Chapter 1: Between Routine and Mystery

The cell phone rang, shattering the silence of the morning, but it was the voice on the other end that truly pulled me from my lethargy.

—"Miss Ford?" —a deep, almost icy voice said.

—"Yes, it's me," —I replied, still feeling the weight of sleep in my eyes.

—"We are calling from the Highland Park Court. Your mortgage has been canceled."

A feeling of relief mixed with astonishment washed over me; I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "I have hope," I thought to myself.

—"Someone has claimed the rights to your property."

My feelings of hope crumbled like a sandcastle under an unrelenting wave.

My hands, still drowsy, trembled as I held the phone. It was not a good day for this.

—"How...?" —incredulity seeped into my voice—. "Who is claiming the property? I don't remember having more relatives."

—"I'm sorry, but I can't provide any further details right now. It is urgent that you appear tomorrow at the Central Court of Highland Park at 9 a.m. Please be punctual. Thank you."

The call ended, and I let the phone drop onto the table, feeling as though my world was teetering.

—"This can't be happening," —I murmured, perplexed, covering my face with my hands.

I sat on the bed, my stomach a knot. The nightmare from the previous night still fluttered in my mind. The terrifying figure, wearing a tattered robe and with disheveled hair, haunted me. They were just echoes, but they felt so close. Barefoot, I wandered through the house, noticing how the cold air wrapped around me. To the right, the darkness of the night still lingered within me; to the left, the light of day challenged me to face it all.

It's hard to look at myself in the mirror and see how, at only 25, I carry a weight that seems disproportionate. My curly hair, once something I adored and my mother always praised, now feels like a reminder of what has broken inside me. Living in a city like Highland Park, with its elegant and renowned residents, seems just a distant echo of what my life used to be.

I miss my parents with an intensity that sometimes feels unbearable.

—"How could you leave me?" —I asked the air—. "How could a simple car accident take everything from me?"

Tears streamed down my face as I thought of them. And now, here I am, the sole heir of the Fords, facing the desolation of a ruined legacy. The debts have led the bank to seize our mansion, and I find myself seeking distraction in a night bar, working a job that doesn't fill the void I feel. Though the work provides momentary relief, it's merely a partial escape from a painful life and the horrible dreams that have tormented me since childhood.

Night falls heavily. I grab my car keys from the nightstand, put on my black bag, finish fixing my long, curly hair, and tie it back into a ponytail.

I hurried down the huge stairs of the lonely Ford mansion, trying to reach my little car, a Volkswagen that wasn't very modern but had been with me these last few years since my family went bankrupt and I had to sell my luxurious Mercedes. The streets of my mysterious town at night appeared darker than they already were; the grand mansions with large gardens lent an air of elegance but also intrigue, as if hiding something beneath their surface.

The trip to the bar didn't take long. The huge sign with the printed name "Highland" illuminated the dark street.

I stepped inside, pushing through the tight crowd that danced and sang as if there were no tomorrow, and headed to my locker in the back to put on my uniform.

The din of the loud music made it hard to hear the customers. Some were very attentive and pleasant, but others were incredibly disrespectful, something I had become accustomed to. The DJ stopped the music to take the microphone; he was a new guy, athletic in build, with brown hair, an extravagant tattoo on his right arm, and an earring in his ear that identified him as a rocker.

—"His name is Ryan," —Ruth told me, nudging me gently when she noticed I had stopped to watch the singer.

—"Ugh," —I made a bored gesture, and she smiled. Ruth was my coworker for whom I had developed great affection; like me, life hadn't given her many joys.

My boss approached to ask me to help out in the VIP area, and I headed over. He always sent me because he said that, despite being beautiful, I was also very kind, which was very true, considering I was raised with excellent manners due to my parents' status. My mixed-race, somewhat tanned complexion from my Mexican mother had served me well.

I made my way to the VIP room; there, the music was less audible, something I greatly appreciated. I approached the enormous and luxurious sofa to offer my services, and what I saw left me frozen. A man of imposing and enigmatic presence, just looking at him made me feel his power; his hair, as black as night, fell thick over his shoulders. He appeared to be in his 30s but gave the impression of being much older. He wore a black suit that, although luxurious, seemed to have been bought in another era; judging by his appearance, he was very wealthy. He was sitting in front of me, and beside him was a beautiful woman with a long neck and red hair that stood out against her extremely pale skin. They were both laughing pleasantly.

I approached the table to do my job, a little nervous about the man's appearance, but with the courage I had always had.

—"Good evening, I hope you are enjoying the evening. How may I assist you? Would you like something to drink?" —I asked with kindness and the best of my smiles.

—"You can bring a bottle of champagne," —the red-haired woman said arrogantly, averting her gaze from me as if ignoring my words.

But he looked directly at me, fixing his intense gaze on me. His completely black and deep eyes reflected a power and intensity that seemed supernatural. I looked back at him, and a terror, mixed with desire, seized me. A few seconds passed, but it felt like an eternity. Finally, he spoke to me.

—"Make it a 'Dom Pérignon'" —his voice was as imposing as his appearance, adding a sensuality I had never seen before. I gave a slight bow and went for the drink.

I served them the entire time they were there; they didn't request my presence again, so it was a break from the busy work. Around 2 or maybe 3 a.m., they stood up to leave. I went to clean the table as they were leaving. The red-haired woman, standing, was very tall and beautiful, but he was enormous, with a robust build, as if he had stepped out of a magazine; his long, straight, thick hair framed his angular face. The woman took his arm. He passed by me, and the edge of his hand brushed against mine.

A terror coursed through my body, mixed with an uncertainty I can't explain. But I returned to my tasks; I had too many problems to think about that mysterious man.

The early morning passed quickly, and the time to go home arrived even faster. I took my things from the locker, went to the bathroom to try to fix my hair and appearance marked by the rough night. The mirror reflected my tired face; a dark shadow loomed under my large, expressive light brown eyes.

—"Here," —Ruth said, extending a makeup palette to me, with a compassionate smile from someone who has suffered as much as I have—. "This will help conceal it a bit."

I silently thanked her and took it.

Traffic was somewhat heavy, but I managed to arrive a few minutes early for the meeting.