CHAPTER TWO
1103 Words
CHAPTER TWO – Luca’s POV
Inside the Car — En Route to Safehouse
She looked smaller in person.
Not in height—he’d seen her student records—but in presence.
In her photos, she looked sharp, confident. That kind of academic arrogance most sheltered girls carried like a shield.
But here? In his car, soaking wet and wide-eyed, she looked like something unfinished. Something breakable.
Luca watched her with calm detachment.
She hadn’t moved since she saw his face. She’d frozen, half-folded in the seat, her fingers still near the door handle like part of her was waiting to wake up.
“Elira Cruz,” he repeated, this time softer.
Her eyes flicked toward him—brown, bloodshot from rain and panic—but she said nothing.
Good.
Fear made people careful.
He sat back against the leather, legs slightly spread, coat unbuttoned, one hand resting lazily on his knee.
It wasn’t posture. It was dominance.
A predator’s calm.
“You screamed,” he said, almost conversational. “Loud enough to wake the dogs.”
Her mouth trembled but no words came out.
He leaned forward slightly, just enough to let the shadows peel off his face.
“I don’t like screaming,” he said, tone still flat. “So let me explain what happens now.”
No reaction. Just her breathing, sharp and shallow.
“I ask the questions,” he continued. “You answer them. If you lie, I’ll know. If you stall, I’ll correct you. If you run—”
He paused.
“There won’t be a second time.”
A beat of silence. Then another.
Finally, her voice cracked through it.
“You have the wrong person.”
Luca tilted his head. “Do I?”
“I don’t know anyone named Mila. I don’t know what this is about—”
“Shhh.”
He held up one hand. The silence was immediate. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.
“I didn’t ask for your defense,” he said. “I asked for silence.”
She flinched like the air itself had slapped her.
He watched her a moment longer, then tapped on the divider behind him.
The glass between the front and back cabin slid open.
“Ten minutes?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” the driver replied.
“Good. Drive slow.”
The glass slid shut again.
Luca returned his gaze to her—wet hair clinging to her cheeks, hoodie soaked through, backpack forgotten on the floor of the car. She looked like a student.
She was a student.
But she also shared a last name, a face, and the kind of defiant spark he’d seen once before.
Too similar.
Too specific.
Mila Cruz had been a snake. A honey-tongued traitor who fed information to the wrong family, who smiled as she smiled and lied as she kissed.
He hadn’t forgotten what betrayal looked like.
He never would.
“You say you don’t know Mila,” he said. “But you’re her blood, aren’t you?”
Elira shook her head, fast and violent. “No—I don’t—Who is that?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he reached into the seat pocket beside him and pulled out a single folded paper. He held it between two fingers and offered it to her like it burned.
She didn’t take it.
So he tossed it in her lap.
It was a photo.
Grainy. Low light. A CCTV still.
Two women. One blurred by motion, the other frozen mid-smile.
“That's you,” he said. “Outside the Bahay ng Alumni café. Thursday night.”
She stared at it.
“I wasn’t alone,” she said softly. “That’s my blockmate, Karla.”
“And who was the man she gave the flash drive to?”
Silence.
Her lips parted—but no answer came.
He leaned back again. Studied her.
“You didn’t notice,” he said finally. “You weren’t paying attention. But someone was.”
She dropped the photo like it burned her.
“I didn’t give anything to anyone,” she said. “I swear—”
“I didn’t say you did,” he replied, voice low. “Yet.”
Her breath hitched.
“I’m not who you think I am,” she whispered.
“No,” he said. “You’re not Mila. That much I believe.”
A beat.
“But you’re hers. Somehow. And until I know how—you don’t leave my sight.”
She went still.
Like a rabbit, when it realizes the wolf isn’t hungry yet—but might be soon.
---
12:03 AM — Safehouse, Antipolo Hills
The car pulled up through a private gate, the road winding up a wooded drive toward a villa carved into the cliffs. Modern, cold, and quiet. No guards outside—only sensors, cameras, and doors that locked behind you.
Luca exited first.
He didn’t offer a hand. Didn’t speak. He just waited, and eventually, Elira followed. Trembling but silent.
The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but her clothes were still soaked through. She kept pulling her sleeves down, like they could shield her from him.
Inside, the foyer was all marble and black steel. Clean lines. No warmth. No windows that could be opened.
Luca led her down a hall with glass walls on one side—one-way mirrored, she’d find out later—and through a door that locked with a soft hiss behind them.
The room was spartan. Bed. Chair. Private bath. One window, sealed.
He motioned to the chair.
“Sit.”
She hesitated.
His eyes narrowed.
She sat.
He stood by the door, arms crossed.
“You’ll stay here until I say otherwise.”
“I didn’t do anything—”
“Neither did Mila, at first.”
Silence.
“You’ll get food, clothes, and answers—eventually,” he said. “But make no mistake. This isn’t a mistake. You’re not here by accident. You're a puzzle I intend to solve.”
He hadn’t meant to sound intrigued. But something about her silence needled under his skin.
Elira stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief and fury.
“What happens if you’re wrong?” she asked.
He looked at her.
Right into her.
“I don’t make mistakes.”
---
He expected tears. Begging. The usual script. But this… this was different.
She sat there, soaked and shivering and angry—but silent.
And somewhere inside that silence, something twisted in his chest.
Same eyes. Same fire.
But maybe not the same girl.
He’d find out soon enough.
- Writer
