ANDREA

Once we arrive at the club, Emily and I make a beeline for the bar, eager to kick off our night with a few shots. The alcohol burns pleasantly as it goes down, and I can already feel the welcome warmth spreading through my veins, loosening my limbs and quieting the ache in my chest.

My mind flashes briefly to the devastating actions of my father earlier, his lack of remorse in his eyes as he crushed my feelings. But I forcefully push those thoughts aside, determined to lose myself in the pulsing beat of the music and the buzz of the liquor. Right now is about forgetting, about drowning my sorrows until the sharp edges of my heartbreak are blurred and numbed.

"Do you want to dance?" Emily shouts, her voice barely carrying over the pulsing beat and raucous chatter of the packed club. Her eyes, though glassy from the tequila, still hold shadows of pain from her earlier conversation with Santiago.

"Yes," I yell back, tossing back one last shot for liquid courage before allowing her to pull me onto the dance floor.

We find a spot in the writhing mass of bodies, and I let the rhythm wash over me, swaying my hips in time with the thumping bass. As I lose myself in the music, my thoughts drift unbidden to Stefano. I can practically feel the heat of his possessive gaze on me, hear the low growl of his voice in my ear warning that my body is for his eyes only as I dance to the beat. His touch, his scent, his presence—everything about him consumes me, even when he's not around. The memory of his hands on my skin sends a shiver down my spine, making it impossible to fully escape into the music and the moment.

A pang of longing lances through me, piercing through the haze of alcohol. God, I miss him so much it hurts. Impulsively, I fish my phone out of my purse and dial his number with clumsy fingers, desperate to hear his voice, to feel some semblance of closeness. But the call goes straight to voicemail, his phone apparently switched off.

Disappointment crashes over me, but I try again anyway, irrationally hoping this time will be different. When I'm once more met with his recorded greeting, I sigh in resignation and slip the phone back into my bag. I'll just have to try him again later.

For now, I let the music pull me back in, spinning and shimmying with abandon. Just as I start to lose myself in the beat, a pair of hands clasp around my waist, sending a chill down my spine. My body stiffens instinctively at the uninvited touch, and I feel the man's hot breath on the back of my neck as he pulls me closer.

"Sorry, not interested," I say as firmly as I can manage, trying to remove his hand and put some distance between us. But his grip only tightens, his fingers digging into my hips possessively.

"Why, baby Girl, I wanna dance with you," he says, whispering into my ears, and I freeze. My body goes rigid, every muscle locking up as the words "baby girl" slither into my ear. That phrase, spoken in a different time and place, sends icy tendrils of dread curling through my veins.

My body goes rigid, every muscle locking up as the words "baby girl" slither into my ear. That phrase, spoken in a different time and place, sends icy tendrils of dread curling through my veins.

The pulsing beat of the music fades away, replaced by a roaring static in my head. Those two innocuous words yank me out of the present, pitching me back into a nightmare I've tried so hard to escape. Phantom hands paw at my skin, and I shudder, bile rising in the back of my throat.

The stranger's body is still pressed against mine, but I've lost all sense of my surroundings, of time itself. The pulsing beat of the club music fades into a distant hum as the edges of my vision blur. My heart pounds against my ribcage, a frantic drumbeat of rising panic. Sweat beads on my forehead, cold and clammy against my flushed skin.

I don't want to go back to that night to relive the horror and helplessness that have haunted me for so long. But the memories come unbidden, crashing over me like a tidal wave, pulling me under. The fear is a living thing, clawing at my throat, squeezing the air from my lungs. I'm drowning in it, suffocating on the acrid taste of terror.

Despite the differences in circumstance, the emotions are the same - the gut-wrenching despair, the complete loss of control, the bone-deep certainty that I was about to die. It's as if I'm there again, trapped in my own personal hell, unable to escape the nightmare playing out behind my eyes.

Sweat trickles down my face as I falter, my knees buckling under the weight of the memories. They hit me like a physical blow, harder than they have in years, the pain as fresh and raw as the night it happened. The world tilts on its axis, and suddenly, I'm back there, five years ago, in a club in Rome.

