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''You know, if you wanted to take me on a date, you could've just asked,''

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THE TRUCK RUMBLED to a stop, the engine cutting out as we reached a massive wrought-iron gate. My heart sank further as I caught sight of the guards stationed there—one holding the leash of a snarling dog. Its teeth glistened as it strained against its handler. Great, as if escaping wasn't already impossible, now there was a guard dog in the mix.

The lead guard gestured to the driver. ''All right, let them in.''

One of the other guards stepped forward and pushed a button, the gate creaking open. The truck rolled through, bumping along the gravel driveway lined with looming oak trees. The house at the end was enormous, all clean lines and looming windows. It was the kind of place that reeked of power, the kind you didn't get by being nice.

I stayed huddled in the corner of the truck bed, trying to calculate every possibility of escape. None of them were good. My wrists were still bound, and every bump in the road made the ropes dig deeper into my skin. The dog, though—that damn dog—made everything seem futile. Even if I somehow got away, it would be on my heels in seconds.

The truck jerked to a stop in front of the house, the headlights cutting across the expansive front lawn. One of the guards grabbed me roughly, yanking me out of the truck. Gravel crunched underfoot as he dragged me toward the door. I couldn't help myself—I had to get one last dig in.

''You know, if you wanted to take me on a date, you could've just asked,'' I muttered, throwing him a pointed glare.

The guard didn't laugh. Instead, he glared back, his grip tightening enough to make me wince. He dragged me up the steps to the massive front door, which swung open to reveal a housekeeper standing stiffly in the entryway. She was older, her grey hair tied back into a bun so tight it looked painful. She didn't look at me, only at the guards.

''Take her upstairs. The Orinoco Room,'' the housekeeper instructed.

The guard gripping my arm jerked me forward. ''This way,'' he barked, dragging me through the echoing marble hallway. The house was silent, save for our footsteps. It felt more like a museum than a home, with its towering ceilings and art that screamed, Look how rich we are.

We reached a set of stairs, and he hauled me up them two steps at a time, ignoring my protests. I stumbled, barely catching myself before he shoved me down the hallway.

At the end of the corridor, he opened a door with one hand and shoved me through with the other. ''Inside,'' he ordered curtly.

I whirled around to face him. ''Who are you working for?'' My voice was sharp.

He didn't respond. Instead, his lip curled into a faint smirk as he cut the ropes off my hands. ''Dinner at eight. I'd clean up.'' He stepped back and slammed the door shut before I could fire off another question.

''Just tell me what you want!'' I shouted, but the only answer was the sound of the lock clicking into place.

I stood there for a moment, breathing hard. My eyes darted around the room, taking it all in. It was luxurious in a cold, clinical way. The bed was enormous, its red linens so pristine it felt wrong to touch them. There were no personal touches—no photos, no clutter—just the kind of wealth that felt oppressive.

I crossed to the window and peered out. Below, the guards were milling about near the gate. The dog was still there, pacing restlessly. I scanned for weak points—a tree to climb, a gap in the fence—but there was nothing. Even if I could get out the window, I'd never make it past the perimeter.

Turning back to the room, my eyes landed on a wardrobe in the corner. I hesitated before pulling the door open. Inside were several identical red dresses, each neatly hung and pressed. A small note was stuck to the inside of the door: Pick your size.

''You've got to be fucking kidding me,'' I muttered, shaking my head. It was like some twisted joke. I stared at the dresses for a moment before yanking one off the hanger.

I slipped it on over my clothes. If there were cameras in the room—and I was willing to bet there were—I wasn't giving them a show. My shorts and tank top stayed firmly in place underneath. The dress was loose enough that it didn't show, and I figured I'd deal with the discomfort later.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I stared down at my hands. They were trembling slightly, though I wasn't sure if it was from fear or anger. I didn't want anyone to die—not my friends, not even Jimmy, despite his part in this mess. I never wanted to hurt anyone. But if it came down to me or them... I clenched my fists. 

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and I shot to my feet. My heart raced, but I didn't let it show on my face. The housekeeper entered, her expression just as cold and detached as before.

''He's ready,'' she informed me briskly.

