HIS BELLISSIMA

WHERE AM I?

Sunlight filtered softly through the heavy curtains, slipping through the narrow gaps and casting thin streaks of gold across the room. The warmth brushed against Alondra's face, stirring her slowly from sleep.

She shifted beneath the covers, her brows furrowing as consciousness returned. Then came the headache, a sharp, throbbing pain that pulsed through her skull and made her wince. She groaned and pushed herself upright, pressing both hands against her temples as she waited for the dizziness to pass.

For a few seconds,she kept her eyes closed.The lower side part of her head was throbbing.Something felt wrong. The mattress beneath her was impossibly soft, thick and plush, swallowing her weight in a way that didn't match the familiar firmness of her own bed. She ran her fingers over the smooth, velvet-like surface, confusion settling over her features. She didn't remember her bed being this soft.

Her eyes opened. Blinked once, then twice, vision blurry before the room slowly resolved around her.

She froze.

This wasn't her bedroom.

She sat completely still, gaze traveling across the unfamiliar space. It looked like an expensive hotel suite, except there was something about it that made "hotel" feel like the wrong word entirely. The walls were painted in warm, muted tones, offset by dark wooden panels that gave the room an elegant, almost regal weight. Heavy curtains framed enormous windows, rich fabric falling in graceful folds from ceiling to floor, sunlight bleeding through the sheer layer beneath them.

Above her, an elaborate chandelier hung from the high ceiling, crystal pieces scattering tiny reflections of morning light across the polished surfaces below. The floor was pale marble, gleaming, and a large patterned rug stretched beneath a seating area where two upholstered armchairs sat beside a small glass table. A tall wooden dresser held a scatter of ornaments and a vase of fresh white flowers.

Everything was immaculate. Everything was expensive. And none of it belonged to her.

Her eyes moved to the windows, floor to ceiling, glass framing a landscape she couldn't place. A strange unease crept through her. Where was she?

She lifted the pillows off the mattress, searching. Her phone. Where was her phone?

Before she could think further, the large oak door across the room opened slowly.

Her head snapped toward it.

A woman stepped inside, late forties, dark brown hair pulled into a low bun, a crisp black-and-white uniform pressed to precision, a small silver brooch catching the light near her collar. Her expression brightened the moment she saw Alondra sitting upright.

"Ah, you're awake." She smiled, stepping further in. "I was wondering when you would—"

"Where am I?"

Alondra's voice came out hoarse. The woman stopped mid-step.

A wave of dizziness rolled through Alondra, nausea rising behind it. She gripped the edge of the mattress to steady herself. She couldn't remember exactly what had happened over the last twenty-four hours. Just fragments, nothing whole, and the harder she tried to force the pieces together, the more violently her head pounded, right where the bandage sat against her scalp.

"You must have a splitting headache." The woman's voice was gentle. She set a stack of towels on a nearby chair, poured a glass of water from the bedside pitcher, and produced two small white tablets from her pocket, holding them out.

Alondra stared at the pills. Suspicion clouded her expression before she could stop it. She didn't even know where she was, and yet this stranger stood beside her bed offering medication like it was the most ordinary thing in the world. Still, the pounding behind her eyes was becoming unbearable. After a moment's hesitation, she took the tablets and swallowed them with the water.

The woman took the empty glass with a polite smile and moved toward the foot of the bed, where a silver breakfast tray waited on a small table, fruit, warm bread, eggs, a steaming cup that smelled faintly of herbs.

Alondra's stomach twisted at the sight of it. Where the hell was she?

"You need to eat something," the woman said, pulling the table closer. "Would you like me to serve you, or would you prefer—"

"Who the hell are you?"

The woman went still, and for the first time, the warmth in her face faltered. Something careful replaced it instead, the look of someone choosing her words with more precision than the moment seemed to need.

"I'm not permitted to answer that, signorina. Please, eat something. It will help." She said it quietly, almost like an apology, then gestured toward the tray and turned for the door. It closed behind her with a soft click.

