Mariana stood in front of the cracked mirror in the dingy motel room, her reflection a stranger staring back at her. The flickering fluorescent light above cast sickly shadows across her hollowed cheeks. She looked like a ghost of herself pale, lips chapped, eyes dark with exhaustion and something far more dangerous than mere fatigue.
She had stopped crying days ago. The tears had dried up, leaving behind only a cold, simmering rage that kept her moving forward when every instinct told her to collapse.
She had disappeared without a trace. No calls. No texts. No trail for them to follow. She had left behind everything Bianca's venomous smiles, Celeste's confused whispers, even her mother's quiet disappointment. Trust had become a liability. Love, a weakness.
The girl who once begged for answers was gone.
The woman in the mirror was made of sharper things now.
Her fingers brushed against the thin silver chain around her neck the only thing she had taken with her. The pendant, a small, worn compass, had belonged to her father. The only man who had never lied to her. The only one who had ever truly loved her without conditions. She pressed it between her fingers, grounding herself in the memory of him.
A sharp buzz cut through the silence.
Mariana turned toward the bed where one of the burner phones she'd bought lay vibrating. No name. Just a string of numbers.
She hesitated for only a second before answering.
"You're alive," said a woman's voice, smooth and measured.
Mariana's grip tightened around the phone. "Who is this?"
"You don't know me," the voice continued, unbothered by her suspicion. "But I know Victor. And I know what he did to you."
A cold trickle of dread slid down Mariana's spine. "What's your point?"
"There are more like you," the woman said, her tone dropping lower. "You're not the only one he's destroyed."
Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Mariana's pulse thundered in her ears.
"Meet me," the woman finally said. "Tonight. I'll send the address. Come alone."
The line went dead before Mariana could respond.
She lowered the phone, staring at the darkened screen. It could be a trap. It could be another one of Victor's games.
Or it could be the first real weapon she'd been given in this war.
She grabbed her jacket and left the room without looking back.
The bar was exactly the kind of place people went to disappear. Tucked in the industrial wasteland on the outskirts of the city, it reeked of stale beer and cigarette smoke, the dim lighting doing little to hide the grime on the floors. The music was too loud, the patrons too drunk to notice anyone slipping in or out.
Mariana spotted the woman immediately.
She sat in a corner booth, her posture too poised for a place like this. Tall, sharp-eyed, with dark hair pulled into a sleek knot at the base of her neck. A half-finished glass of whiskey sat in front of her, untouched.
"Mariana," the woman said as Mariana approached.
"Who are you?"
"Delilah." She gestured to the seat across from her. "I knew Victor a long time ago. Before he became whatever he is now."
Mariana didn't sit. "Why now? Why me?"
Delilah's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Because you were the first one to fight back. You embarrassed him. You exposed the cracks." She tilted her head slightly. "He's spiraling."
Mariana let out a humorless laugh. "Then why am I the one in hiding?"
Delilah's gaze sharpened. "Because you're dangerous now. And that scares him more than you know."
Mariana studied her, searching for the lie. But Delilah's expression gave nothing away.
After a beat, Delilah slid a manila folder across the table. "These are names. Women. Victims. Associates. Deals he made. Lies he told." She leaned back. "You want to destroy him? Start here."
Mariana hesitated before flipping the folder open. Inside were photos, bank statements, hotel receipts each one a thread in the web Victor had woven.
Her hands shook, but not from fear.
From fury.
"You're helping me out of the kindness of your heart?" Mariana asked, her voice low.
Delilah's smile was razor-thin. "No. I want him ruined too. You just have more to lose." She paused. "And that makes you hungrier."
Mariana closed the folder.
Delilah stood, dropping a plain white business card on the table. "When you're ready to make a move, call me." She met Mariana's eyes. "But be warned this road has no exits."
Then she was gone, leaving Mariana alone with the weight of what she'd just been given.
That night, Mariana sat on the motel floor, the contents of the folder spread around her like pieces of a shattered life.
Each name was a story. Each receipt a betrayal. Each face a reminder that Victor's empire was built on ruin.
Her fingers traced the edge of a photograph Victor with a woman whose hollow eyes spoke of things Mariana understood too well. Clara. According to Delilah's notes, she had vanished two years ago after accusing Victor of assault.
Mariana's chest burned.
Victor wasn't just a liar. He wasn't just cruel.
He was a predator.
And she was done running from him.
She picked up the burner phone and dialed the number on Delilah's card.
"I'm in," she said.
Across the city, Victor stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse, a glass of whiskey dangling from his fingers. The city lights blurred below him, but his mind was elsewhere.
Mariana's absence was a phantom limb an itch he couldn't scratch.
Bianca avoided him now. Celeste watched him with suspicion. Even his mother had stopped her endless praise, her silence more damning than any accusation.
He took a long drink, the burn doing nothing to quiet the unease crawling under his skin.
"She's not coming back," Nolan said from the doorway.
Victor didn't turn. "She has nowhere to go."
Nolan stepped inside. "That's exactly why she's dangerous."
Victor laughed, the sound hollow. "I made her. I can break her."
Nolan didn't answer. He didn't need to.
Victor stared into his glass, but all he saw was Mariana's face not the one that had begged for answers, but the one that had looked at him that last night.
Cold. Silent. Unafraid.
Something had changed in her.
And for the first time, Victor wondered if he was still the hunter.
Two days later, Mariana met Delilah again this time in a quiet apartment above a flower shop, the scent of roses clinging to the air.
Delilah handed her a new ID. A new name. A new life.
"You sure you want this?" Delilah asked.
Mariana didn't hesitate. She took the ID, her fingers steady.
"I don't want revenge anymore," she said, her voice quiet but ironclad. "I want justice. I want him exposed." She met Delilah's gaze. "And I want him to watch everything he loves burn."
Delilah smiled. "Good. Then we start tonight."
Mariana tucked the ID into her pocket.
Her past was dead.
Her pain was her weapon now.
Victor thought she was broken.
He was wrong.
She was just getting started.
Meanwhile, in his penthouse, Victor's phone buzzed with an anonymous message.
A single line that turned his blood to ice:
"Did you miss me?"