I blinked, unsure if I'd heard her correctly. ''The fuck?'' I muttered under my breath, following her out of the room. My steps were hesitant, but I forced myself to walk tall.

The hallway was eerily quiet as we descended the grand staircase. The housekeeper didn't look back at me once, her heels clicking sharply on the polished floors as she led me to a room near the back of the house. She opened the door and stepped aside, her job done. I hesitated for a beat before stepping through.

The room was dimly lit, with rich wood paneling and furniture that screamed old money. Across the room, a figure sat in a chair, his back to me. I didn't need to see his face to feel the unease curling in my stomach. 

''Uh, excuse me?'' I called, my voice steady despite the anxiety gnawing at me.

The chair swiveled around, revealing none other than Rafe Cameron. I froze, my stomach dropping. Of course, it had to be him.

''Seriously?'' I snapped, taking a step back instinctively. ''I knew you and Ward were behind this shit.''

Rafe's brows furrowed, his head tilting slightly. ''What are you talking about?'' he countered, his tone oddly calm. He stood, taking a step closer. ''Are you trying to weasel in on my deal? Is that what's going on?''

I scoffed, crossing my arms. ''Weasel in?'' I teased, narrowing my eyes. ''Is that what you think?''

Before he could respond, another voice cut through the room, smooth and authoritative. ''I wondered if your little reunion would cause sparks.''

Both Rafe and I turned toward the window, where a man stood with his back to us. He chuckled softly before turning around. His sharp suit and commanding presence made it clear he wasn't just some hired help.

''Who are you?'' Rafe demanded, instinctively stepping slightly in front of me, as if to shield me. I didn't know whether to be annoyed or appreciate the gesture.

The man walked closer. ''Me?'' he repeated with a faint smile. ''My name is Carlos Singh. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cameron. And Miss Kentala, I do apologize for the rough tactics in bringing you here.''

I noticed Rafe glance at me then, his eyes trailing to my wrists. I realized they were still red from the ropes. His brows twitched slightly in what looked like concern, but he didn't say anything. I shifted my hands behind my back.

''But please,'' Singh continued, gesturing toward the chairs across from his, ''come. Sit down.''

Neither of us moved.

Singh sighed lightly, as though amused. ''Come now, I don't bite.'' He waved his hand again.

Reluctantly, I moved toward one of the chairs, sitting stiffly. Rafe hesitated before following and sitting beside me.

''Why am I here?'' I asked, my tone clipped. I didn't care about the pleasantries.

''Well, Miss Kentala, Mr. Cameron,'' Singh began, pouring himself a glass of amber liquid from a crystal decanter, ''we share certain interests. Objectives.''

''Is this not about the cross?'' Rafe interjected, leaning back in his chair with forced nonchalance.

Singh smiled faintly. ''It is. Tangentially, it is about the cross. But it's also about something much, much bigger than the cross. By orders of magnitude.''

"By orders of magnitude... the completion of a grand quest. You see, the story goes that 450 years ago, a Spanish soldier came out of the Orinoco Basin with a few gold beads. And when they asked the Spanish soldier where the beads came from, the Spanish soldier replied he got them from a peaceful Indigenous tribe who lived in a city of gold. El Dorado." His voice carried a kind of reverence as he described centuries of people dying for the treasure.

I kept my face blank, my gaze fixed on him, though my mind was racing. I wasn't about to let him know what I was thinking. That was power I wasn't willing to give up.

"And for the next 450 years, people tried to find that gold, you know. They tried. Conquistadors, knights, captains of ships, tribes, entire nations. All fighting each other in a race for the end of the rainbow. Thousands of lives laid on the pyre of gold fever. And it falls on me, you know. It falls to me to complete the task. To bring full circle a quest that has gone for almost 500 years. Perhaps... perhaps the greatest quest in the history of the western hemisphere, you know.''

''And you two,'' Singh concluded, chuckling softly, ''are going to play a part in that.''

''What about you, Miss Kentala?'' he asked, turning his attention fully to me. ''Are you interested in history?''

I met his gaze coolly. ''I'm more of an 'I want to get the fuck out of here' person,'' I replied flatly.

Singh's chuckle was light, almost genuine. ''Direct. I like that.''

