Aurelia grew up without much love from her mother, and she never thought her real dad would ever come into her life. But then, he did. Now, she wonders if it's too late for him to rescue her from the darkness her parents left her in, or if there's s...
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I was just on my way out to gather information from a traitor who had the audacity to steal from us when I received a call from Nevada at 11 PM. Uncertain who would call me at such an hour, especially from a state where I had no ties, I decided to answer as I walked to my office.
"Hello, Mr. Ramírez?" came the voice on the other end.
"Who is this?" I responded, a touch rough.
"I'm Ana Brown, the head of Sunshine Foster Home. I regret to inform you that your wife has been in an accident."
My heart sank. My wife—please, not Leandra. I wasn't prepared to hear she might have passed away. "How is she doing?" I managed to ask, my voice strained.
"Well, sir, I don't have much information, but there's something else I need to discuss. It's about your daughter, Aurelia. Are you willing to take her in, or should we place her in foster care?"
My mind reeled. My wife... and now my daughter? The tears began to flow, and I struggled to comprehend the gravity of the situation. "Sir, are you there?" Ana's voice broke through my haze.
"Hello?" she prompted.
"Yes, of course. When can I come and pick her up?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
"It's quite late, and she's asleep. You can pick her up at 8 AM tomorrow, if that works for you. If not—" Ana began.
"No, that's fine. Could you please message me the location?" I interrupted. I couldn't bear the thought of delay.
"Of course. When you arrive tomorrow, we'll need to discuss a few matters with you. Have a good night, Mr. Ramírez."
"Okay, goodbye."
As the call ended, my emotions surged uncontrollably. I feared that if I opened my eyes, this would all disappear. Determined to act, I called my pilot and instructed him to prepare the jet. Then, I went to wake up Cristían.
"Cristían," I called out, but he didn't stir. Approaching him, I was met with the barrel of a gun.
"What the fuck, Dad? Trying to get yourself killed by your own son?" he snapped, his voice hoarse.
"Get ready. We need to leave in an hour," I ordered.
"Where are we going?" he demanded.
"Eso fue una orden. No hagas preguntas, sólo haz lo que te dicen," I replied sternly, knowing he'd bristle at my tone.
"I'll be waiting downstairs," he grumbled.
With a quick message to our family group to inform them of our whereabouts, I waited for Cristían, who seemed even more annoyed than before. This was shaping up to be a pleasant trip.
The car ride to the airport passed in silence. Finally seated inside the jet, Cristían broke the silence.
"Want to tell me now where we're going and why?" he asked, his irritation palpable.
