Lily. Lily Garcia. A name whispered with charm, beauty, and an unspoken kindness. She had never wanted to hurt anyone, even if it meant breaking herself in the process. People-pleaser? Probably. Would she ever admit it? Never. She didn’t do it for attention—she did it for acceptance, for the warmth of being loved.
Her father, Alec Garcia, was rarely home. For work, or so he said. What he really did, Lily didn’t know. She was told he was a good man with a high-paying job, something she didn’t need to worry about. Raised as a single child in the absence of both parents’ care, she yearned constantly for the touch and guidance of her mother, lost in a tragic accident when Lily was just thirteen. The world had become a maze she had to navigate alone.
People whispered, judged, even laughed. They called her naive. Her father kept her close, sheltered in their home, and she followed the rules without question: college and home, home and college. Beyond that, the world was forbidden. “It’s not safe for you,” he had said. And she believed him.
Birthdays had become quiet, hollow affairs—celebrated with maids who scurried to make the day cheerful, yet always missing the presence that truly mattered. Today, she turned eighteen.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she dialed her father. The phone rang once… twice… thrice. Just when she thought he wouldn’t pick up, his voice came, warm yet distant.
“Hey, my child. A very happy birthday, sweetie.”
A smile lifted her lips. “Thank you, Dad! When are you coming? I want to cut the cake with you,” she asked, hope fluttering in her chest.
A sigh answered her before words could. “I couldn’t make it, child. I’ll ask Uncle John to take you shopping tomorrow, alright? I’m sorry… work’s been too much. We can spend time this weekend, okay?”
She knew it was a hollow promise. “Alright, Dad. If you say so… please keep it this time,” she whispered, closing her eyes to hold back the familiar ache—the pain of birthdays spent without the one person she truly wanted by her side.
“Of course, my child. You know I always try my best, right?” His voice held reassurance, the same as always.
“Yes, Dad. I know,” she replied, swallowing the urge to ask why life couldn’t be like before. Why he had buried himself in work instead of love.
“Alright, child. Go cut the cake with the helpers. Happy birthday once again,” he said, and the line went dead.
She celebrated with everyone, smiles carefully stitched across her face, though beneath them lay the familiar ache she always hid. The maids sang in chorus, “Happy Birthday, Miss Lily! A very happy birthday!” Their voices were warm, but hollow echoes in her heart.
After the cake was cut, she retreated to her room. As always, her eyes found the family portrait from five years ago. Three smiling faces frozen in time—her mother, her father, and her younger, carefree self. She missed what once was: a family whole, laughter in the halls, the comfort of love that didn’t feel so distant.
The memories pricked at her eyes, threatening tears. She brushed them away, sitting on the edge of her bed, her fingers tracing the spine of her diary on the nightstand. She opened it, as she always did, and let her thoughts spill onto the page, the only witness to the truth she kept hidden from the world.
Dear Diary, 12:35 am
14/7/2016
Another year, without mom. Dad didn't came home to celebrate my birthday, I wonder what was the last time he celebrated my birthday with me, probably when mom didn't left us. I miss her a lot, all those pictures, memories, everything that we used to be, I miss it.
I hope dad still cares about me. He promised he'll spend time with me on this upcoming weekend, I hope this time he means it. If dad didn't spent time with me this weekend, I'll go to the park myself even if he doesn't allows me to. I am 18 now and I can take decisions for myself now.
Good night, diary.
Lily.
The next day, Lily walked into school, still carrying the echoes of her birthday.
“Happy Birthday, Lily!” Marcia’s voice rang out as she threw her arms around her. Lily’s lips curved into a soft smile. “Thanks, Marcia.
“So…how are you celebrating today?” Marcia asked, genuinely curious, walking beside her toward the classroom.
“Nothing much,” Lily replied with a small sigh, sealing her lips with a shrug. “Dad said he’d send Uncle John to take me shopping.”
Marcia raised an eyebrow, annoyance flickering across her face. “Uncle John? So your dad bailed on you…again?”
“I guess… but it’s not his fault. He’s busy… you know?” Lily said, convincing herself more than her friend.
Marcia huffed. “Fine, whatever. You’re eighteen now! We can hit the club tonight—celebrate your birthday like normal people. What do you say?”