The music thrums through my body as I dance with my Aurora, lost in the pounding rhythm and flashing lights. I'm young carefree, my whole life stretching out before me like an endless highway of possibility. I spin around, still dancing, and collide with a solid chest. The rich scent of cologne fills my nose, and a deep, accented voice sends a shiver down my spine.

"Hello, baby girl."

I look up into a strikingly handsome face - chiseled features and piercing eyes that seem to see right through me. He's older, but I don't care. I'm intoxicated by the way he's looking at me like I'm the only girl in the room.

"I'm Andrea," I say, holding out my hand. My American accent curls around the Italian words.

His lips quirk in a smile as he takes my hand, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. "A beautiful name for a beautiful girl. Can I buy you a drink?"

I nod, dazzled, letting him lead me off the dance floor. I turn to catch Aurora's eye, mouthing that I'll be at the bar. If only I'd known then what I was walking into...

***

Fear like I've never known slams into me as I blink open my eyes to find myself confined in a cramped, square cage. The metal bars press into my skin, cold and unyielding. My mind races, struggling to piece together how I've ended up here. The last memory I can grasp is dancing with Aurora and sharing a drink with Jeremy. My head throbs with a dull ache, fueling my rising panic.

A figure enters the room, and my heart leaps in desperate hope. *Rescue*. The word echoes in my mind like a prayer.

"Jeremy," I rasp out, my voice hoarse from screaming. "Thank God. Help me, please..."

But as he steps into the light, dread begins to uncurl in my stomach. Something about the way he's moving, the cold smile playing at his lips...

"Jeremy?" I whisper, uncertainty turning my blood to ice.

He crouches down beside the cage, his handsome face transforming into something cruel and unfamiliar. "Hello, Andrea. Comfy?"

Realization slams into me, stealing my breath. He's not here to save me. He's the one who put me here.

"Why?" I choke out, my voice barely a whisper of disbelief. "Why am I here?"

His response chills me to the bone, his words sinking into my horrified mind like icy daggers. "You're my new toy," he says with a cruel smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "I couldn't wait to begin."

He moves forward, unlocking the cage, and I scramble back, pressing myself against the far bars. The metal bites into my skin through my thin dress, but I barely feel it over the pounding of my heart.

"Stay away from me," I plead, my voice trembling as much as my body.

Jeremy just laughs a cold, mirthless sound. "There's nowhere for you to run, baby girl. Once I have you under me, you'll be screaming my name like never before."

He lunges forward, grabbing my leg in a bruising grip. I scream, thrashing against the floor as I claw at the ground, desperate to get away. But it's futile. He's too strong.

The world spins as he throws me onto a bed I hadn't even realized was in the room. The mattress reeks of stale sweat and something darker, more terrifying.

"Please don't do this," I beg, tears streaming down my face as he looms over me, lust darkening his eyes. "Please don't."

"Fuck, I love it when they beg," he groans, working at his fly.

I search frantically for a weapon, anything to fight him off, but there's nothing. He grabs my legs, pinning me down with one hand as the other rips at my dress. The sound of tearing fabric is drowned out by my screams.

And then he's on me, in me, taking everything I am. Slaps punctuate every brutal thrust until my face is a mask of blood and bruises. By the time he's done, I'm nothing more than a broken shell, a breathing corpse on the bed.

Suddenly, I hear my name called as if from a great distance. A gentle touch grazes my cheek, so different from Jeremy's cruel hands. My brow furrows in confusion. This touch is warm and tender. Affectionate.

"Andrea!" The voice is achingly familiar. Stefano. I look around wildly, realizing Jeremy is gone. The blood, the cage, the bed—it's all disappeared.

I blink, and the world comes into focus. Stefano's face swims before me, etched with concern. But it's the red that catches my eye—he's covered in blood. Not his own, I realize, as I take in the still form at his feet.

"Stefano," I breathe, staggering forward into his arms. He catches me, pulling me tight against his chest.

"I'm here, luce del sole," he murmurs into my hair. "I've got you."

The relief is too much. My legs give out as the horror of the memory crashes over me, but Stefano holds me up, cradling me to him like I'm something precious.

"Let's go," he says softly, swinging me up into his arms.

As he carries me out of the club, I bury my face in his neck, breathing in his familiar scent. It chases away the lingering ghost of Jeremy's touch, grounding me in the present.