Found
Aaliyah
The sound of the bell above the café door jingled, and Aaliyah’s heart skipped a beat. She didn’t even have to turn around. She could feel it—the slow, creeping pressure of eyes that had been trained on her since she’d walked in, the weight of every glance like a thousand needles against her skin.
Her hands, trembling slightly, gripped the edge of the table in front of her. The porcelain coffee cup that had been sitting untouched for the last fifteen minutes had long since gone cold, the dark liquid now a murky reminder of her disarray. The cup had once seemed like a safe thing to focus on, but now it just sat there, mocking her.
Her wedding dress—too white, too bright, too everything—was cloying. The fabric felt like it was suffocating her. She hadn’t meant to end up in a café in Palma de Mallorca, clutching a cup of cold coffee and mumbling to herself in the back corner of a café like a mad woman. But here she was.
What the hell was I thinking?
Aaliyah felt nauseous, like the world had turned into a dizzying blur of white walls, too many stares, and too many questions that she didn’t have the answers to. What was she doing? What now?
She had planned every detail of her escape—every single one—except for one glaringly important oversight: she had forgotten the goddamn bag.
The bag that contained everything she needed: her passport, cash, her burner phone, the clothes she had packed for the journey. The clothes that would have made her blend in, the phone that could have helped her contact someone—anyone—who could help.
Instead, she had run. She had bolted from her wedding, from her life, and now she was sitting in a café, wearing the most conspicuous thing she could have possibly chosen—this dress, this symbol of everything she was supposed to be. The bride. She felt like a prisoner inside it, each lace stitch a reminder of the life she had just tried to escape.
She didn’t even know what she was supposed to do next. The initial rush of running, of freedom, had faded, and all that was left now was panic. Cold sweat trickled down her spine, and her chest tightened with the growing realization that she was alone in this.
No plan. No money. No contacts.
And worst of all, no one to trust.
The café was small, cozy, almost quaint in its simplicity, but it felt like an open wound now. The quiet chatter of a few patrons did nothing to ease the tension in her chest; it only made her more aware of the stares. Some people tried to look away, as though embarrassed by her, but they couldn’t stop glancing back at the woman sitting alone in a wedding gown, clearly not where she was supposed to be.
She could feel their eyes digging into her. The couple seated nearby whispered to each other, their words indistinct but their gaze firmly fixed on her. The older woman at the bar gave her a once-over, a raised eyebrow, clearly perplexed by the sight of a woman in a wedding dress, alone, with no groom in sight.
Aaliyah pressed her lips together, fighting the urge to break into a cold sweat. She needed to stay calm. She needed to think.
The waitress approached with a hesitant smile. She was young, maybe in her early twenties, her dark eyes studying Aaliyah with the same curiosity as the rest of the patrons.
"Are you… okay?" the waitress asked, her voice tentative. "Can I get you something to eat? A drink?"
Aaliyah's mouth was dry, and her stomach twisted with anxiety. Her thoughts were running a million miles a minute, none of them coherent. She could hear her own heartbeat in her ears.
"No," Aaliyah managed, her voice shaking slightly. She glanced up at the young woman, her eyes wide with panic. "I—I don’t need anything."
The waitress hesitated, clearly trying to gauge whether Aaliyah was just upset or if she was in real trouble. But Aaliyah’s tone was sharp now, and she gestured with one hand, a subtle but firm dismissal.
"Please," she said, quieter now. "Just... leave me alone."
The waitress nodded, her brow furrowed, but she backed away, retreating behind the bar and leaving Aaliyah to sit in her corner. The space between them felt like a chasm now, as if the weight of her escape had finally crashed down on her in the most unexpected of places.
I can’t stay here. Not like this.
Aaliyah stood abruptly, her knees wobbly under the weight of the dress, but the movement caught the attention of a few more patrons. Their gazes followed her, lingering a little too long. She didn’t care anymore. She needed to leave.
But just as she took a step toward the door, a quiet bell above it jingled. A small sound, but to Aaliyah, it was deafening. The bell signaled the entrance of someone new. Someone who could have been anyone.
But Aaliyah’s breath caught in her throat as she turned instinctively, her eyes lifting to meet the person entering the café.
Cruz.
It only took a split second for Aaliyah’s body to lock into place, her legs stiffening under the sudden rush of adrenaline. Her mind screamed at her to run, to flee before Cruz saw her. But it was already too late.
The moment their eyes met, something heavy settled between them—a tension so thick, it almost felt tangible. Cruz was standing just inside the door, her posture rigid, her expression unreadable. She was scanning the room with that calculated, military focus Aaliyah had grown all too familiar with.
Aaliyah’s chest tightened, her mind racing.
No, no, no.
The panic bubbled up again. Cruz hadn’t found her yet, had she? She was supposed to have been in the bridal suite, still coordinating with the rest of the team.
