Prologue
Christine’s POV
I hadn’t planned for my life to unravel so quickly. When I left America, I’d imagined freedom, a fresh start that was all mine. No more family ties, no more being the one everyone leaned on, fixed, or pitied. And for a while, I almost believed I’d made it.
But Italy took everything.
The last few crumpled bills in my hand weren’t nearly enough to cover the month’s rent on my closet-sized apartment—a place with a leaky roof and walls thin enough to hear the city’s indifference with every drip. Kelvin’s money, the money I thought would buy me my freedom, had vanished. And here I was, dragging a battered suitcase through the rain, no plan, no one left to call.
I’d cut off everyone. Ignored my mom’s texts, let my grandmother’s calls go to voicemail. I’d seen their names flash on my phone, but I’d been too angry to answer, too proud to say I needed help. I’d told myself I didn’t need them, that I was done with their twisted brand of love. But as I walked soaked and empty-handed through these foreign streets, I began to wonder if I’d been wrong.
Italy was supposed to be my escape, a place to finally live on my terms. But the city didn’t care. And neither did my Italian “boyfriend,” who’d been so convincing in his charm until he took everything—my money, my trust, and what little pride I had left. Now he was gone, leaving me with a pile of worthless memories and the taste of my own foolishness.
I kept my head down, clutching the suitcase as rain soaked through my clothes, cold and relentless. Every step echoed my mistakes. My dreams of being an artist were as faded as the peeling paint on the walls of my tiny, empty apartment. No degree, no money, and no safety net.
I didn’t even know where I was going. Every hotel I’d checked was too expensive, and the few coins in my pocket wouldn’t get me a warm bed tonight. I felt like I was sinking into a bottomless pit, with every last bit of hope and dignity slipping through my fingers.
Ahead of me, a flashing neon sign caught my eye. It was a nightclub, loud and chaotic—the kind of place where nobody cared who you were. Maybe that was exactly what I needed tonight. I stepped inside, the thick, smoky warmth hitting me like a wave. And just like that, I’d made a plan.
If I couldn’t beg or borrow what I needed, I’d steal it. A purse, a wallet—anything that would buy me one more night. But as I moved through the crowd, something twisted in my gut. This wasn’t who I wanted to be.
But maybe it was exactly who I’d become.