Alondra stared at it, unmoving. Then something inside her snapped.

She threw the covers aside, scrambled out of bed, and crossed the cold marble floor in a few frantic steps, hands closing around the handle. She pulled. Nothing. She pulled again, harder, both hands now, yanking with everything she had, but the lock held firm.

"What the f**k?" Her voice cracked on the last word. "Hey! Open the f*****g door!"

Silence answered her.

She stepped back, chest rising and falling, panic climbing fast now. Where was she? Why was she locked in? Who had brought her here? Her eyes swept the room as though the answers might materialize somewhere in the marble and gold.

She went for the windows next, seizing the curtains and yanking them open. Sunlight flooded in, and she squinted against it, waiting for her eyes to adjust. Outside, the sun hung high over rolling green hills and distant trees, the sprawling grounds of what looked like an estate stretching toward the horizon. For a moment she simply stared. It was beautiful, almost unnaturally so, the kind of view that would look entirely different lit up at night instead of gold in the morning sun.

Then she shook her head, and a sharp bolt of pain shot through her skull.

"Ah." She squeezed her eyes shut and stumbled back, pressing a hand to her forehead. The headache surged again, worse than before, and her legs went weak beneath her. She lowered herself to the marble floor, back against the bed, knees drawn to her chest.

Think. She needed to remember. Anything.

Images came in flashes. Music pounding through speakers. Colored lights sweeping a crowded room. Her friends laughing, her own laughter under theirs. Dancing. Drinking. And then nothing. She couldn't remember leaving. Couldn't remember a car, a destination, going anywhere with anyone.

Her eyes snapped open. She looked down at herself.

Her clothes were gone. In their place, a long, silky robe pooled loosely around her body, far too elegant for anything she'd own. Her fingers tightened in the fabric.

Someone had changed her clothes.

A small, involuntary sound escaped her. Had she slept with someone? Her stomach turned over. She searched her memory again, desperate for anything that would answer the question one way or the other, and found nothing. No memory of agreeing to anything. No memory of anyone touching her, wanting her, asking. Just the fog, and the terrible, open-ended space it left behind.

She hugged her knees tighter, eyes stinging, and let herself sit with how little she actually knew. She hadn't gone home with anyone. She hadn't agreed to anything. She didn't remember anything past leaving that party, and now she was locked in a room she'd never seen, in clothes she hadn't put on herself.

For the first time since waking, the fear became something close to unbearable.

She lowered her head to her knees. She just wanted her phone. She wanted to hear Melanie's voice. The headache had started to dull, and beneath it her stomach growled, loud and inconvenient, a small, stupid reminder that her body didn't care what her mind was going through. She held herself tighter and kept digging, searching for whatever came after the party, before the dark.

God, please. Help me. I don't think I can…….

Then it came back all at once.

The wounded man. The three figures. The gunshots. Her phone ringing in her hand. Her legs carrying her deeper into the alley. And then the pain, sharp and sudden, and the dark swallowing everything whole.

Her hand flew to her mouth.

She had watched them kill a man. And then they'd taken her.

Her heart slammed against her ribs, fear spreading through her like cold water, her whole body beginning to shake. She took a breath, then another, trying to steady herself enough to think.

Why hadn't they killed her too? Why bring her somewhere like this, with maids and medicine and breakfast trays, if this was what it looked like? Unless she'd been rescued. But if she had, why lock the door?

Tears slid down her cheeks before she could stop them. What about her friends? What were they thinking right now? She should never have left them, should have stayed exactly where she was instead of chasing quiet and cold air and distance from everyone who actually cared about her.

The tears came faster, blurring everything, the full weight of it finally catching up to her all at once.

Then, click.

The sound of the lock made her head snap up. Her tears stopped, caught somewhere between fear and disbelief.

The door swung open.

A man stepped into the room.

She stilled, heart pounding hard enough that she could feel it in her throat. He said nothing. He simply looked at her, and somehow that silence frightened her more than anything that had come before it.