''Yeah, I didn't listen to a word you said,'' Rafe interrupted, leaning forward slightly. ''How much longer are you gonna keep philosophizing?''

I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms. ''Get to the point. What do you need from me?''

Singh inclined his head slightly. ''Straightforward. I like that as well.'' He set his glass down gently. ''I'm looking for an old manuscript. A diary, actually.''

''I have no idea what you're talking about,'' Rafe replied quickly.

''Neither do I,'' I added.

Singh smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. ''But how else could you have learned that the cross was on the Royal Merchant?''

I shrugged, my voice calm. ''If I knew how to help you, I would.''

Singh's expression hardened slightly. ''I was hoping you wouldn't say that, because unfortunately, I don't believe you.'' His tone was as smooth as ever, but there was an unmistakable edge. ''You and your friend here couldn't have found the cross without it.''

''He's not my friend,'' I stated firmly, glancing briefly at Rafe, whose gaze dropped to the floor.

''We can't all be friends,'' Singh replied easily.

''Look, this is ridiculous,'' Rafe snapped, standing abruptly. ''I'm out. I don't know anything about a diary, okay?''

He turned to leave, but a guard with a large rifle stepped into his path. Singh tilted his head. ''Do I look like a fool to you, Mr. Cameron?''

Rafe froze, clenching his jaw before slowly walking back to his seat.

Singh smiled faintly. ''You have the cross. That blondie and her friends had the cross at one point. So, one of you has the diary. And if you really don't know... I suggest you convince your friends to tell me. Once I have the diary, you'll be free to leave.''

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

''ENJOY THE GROUNDS during your stay,'' Singh said, his tone coldly polite, almost mocking. ''I must warn you, though, I'm not a man of infinite patience. You have one day.'' He held up a single finger like it was some grand act of generosity. ''Go to the window for a little demonstration. I think you'll enjoy it, you know.''

The way he patted Rafe's arm as he left made my stomach twist.

Rafe lunged for the door, jiggling the handle furiously. ''Hey. Hey! You're just done talking?'' He rattled it again, swearing under his breath when it didn't budge.

I let out a shaky exhale and moved to the window, brushing past him. The curtains were heavy, stiff as I pulled them aside. ''It's locked,'' I mumbled, not really expecting a response.

My breath caught as I looked outside. Below, on the wide porch, a man was being dragged along, his steps faltering as the guards forced him forward. ''Get off me, man! I didn't do nothing!'' he yelled.

''Who the hell is that guy?'' Rafe asked, stepping closer to the window. His voice was sharp, but there was something else there—confusion, maybe.

I hesitated, swallowing the lump in my throat. ''He... he was trying to help me,'' I admitted quietly, though I wasn't sure why. I knew where this was going. Another death, another person gone because of me.

Rafe didn't reply. His gaze was glued to the scene below, his brow furrowed. Singh appeared, walking with that same unhurried confidence as before. The guards stiffened as he approached, one of them passing him a gun. My heart thudded painfully against my ribs as Singh glanced up at us, his eyes sharp and calculating.

''Whoa, whoa, whoa,'' Rafe muttered, his hands rising slightly, like he thought Singh might hear him through the glass. He shifted closer to me, but his eyes didn't Singh's and thegun.

My pulse roared in my ears as Singh raised the gun.

''This diary,'' Rafe said suddenly, turning to face me. ''Hey, no bullshit. Don't bullshit me. Okay? Do you have it?'' His voice was urgent, but not harsh.

I didn't answer, my throat too dry to speak.

''Mimi?'' he pressed, his voice softer this time. His eyes searched mine, almost pleading.

I shook my head slowly. ''No, I don't have it,'' I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. My legs felt unsteady, so I sat on the edge of the bed, trying to breathe through the panic clawing at my chest.

Rafe knelt down in front of me, his movements careful, almost hesitant. ''Are you sure?'' he asked gently. ''Is there anything—anything at all—that you know about it?''

I pressed my hands to my forehead. ''Why are you even here?'' I snapped suddenly, the words spilling out before I could stop them. ''What's your deal, Rafe? And why the hell are you being so nice to me now? After everything you've done?''

His face hardened for a moment, his jaw tightening, but then he scoffed softly and pushed to his feet. ''You don't know shit about me,'' he shot back, his voice rising slightly.