“NO WAY! Dad would never allow—” Lily began, but Marcia cut her off with a sharp gesture.
“Lily… you’re eighteen. You don’t need permission. Unless, of course, you’re still drowning in daddy issues.” Marcia rolled her eyes.
That was the last straw. Lily felt a mix of thrill and guilt coil in her stomach. She needed someone to approve this… so she asked, almost whispering, “But…what will I tell Dad?”
“Easy,” Marcia said, smirking. “Bribe a maid, tell everyone you were too tired to leave your room, and sneak out the window. I’ll have my brother Kevin pick you up.”
Lily hesitated, her chest tight. Then, reluctantly, she nodded. “Alright… but I hope nothing goes wrong.”
“Oh, trust me, it’ll be fine. I’ve done this before,” Marcia reassured, though her grin suggested otherwise.
Lily bit her lip. “Yeah, but…where will we get the money?”
Marcia’s smirk widened. “John Uncle’s taking you shopping anyway. Make a fake list of things you ‘want,’ get the money. Your dad hardly says no.”
Lily exhaled, feeling both nervous and exhilarated. Marcia patted her back. “Come on, live a little, Lily!”
“Easier said than done,” Lily muttered as they entered the classroom.
Marcia leaned close, her voice playful but firm. “If you never try, you’ll never know. Just this once, it’s your birthday—go on, girl!”
And just like that, Lily felt the tiny spark of rebellion ignite. Tonight… things would be different.
Everything was falling into place, just like Marcia had planned:
Bribe a maid? ✅ Done.
Grab the money from John? ✅ Done.
Dress? Marcia had it covered—literally.
10 PM.
'Me and Kevin are at the back of your house. Come fast.' Marcia’s text blinked on Lily’s phone.
Her heart thumped as she slid the window open, legs swinging out, landing softly on the grass. Baggy t-shirt and trousers gave her comfort, but excitement fluttered through her chest. Kevin gave her a quick nod and opened the backseat door.
Inside, Marcia beamed like a kid on Christmas morning, holding a deep red dress.
“Ready? Change fast. I got heels too. Tonight… you’re gonna shine,” she said, excitement dripping from every word.
Lily blinked. “Where… do I change?”
Marcia waved vaguely. “In the car, duh. That’s why Kevin’s out flexing his muscles.”
Lily’s pulse quickened. She slipped into the dress—ankle-length, body-hugging, with a sweetheart neckline that made her cheeks warm. The fabric clung to her curves like it had been made for her alone.
Marcia let out a low whistle. “Ohhh, girl… we’re gonna make some heads spin tonight. Slayyy.”
Lily slid her feet into the heels, closing her eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply. You're eighteen. It's legal. You got this.
Kevin got back in the car, started the engine, and the tires hummed against the pavement. The city lights blurred past as Lily’s nerves tangled with anticipation. Tonight… everything felt dangerously alive.
In the club,
The club pulsed with bass-heavy music, lights slicing through the haze of smoke and chatter. Lily, Marcia, and Kevin stepped inside. Kevin wandered off to join a group of guys, leaving Lily and Marcia in the swirl of bodies.
Marcia grabbed her hand and pulled her onto the dance floor, spinning and laughing, their bodies moving in sync. They were the center of attention, beautiful and untouchable… until he appeared in her vision.
His eyes found her instantly. Piercing. Unblinking. Dominant. Mikhail Abramov. A man whose presence didn’t just command a room—it swallowed it whole. The music, the dancers, the laughter—they all faded when his gaze locked on her.
Power radiated off him in waves—calculated, cold, godlike. Every inch of him screamed authority, every flicker of expression a warning. He was Lev in Russia, a name whispered with both fear and respect. Here in America, he came for business… but now, he came for her.
Even the bravest of men in the room flinched at his stare, instinctively knowing: Mikhail Abramov always gets what he wants. By hook or by crook.
Taking a long drag of his cigar, the smoke curling like a shadow around him, he turned to his closest guard, voice deep and measured, yet carrying a hunger that made the hairs on anyone’s neck rise.
"Who is she?"
The guard swallowed, eyes darting to Lily, and for a moment, the world felt impossibly small, dangerously charged, and entirely consumed by the pull of his stare.
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