Trapped by the CEO’s Desire

One month ago Lucía’s apartment smelled of cheap coffee and damp earth. It was a cozy chaos, with flowerpots hanging from the windows, architectural blueprints scattered across the floor, and half-finished models sitting on the table. She was putting the final touches on her Biophilic Design project when the metallic sound of her laptop interrupted her. A new email. She rubbed her tired eyes and slid her finger across the touchpad. The sender made her heart skip a beat with excitement: Administration - Neo-Habitat Studio. She had been waiting weeks for her scholarship confirmation. She clicked. Dear Ms. Soler, We regret to inform you that, due to a budget restructuring approved by our CEO, Mr. Adrian Valente, the academic sponsorship program with the ISDA has been permanently canceled. We wish you success in your future endeavors. Lucía read the paragraph three times. The letters seemed to float and blur before her eyes. Just a cold, impersonal "wish you success" signed by a corporate machine. -- Lulú? -- Valeria walked out of the hallway, drying her hair with a towel --. Did the email from those snobs at the studio arrive? -- Lucía didn't answer. Her breath became shallow. In a single click, the work of her last three years and the only bridge to her university degree had been dynamized. -- Lucía, you’re scaring me -- Valeria whispered, leaning closer to the screen. Her eyes scanned the text, and her jaw dropped --. No. They can't do this. -- -- A budget restructuring -- Lucía whispered, a leaden knot forming in her throat --. The great Adrian Valente decided my future was an unnecessary expense. -- One month later Thirty days. That was exactly how long it had taken for Lucía’s world to completely fall apart. Thirty days of bounced emails and begging the university administration for an extension that never came. Lucía was sitting on her bedroom floor. In her hands, she held the official expulsion letter. It was the end. The front door burst open. Valeria stormed in like a hurricane, phone held high and her face flushed with indignation. -- Tell me you’ve packed all your decency, because today we’re going to commit a crime -- her friend announced. -- Val, not now -- Lucía muttered, letting the letter fall --. It’s over. I’ve been kicked out. -- -- Exactly! And while you’re being thrown out on the street, guess what the iceberg who signed your sentence is doing? -- Valeria shoved the phone in her face. The screen showed a live broadcast. It was the city’s Architecture Gala. The cameras were focusing on a man stepping out of a spectacular black sports car. Lucía felt her blood boil. Adrian Valente looked sickeningly perfect. His dark suit seemed sculpted to his shoulders, and his sharp jawline was tense. He barely offered a cold half-smile, raising a glass of champagne that cost more than Lucía’s tuition. He was the king of the world from his glass tower, crushing ants under his Italian shoes without even looking down. -- He’s at the Convention Center -- Valeria said --. The VIP car park has low security. I say we key his tires. -- The sadness that had suffocated her for a month evaporated. In its place, an incandescent fury was born. Lucía stood up and grabbed her leather jacket. -- No, Valeria -- she said, her voice colder than it had ever been --. Puncture is just an annoyance. I’m going to wreck his stupid car until there’s nothing left. I’m going to force Adrian Valente to look me in the eye. -- Valeria smiled, pulling her keys from her pocket. -- That’s my girl. Let’s go. -- The VIP parking lot was a concrete cave lit by neon lights. It smelled of expensive wax and new tires. Valeria stayed at the entrance ramp, keeping watch. Lucía moved down the central aisle. It didn't take long to find it. Parked in the most exclusive spot rested an Aston Martin—black, sleek, and lethal. The license plate ended in A.V. Lucía pulled out her apartment keys. The cold metal dug into her palm. She took a deep breath, remembering the tone of that email, and grit her teeth. She stepped toward the side, pressed the tip of the key against the driver’s door, and walked backward. The screech of metal scratching the luxury paint was sharp and satisfying. A thick white line was left carved all the way to the trunk, ruining thousands of dollars in a second. Lucía smiled. She raised the key to attack the side mirror. -- May I ask what the hell you think you’re doing? -- The voice hit the air like a whip. Lucía jumped and spun around, dropping her keys. Less than two meters away, stepping out from the shadows of a column, was Adrian Valente. He was even more imposing in person. Tall, with a furrowed brow and a look that promised absolute destruction. He didn't look angry; he looked ready to kill her. -- I... -- Lucía backed up, bumping against the scratched car. Adrian closed the distance in two strides. His gaze lowered to the ruined paint and then moved up to her pale face. The temperature seemed to drop ten degrees. -- Security is only a button away -- he said, his voice dangerously low --. You have five seconds to tell me why a demented vandal just ruined a six-hundred-thousand-dollar car. -- Fear tried to paralyze her, but fury was stronger. Lucía lifted her chin. -- Consider it Karmic justice, Adrian Valente -- she spat, using his name like an insult --. You people, from your glass offices, ruin lives with a signature and don't even blink. You deserve this and more! -- Adrian’s eyes narrowed. He was used to gold-diggers, not chaotic girls declaring war on him. -- I don’t know what stupidity you’re talking about, but you’re going to pay every cent -- Adrian invaded her personal space. His scent of wood and citrus enveloped her --. You’re not moving from here until the police arrive. -- Lucía tried to scramble away, gripped by panic. -- Let me go! -- she shouted, as his firm hand clamped around her wrist. -- Not a chance. -- In the struggle, Adrian cornered her against the hood. Lucía’s canvas bag slipped from her shoulder, falling to the concrete floor. From inside, a plastic ID card slid out, landing face-up under the neon light. Adrian’s dark eyes dropped for a fraction of a second toward the card. Superior Institute of Design and Architecture (ISDA). Lucía Soler. Adrian memorized the name instantly. He pulled something metallic from his jacket. Before Lucía could react, she heard a sharp click on her wrist, followed by a dry tug that joined her to his hand. She froze. Handcuffs? -- What kind of sick person carries these in their pocket? -- she gasped, pulling at the chain uselessly. -- They prove quite useful for restraining hysterical criminals, Lucía -- he replied, using her name for the first time, savoring the terror that crossed her eyes as she realized she was no longer anonymous. Before Lucía could shout again, the sound of heels echoed on the ramp... Click, clack, click, clack. Adrian tensed completely. -- My, my, Adrian -- a feminine voice said, elegant and dripping with mockery --. I thought you preferred champagne over fighting in parking lots. -- Isabel. Lucía didn't know her, but she noticed how Adrian’s jaw tightened until it almost broke. The woman wore a designer dress, and, on her ring finger, a ridiculously large diamond sparkled. Adrian’s calculating brain processed the humiliation in a split second. He wasn't going to let his ex-fiancée see him defeated by a student next to his wrecked car. He yanked the handcuff chain, pulling Lucía sharply against his chest, hiding the metal between their bodies. He leaned in and whispered in her ear with terrifying coldness: -- You follow my lead right now, or I report you, I drown you in debt, and I make sure you never step foot in a university again. You choose. -- Lucía went cold. The blood drained from her face. Adrian looked up at Isabel and flashed a smile of ice, wrapping his arm around Lucía’s waist in a possessive gesture. -- A drunk just keyed the car and ran off -- Adrian lied without hesitation --. But frankly, Isabel, the car is the least of our concerns tonight. We were celebrating. -- -- Celebrating? -- Isabel raised an incredulous eyebrow. Lucía’s nails dug into Adrian’s back out of a survival instinct, forcing the tensest smile in the world. -- Yes -- he finished, looking Lucía in the eyes with fake adoration --. Meet Lucía... my fiancée. –