Someone new. I'd seen him in classes before, but he never spoke to me. Not directly.
Today he did.
He stepped in front of me. Smirked.
"You hear about that baby left in a dumpster last week?"
I didn't reply. Just tried to move past.
He stepped closer.
"I thought of you."
I paused.
The hallway got quiet.
Some people turned.
Some held in laughter.
Some watched, frozen.
He leaned in.
Voice low.
"If someone threw you out like garbage once, it's only a matter of time before the world does it again. That's what you are, right? Garbage no one wanted."
My ears rang.
No one had ever said it like that.
Not even Valentina at her worst.
Something inside me cracked.
I didn't speak.
Didn't punch him.
Didn't scream.
I just walked.
Past him.
Past everyone.
Turned down a hallway.
Empty. Silent. Forgotten.
Found a corner.
Sat down.
And for the first time in months—
I broke.
Really broke.
Not quiet tears.
Not a single sob.
But the full body kind.
Chest shaking.
Mouth open with no sound.
The kind of crying that hurts like you're bleeding from the inside.
Because I wasn't strong today.
Not anymore.
I wasn't brilliant.
Wasn't stone.
Wasn't Anna Maricella.
I was just...
Emily.
An orphan.
A girl who lost everything.
A girl trying to survive.
And today... she lost the fight.
I couldn't breathe.
Couldn't move.
Everything inside me had cracked open and spilled out.
Tears soaked the sleeves of my hoodie.
My chest ached. My hands trembled.
I had nothing left to fight with.
I heard footsteps.
Didn't care.
Whatever.
Let it happen.
Then a voice.
Sharp. Familiar. Annoyed.
"Wow. You crying now?"
Valentina.
Of course.
I didn't look at her.
Didn't say anything.
She stepped closer.
Still in that mocking tone.
"You're really just sitting here, sobbing in a corner? That's the orphan spirit, huh?"
No response.
I think that's what got her.
She paused.
Silence.
Then softer—
"...Emily?"
She stepped into view.
Saw my face.
Red eyes. Tears still falling. Shoulders still shaking.
Something shifted.
"Hey—" she started, voice glitching, "—I didn't mean—I was just—"
But that's when it happened.
Black car. Back door entrance. Slammed open.
Marco's personal men.
Not the casual goons.
These were the inner circle.
Enforcers. Loyal only to him.
Two of them grabbed me before I could even blink.
Valentina yelled.
"Hey! Back the fuck off! She's mine!"
They didn't listen.
One punched me in the stomach.
Hard.
I gasped.
Coughed.
Blood hit the floor.
Valentina's voice cracked.
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING—SHE'S BLEEDING—SHE'S CRYING—STOP—"
They didn't stop.
They slammed me into the wall.
My head hit something sharp.
Tears still fresh on my face.
One dragged me by the arm. The other by the hair.
I was a ragdoll.
Broken.
Useless.
Valentina tried to block them.
"Marco didn't say this—YOU CAN'T DO THIS—STOP—STOP—"
One shoved her back.
"You're just the boss's daughter. This is above you."
Valentina's face dropped.
She froze.
For the first time...
She wasn't in control.
And she saw me—
Tears streaming.
Coughing up blood.
Face bruised. Limbs limp. Barely breathing.
And something in her shattered.
She saw what she'd been laughing at all year.
What she'd been pushing down.
Not a rival. Not a loser.
Just a girl.
A girl who had nothing left.
And they dragged me into the car.
And she just stood there.
Watching the blood trail behind me.
And said nothing.
Because what the fuck could she even say now?
Undisclosed Vercetti Facility. Two hours later.
The room was freezing.
Industrial. Rusted. Silent—except for the low hum of electricity somewhere behind the walls.
I could hear water dripping from a leaking pipe.
And Valentina screaming in the hallway.
"SHE DID NOTHING WRONG! SHE SAVED ME! YOU'RE PUNISHING THE WRONG PERSON—"
SLAM.
The guards yanked her back as she fought, tooth and nail, screaming until her voice cracked.
She reached for me.
Marco watched.
Bored.
I was on my knees, blood still dried on my cheek, arms behind my back.
He didn't even look at me when he spoke.
"You were told," he muttered. "Take the hits. Take the pain. Take the humiliation. That's what you are. An orphan slut we let survive."
Valentina surged forward again. "SHE WAS BEING ASSAULTED! BY YOUR OWN MEN!"
"And she lifted a hand against them," Marco said coldly. "That's rebellion."
"She was protecting herself."
He turned to her slowly.
"You are young. Soft. Still attached to emotions. That is dangerous for the Vercetti name."
"She's not the enemy!"
He waved his hand.
Two guards grabbed Valentina by the arms.
