Chapter (15): Application

Chapter 15

Matteo sat beside Lolita, happily munching on his sandwich, crumbs flying as he chatted away. He had this innocent excitement in his eyes that made her stomach twist. The way he could be so effortlessly happy, so oblivious to the darkness closing in, made her want to scream. But she stayed silent, watching him with a tight, forced smile. He didn't deserve this—none of them did.

"Loli, this is really good! Waki got me my favorite!" Matteo beamed, swinging his legs back and forth as he took another bite, looking like a child who had just received the greatest gift.

Lolita didn't return the enthusiasm. She nodded, her eyes flicking toward Waki, who was leaning against the wall, a strange calmness around him. His presence was unsettling, his unreadable gaze making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. There was something about him—something off—but she couldn't pinpoint it. At least he hadn't done anything suspicious yet.

Waki broke the silence. "Alright, we should get moving."

Lolita arched an eyebrow, her mind already racing. "Moving where?"

"You'll see," Waki said with a smirk, his tone too casual for her comfort. He gestured to the door, clearly in no mood to explain.

Matteo practically jumped out of his seat, his excitement growing. "Are we going somewhere fun?"

Waki chuckled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Something like that."

With that, they left the sterile hospital room and made their way outside. The night air was crisp, cool against her skin as they approached the sleek black car parked by the curb. Matteo didn't hesitate, practically running to the car as if he were a kid on Christmas morning. Lolita followed, her steps slow and measured, as though preparing herself for the inevitable storm ahead.

The car hummed to life as Waki slid behind the wheel, and they drove off. Lolita's gaze fixed on the city passing by, her mind tangled with thoughts she couldn't quite untangle. She didn't trust Monica—didn't trust anyone associated with her. The uneasy tension gnawed at her, but Matteo remained oblivious, too busy watching the city lights blur as they sped by.

Thirty minutes later, the cityscape gave way to something else entirely. The noise of the streets faded, replaced by the soft rustling of trees. They were on a narrow road now, bordered by towering palm trees swaying in the evening breeze. The setting sun cast golden hues across the landscape, painting everything in an otherworldly glow.

Lolita's eyes widened as they turned onto a private road. The place was surreal—a secluded haven, hidden from prying eyes, and undoubtedly out of her reach. The gate to a massive estate opened smoothly, as if it had been expecting them.

Matteo gasped, his small hands pressing against the window in awe. "Loli! Is this our new home?!"

Lolita didn't answer. She couldn't. Something about the whole situation felt wrong, the luxury tainted with suspicion. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she stared out at the sprawling estate before them.

Waki parked the car, his eyes still cold and calculating. "Monica wanted this house for you two. It's secure, private—no one can find you here."

Lolita's heart skipped a beat. This wasn't a gift—it was a cage.

Matteo, however, was already out of the car, bounding toward the house like it was a playground. "Loli! Come on, let's see inside!"

Lolita followed, but her heart wasn't in it. She knew what this was. They were moving her pieces around, as if she were some pawn in a game she never agreed to play.

Inside, the house was magnificent—a sprawling testament to wealth and power. Marble floors gleamed under the chandeliers that sparkled like diamonds. Velvet furniture lined the living room, and the windows stretched from floor to ceiling, giving a panoramic view of the back yard. But it wasn't the grandeur that caught her attention—it was the feeling of being trapped in a gilded cage.

And then she saw it.

A private beach.

The back doors led out to a breathtaking view of the ocean. The waves rolled gently, reflecting the orange and pink hues of the setting sun. The salty breeze brushed her skin, and for a moment, she almost felt like she could breathe. But it didn't last.

"Loli, look! We have our own beach!" Matteo exclaimed, his voice full of joy and innocence.

Lolita couldn't bring herself to feel the same excitement. Instead, her insides twisted with dread.

Waki stood there, his eyes locked onto her. "Everything you need is here. Clothes, food, security."

Lolita turned to face him, her jaw tight. "Why?" she asked, the question barely more than a whisper. But it was enough.

Waki's smirk didn't falter. "Because Monica doesn't like loose ends. You're an investment now."

Her stomach dropped.

Matteo, oblivious to the dark undertone of Waki's words, had already bolted upstairs, eager to explore his new room. Lolita followed slowly, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Upstairs, the rooms were just as luxurious as the rest of the house. Matteo's room was bright and cheerful, filled with toys and books—everything a child could dream of. But Lolita's room was something else entirely. It was pristine, sterile, and unnervingly professional.

And then she saw it.

The wardrobe was already stocked—with office clothes.

Lolita's stomach twisted. These weren't just random clothes. The blazers, pencil skirts, silk blouses—everything screamed corporate. Structured. Planned.

Her fingers hovered over the wardrobe handle before she turned toward the desk. A sleek laptop sat there, its screen already glowing, as if waiting for her.

With hesitant hands, she touched the trackpad. The browser was open. An email draft filled the screen.

Application for Personal Assistant Position—Sofian Sai.

Lolita's heart pounded.

She scrolled down, scanning the contents. A full application, perfectly filled out. Her name, credentials, past experiences—all fabricated. A professional cover letter, sleek and convincing. Even references—people she didn't know—had been arranged in advance.

Her breathing shallowed.

She hadn't written a single word of this.

This wasn't a suggestion. It was an order.

Her hands trembled as she sat down, rereading each line, searching for a way out. But there wasn't one. Monica's people had built this trap perfectly, leaving no gaps, no loopholes.

A war raged inside her.

She could run. She could grab Matteo and leave everything behind. But where? She had nothing. No money. No allies. Nowhere to go. And even if she tried to run with Matteo, Clara's life would be in danger, since they already at her school watching her.

Her throat tightened.

With a deep, shaky breath, she moved the cursor over the send button.

One last pause.

Then, she clicked.

It was done."*