The ache inside me was relentless—a steady throb that wrapped itself around my abdomen, dragging down my spirit with it. I lay curled in the fetal position on my bed, the blanket wrapped tight against my clammy skin, fingers pressed hard against the knot of pain in my stomach. The familiar sting of cramps was made worse by the tempest in my mind, a storm of frustration and exhaustion that no bandage or pill could soothe.

They say life gets worse before it gets better, but no one ever tells you how suffocating that spiral can feel. Everyone throws out the usual lies, meant to comfort, but only hollowly echoing against the walls of your despair. They say it’s going to be okay, but it isn’t. Not really. Not when sadness clings to your bones and drains your will.

I was supposed to meet Juliane at ten tonight. We rarely found time together these days, her nightclub hours and my endless college workload pulling us in opposite directions. Still, we’d made this plan, to steal a few hours of normalcy before she started her shift. Juliane—my friend, my confidante—had chosen a different path than me. A famous dancer in town, she’d dropped out of school because the crushing pressure nearly broke her. I admired her strength to put her mental health first, even though sometimes I wondered if I was the one who should have walked away.

With a sharp intake of breath, I pushed myself up from the bed. A pang shot through my side, but I managed to stagger toward the bathroom. The shower was hot, washing some of the ache from my body and clearing the fog from my mind. I towel-dried my hair, then slipped into a short, silky dress—a brave choice for someone in my condition—and applied a light layer of makeup. Dresses were my armor during these days, a rebellion against the dull ache inside and the turmoil outside.

A final glance in the mirror caught a glimpse of the girl I was trying so desperately to be: confident, composed, ready for the night. I descended the stairs, passing my mother lounging poolside, her sharp eyes fixed on me. "Adeus, mãe," I called softly as I slipped through the garage door into the cool night air.

"Esteja seguro e não se atrase," her voice rang out behind me, a command wrapped in concern.

The drive to the club was quiet, the streets of Los Santos dark and empty beneath the moonlight. Half an hour away from the imposing Papados mansion, the city seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the chaos to unfold.

The club’s heavy bass pulsed through the walls as I pushed inside, the crowd thick with sweat and neon lights. I hoped to find Juliane and Seth quickly amid the chaos. As I navigated through the bodies, someone suddenly wrapped me in a familiar embrace, the scent of strawberries and the weight of a tall frame pressing close.

"Val, I missed you so much," Juliane whispered against my ear before pulling back and grabbing my hand. She led me through the crowd to the makeup room, where two other dancers finished their last touches and quietly left to give us privacy.

Juliane was stunning as ever, clad in a black lingerie set that left little to the imagination, her confidence shining even in the harsh club lighting. We talked softly, catching up, the noise outside fading into a dull roar.

Then Lilith, a teenager who worked here, appeared at the door to deliver a message: a don was calling for Juliane. With a bittersweet smile, Juliane kissed me quickly. "I hope we won’t be apart too long," she said before disappearing back into the night.

My eyes scanned the room for Seth. I spotted him nearby, surrounded by friends, his warm smile lighting up his handsome face as soon as he saw me. I pushed through the crowd, my heart lifting as I slipped into his arms and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

His hands found the curve of my hips as he pulled me down beside him on the couch. "Hey, baby, you’re late," he teased.

"I was debating coming at all," I admitted quietly. "My stomach's been killing me." He rubbed soothing circles across my belly, his touch a balm against the pain and tension.

Before we could get comfortable, one of Seth’s friends called him away over the booming music. "Seth, get your ass here now," the voice yelled. Just like that, he vanished into the throng, leaving me alone amid the pulsing crowd.

I was not truly alone, though. Two burly bodyguards—hired by papai himself—watched me carefully from opposite ends of the bar, their cold eyes never straying. Their presence was a constant reminder of my family’s reach and the dangers lurking beneath my fragile facade.

I moved toward the bar, ordering a drink to steady my nerves. That’s when he appeared—leaning casually to my left, the scent of pine and smoke drifting from his skin. His dirty blonde hair fell messily across his forehead, forest green eyes appraising me with a guarded intensity.

"Why’s a hot girl like you here all alone?" he asked, running a hand through his hair as if untangling invisible knots.

"I’m not alone," I said, forcing a smile. "My friends are somewhere close by." But the truth stung—club nights were my way to escape the iron grip of my parents, the endless pressure to be perfect. Being the eldest daughter meant expectations I was barely able to meet.

"You go to the college nearby?" I ventured, trying to break the silence between us.

He shrugged, glancing nervously at his phone. "Dropped out ages ago. School wasn’t for me."

I nodded, ordering another drink, the burn of alcohol already beginning to dull my senses. "I’m Valentina," I said, lifting the glass to my lips one last time.

"Marco," he answered, eyes flickering with unease.

Suddenly, his phone rang, loud and sharp against the pulsing music. His expression changed instantly, tension rippling through his features as he answered.

Though the noise drowned much of the call, I caught snippets of a sharp, commanding voice issuing orders, threats laced beneath the words. Marco’s face paled, a flicker of terror flashing through his guarded facade.

"I work for him," Marco admitted quietly when I looked at him, confusion knotting my brow. The name he dropped was Sandros Ortiz—unknown to me but evidently powerful enough to scare him.

My mother’s voice cut through the moment via a sharp ring on my phone. "Que mãe?" I muttered, already knowing her tone even before she spoke. "Traga sua bunda aqui agora, antes que seu pai chega," she hissed, impatience cracking through the speaker.

The clock blinked midnight. I had overstayed my welcome and pushed my luck too far.

I didn’t look for Seth or Juliane. They could handle themselves; I needed to leave.

Outside, I fumbled with my keys, the world tilting beneath my feet as I climbed into the driver’s seat. The city stretched dark and empty before me, a lonely ribbon of asphalt fading into shadow.

My pulse hammered in my ears, the pain and the alcohol clouding my judgment. The car wobbled beneath my hands, tires skidding over slick asphalt. My foot pressed down hard on the accelerator, trapped in some reckless spiral I couldn’t stop.

A silent scream curled on my lips, but no sound escaped. Panic clawed at my chest as I fought for control, hands shaking, breath ragged.

Then, the inevitable: the sickening crunch of metal colliding. My car slammed into another vehicle, the impact jolting me forward amid shards of shattered glass and twisted steel.

Through the cracked window, I saw the flashing lights—a police cruiser, its door swinging open. A man strode toward me, voice sharp and commanding.

"Step out of the vehicle, now," he ordered.

My limbs felt heavy, betrayal slicing through me as I slid out, helpless and trembling. I knew the consequences that could come from this, the dangerous game I was tangled in.

"Hands behind your back, miss," the officer instructed, and I obeyed, the cold steel of the cuffs biting into my wrists.

When he spoke my name, the weight of my family’s reputation pressed down even harder. "You’re drunk, aren’t you?" he asked.

"Yes," I admitted quietly, the truth burning in my throat.

"You’re under arrest for DUI," he said, stepping back as the night swallowed me whole.