"No—NO—DAD STOP—LET ME TALK—LET ME STAY—SHE DOESN'T DESERVE THIS—"
"You deserve silence," he said.
He turned to one of the men—tall, cold eyes, leather gloves.
Marco handed him a black case.
Inside?
Metal glinted under dim light. Tools. Hooks. Blades. Acid vials. Electrodes.
Marco's voice dropped.
"Do what needs to be done. Break her. Remind her what obedience looks like."
Then, to me—
"Good luck, orphan slut."
And he walked out.
The door slammed.
Silence.
Then laughter.
But not theirs.
Mine.
They flipped me upside down.
Chains around my ankles. Blood rushing to my head. Arms hanging, shoulders already aching.
The "finest" of Marco's men stepped up with a blade.
He touched it to my stomach.
"I'd cry now if I were you," he whispered. "It only gets worse."
I looked him dead in the eye.
Smile twitching.
"Then I'm definitely not gonna cry."
He narrowed his eyes.
I giggled.
Actually giggled.
"...You people really think this is the worst thing that's ever happened to me?"
Another chuckle. Shaky. Dry.
"But okay. Sure. Let's see what you've got."
My vision swam a little from the blood rush.
But I kept laughing.
Because they thought they were about to break me.
They had no idea they were creating a fucking legend.
I stopped counting the hours.
It was easier that way.
My arms ached. Shoulders on fire. Ribs pulsing.
My hair hung toward the floor like roots looking for dirt.
And in front of me?
Three men.
Sweating. Swearing. Tired.
They tried everything.
First? The bats.
Aluminum. Sharp swings to my side.
Ribs cracking like knuckles.
Second hit?
I exhaled.
Third?
I laughed.
That was the start of the spiral.
Then came the taser.
Neck. Back. Spine. Inner thigh.
Jolts sharp enough to drop a soldier.
But me?
I just bit the inside of my cheek and stared.
Eyes wide. Unblinking.
Silent.
They thought I passed out once.
I didn't.
I was just bored.
Then they brought out the patches.
Strapped them to my chest, my abdomen, the base of my spine.
One of them turned the dial like it was a game.
Each click hissed.
Each click meant more.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Click.
My body jerked.
Muscles twitched.
Teeth clenched.
Still no sound.
No cries. No screaming.
Nothing.
Not even when the voltage maxed out.
Not even when my heart stuttered.
They tried screaming at me.
Begging me to scream.
I didn't give them the pleasure.
Eventually, they stopped.
Exhausted. Panting.
One sat on the floor. One leaned against the wall.
The lead guy wiped sweat off his forehead.
I was still upside down.
Chains rattling slightly as I shifted.
And then—quietly—calmly—
"...Y'all done?"
Three heads snapped toward me.
I smiled. Lips cracked. Blood dried down my chin.
Still hanging.
Still breathing.
Still here.
Moments after the last shock. Room quiet. They're panting. I'm smiling.
Something in me... snapped.
Not like glass.
Like a switch.
I opened my eyes.
And they saw it.
Too late.
I tightened my core, flexed upward—wrapped the chain around my arms mid-spin—used the momentum—
CRACK.
The first one's neck snapped before he even touched the wall.
I dropped to the ground, knees bending like I rehearsed it.
Pain everywhere.
Blood down my temple.
But my hands? Steady.
Second guy pulled a baton.
I dodged. Grabbed his wrist.
Snapped it like a dry stick.
Then his knee.
One-two. Down.
Third? Ran.
I followed.
Four more down the hall.
Didn't matter.
I saw red.
Not rage.
Focus.
Calculated.
Neck. Spine. Ribs.
I took them all.
Every last one.
Silent. Precise. Ruthless.
By the end, the hallway was a massacre.
Bodies slumped. Blood smeared across the walls like a canvas I didn't ask for.
I dragged every single one of them into the center of the hallway.
Stacked them.
Slumped back onto the top.
Sat there.
Chest rising and falling.
Abs exposed under the ripped latex I never changed out of.
Hair matted.
Face smeared in blood and sweat.
A cigarette stolen from the last man's pocket burning between my fingers.
I lit it.
Inhaled slow.
And exhaled like the fucking devil herself.
She fought the guards.
Screamed at them.
Kicked down a locked door.
"Emily!"
She rounded the corner.
Stopped.
Froze.
Mouth dropped open.
In front of her?
A pile of bodies.
Stacked like a throne.
And on top?
Me.
Blood down my jaw.
Six-pack glowing under a flickering light.
Eyes hollow. Calm.
Cigarette in hand.
Like it was just another Tuesday.
Valentina's voice cracked.
One step back.
One whisper.
"...who are you?"
INTERMISSION