Valentina's POV
I stared at the $50,000 demand glowing on my screen until the numbers blurred together.
For the first time since arriving at Westbridge, I didn't feel the urge to cry. I didn't feel the terror of a girl on the run. Instead, a cold clarity washed over me, settling deep in my bones.
I was Valentina Rossi. I had been raised in a house where betrayal was a currency and secrets were weapons. My father had taught me how to spot a liar before I knew how to ride a bike. If this blackmailer thought I was just going to roll over and wire them fifty grand, they were severely underestimating the blood in my veins.
I locked my phone, shoved it into my pocket, and marched out of the restroom.
I needed to think logically. I mentally charted every single interaction with the blackmail