I glared at him, my fists clenching in my lap.

But then, just as quickly, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders slumping. ''Look,'' he muttered, his voice lower now, almost resigned. ''I'm sorry, okay? I don't always... I don't always control myself, but I swear—I swear—I never wanted to see you get hurt.''

The sincerity in his tone threw me off guard, and I found myself meeting his gaze. He knelt again, placing a tentative hand on my knee. His touch was surprisingly gentle, and for some reason, I didn't pull away.

''I don't know these people,'' he admitted quietly, his eyes locked on mine. ''But I do know that if we don't figure out where this diary is, they're going to kill us. Both of us.''

For a moment, we just stared at each other, the gravity of the situation sinking in. Outside, the sound of a gunshot echoed, and I flinched, my breath hitching.

Rafe's grip on my knee tightened slightly. ''We need to figure this out,'' he said, his voice firm but not unkind. ''Together, okay? I'm your best shot.''

Rafe stood up and leaned against the wall, his arms crossed as his gaze flicked back to the locked door, then to me. The faint echo of the gunshot from earlier still rattled in my ears.

''You know something,'' he muttered, his voice steady but probing. ''You have to. Because not once, not a single time, have you accused me of lying about this diary.''

I blinked at him, unsure how to respond.

''It's unusual, don't you think?'' he pressed, stepping a little closer. ''If you didn't trust me at all, you'd be accusing me, right? Telling me I'm full of shit. But you haven't.''

I swallowed hard, my throat dry.

He knelt down in front of me again, his expression softening. ''Look,'' he started, his voice quieter, almost gentle. ''We can escape together, okay? I don't care about the Pogues, I don't care about this whole feud bullshit. But I do care about getting us out of here. And making sure you're safe.''

His words caught me off guard, but I didn't let it show. I kept my expression stony as I stared back at him.

Rafe exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair. ''These guys aren't playing around, Mavie,'' he continued. ''If we don't give them that diary, we're as good as dead.''

I shook my head slowly. I couldn't let Singh get the diary. Protecting Pope's family treasure wasn't just about loyalty—it was about something bigger. I couldn't betray my friends. But at the same time, the thought of Rafe dying because of this, because of my mistake, twisted my stomach into knots.

He sighed and stood up, glancing around the room. ''Well,'' he muttered, grabbing one of the pillows from the bed. ''He gave us a day. We don't have a plan. Might as well rest up.''

I frowned, watching as he tossed the pillow onto the floor and stretched out, resting his head against it. ''What are you doing?'' I asked.

''Getting comfortable,'' he replied casually, folding his arms behind his head.

''The bed's big enough,'' I pointed out, still frowning.

He glanced up at me, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. ''Yeah, but I can see you don't trust me,'' he remarked, shrugging. ''I don't want you sleeping with one eye open all night.''

I hesitated, biting the inside of my cheek. ''Then let's make a deal,'' I suggested.

Rafe tilted his head, intrigued but wary. ''What kind of deal?''

''A promise,'' I replied, leaning over the edge of the bed and extending my pinky finger toward him. ''We're in this together. We get out of this together. You said you don't want to hurt me, so I'll promise not to hurt you either.''

He stared at my hand for a moment, his expression unreadable. ''A pinky promise?'' he asked, his tone almost amused.

''Yes,'' I affirmed, my voice firm.

After a moment of hesitation, he reached up and linked his pinky with mine, his grip light but steady. ''Alright,'' he murmured. ''Promise.''

I nodded, pulling back and gesturing to the bed. ''Now, you can sleep up here. I'm not going to stab you in your sleep or whatever.''

He huffed a soft laugh but climbed up, settling onto the edge of the mattress as far from me as possible. He was so close to falling off that it was almost comical.

I smirked, grabbing a couple of pillows and arranging them between us in a makeshift barrier. ''This is the line,'' I declared. ''You can't cross it.''

He glanced over his shoulder at the pillow fort, his lips twitching into a faint smile. ''Whatever you say,'' he mumbled, but I could see the amusement in his eyes.

That tiny smile made my heart skip a beat, but I ignored it, nodding in approval as I