But now Cruz was here—alone. Her presence, as deliberate and commanding as always, felt like the weight of the world pressing down on Aaliyah’s shoulders. She could see the slight narrowing of Cruz’s eyes, the way her muscles tensed as she took in Aaliyah’s appearance. Cruz knew her too well.
She knows. She knows I’m running.
Aaliyah’s pulse thrummed in her ears, her throat dry, and all she could think was run. But her legs refused to move. She was trapped in the eyes of the one person she could not escape, the one person who would not let her slip away.
Cruz took a single step forward, and Aaliyah felt her breath catch, as if the very air between them had thickened.
What now?
Cruz
The streets of Palma de Mallorca were bathed in the golden glow of the adjacent street lamps, the gentle breeze carrying the scent of saltwater through the air. Cruz’s grip tightened around the steering wheel of her vehicle, her eyes scanning the bustling city with the practiced precision of a soldier.
Think like her. Where would she go?
Aaliyah’s escape had shaken Cruz, more than she cared to admit. But the mission was clear: find Aaliyah, get her back to the estate, and ensure that the political deal with her family was preserved. There was no room for failure. No room for hesitation.
Cruz’s mind raced through her options as she drove down narrow streets and past bustling storefronts. She knew Aaliyah was resourceful, but she also knew the young woman had lived a life of privilege, a life where freedom had been a distant dream, not a reality. Cruz kept that in mind as she surveyed the city. Aaliyah wasn’t the type to hunker down in the back alleys or behind warehouses where the city's shadows would swallow her up. She had been raised in opulence. She would hide where she felt safest—somewhere that didn’t draw too much attention, but also somewhere where she could blend in without arousing suspicion.
Cruz turned down another narrow street, the engine of her car purring softly beneath her. She slowed down as she passed the few places still open: an upscale boutique, a hotel with a bar still serving guests, a restaurant with outdoor seating. It didn’t make sense for Aaliyah to go somewhere like that, but Cruz’s gut told her to keep her options open.
She knew how this worked. People like Aaliyah didn’t disappear into the bowels of the city. They didn’t hide in places that smelled like desperation. They hid in plain sight, in places that seemed inconspicuous but weren’t. Aaliyah would be somewhere she could walk in and out of easily, somewhere she could sit and not draw suspicion, but still keep an eye on her surroundings.
The sound of the engine hummed in the background as Cruz’s eyes flicked between the storefronts and the pedestrians. Then, just as she passed a corner, she saw it: a quaint café, its windows adorned with twinkling lights and a small sign hanging by the door. It was the kind of place people went to escape the noise of the city, a bit of calm amidst the chaos. She didn’t know why it stood out to her, but Cruz's gut told her this was it.
She pulled over, the car gliding to a stop a short distance from the café. She didn’t hesitate. As soon as the engine was off, she grabbed the bag with Aaliyah’s supplies from the passenger seat, slipped it under her arm, and stepped out into the cool evening air.
There was no time to waste. She moved swiftly toward the café, her boots striking the pavement with purpose. Cruz had learned long ago to trust her instincts—whether it was on a mission in the field or tracking a target in a foreign city. She hadn’t been wrong yet.
As she neared the entrance, she noticed a few patrons lingering outside the café, laughing and chatting. The bell above the door jingled as she stepped inside.
It took her a moment to adjust to the low light of the café, the warm, intimate atmosphere that contrasted with the chaos in her chest. Her eyes immediately scanned the room, every corner, every face, every table. But it didn’t take long for her gaze to settle on one familiar figure in the back corner, sitting alone by a window.
Aaliyah.
The moment their eyes met, Cruz could see the flash of recognition, the way Aaliyah’s body stiffened, her breath catching in her throat. She was frozen, the panic in her eyes unmistakable. But there was no running now. Cruz had her.
For a brief moment, Cruz felt a strange flicker of something—an emotion she couldn’t quite place—but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. This wasn’t about emotions. This wasn’t about Aaliyah’s feelings, her confusion, or her desire to run away from a life she hadn’t chosen. Cruz’s directives were clear: protect Aaliyah, and make sure she got back to her family.
She was the lioness, not the prey.
Cruz moved toward Aaliyah’s table, her steps measured, calm, but resolute. She felt the weight of the mission press down on her as she drew closer. This wasn’t a negotiation. It wasn’t a matter of understanding. This was about getting Aaliyah back to the estate, where she would fulfill her role as the bride. Where she would marry Ehsan, and the political alliance would be sealed.
Cruz had done this a hundred times before. She had executed operations with military precision, had guarded high-profile figures without question. There was no room for second-guessing. No room for compassion or hesitation.
"Time to go, Aaliyah," Cruz’s voice was low, firm. "We’re going back."
Aaliyah didn’t respond immediately. She just sat there, frozen, her hands gripping the edge of the table, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and defiance. Cruz saw the tremor in her fingers, the tightness in her posture. Aaliyah’s breath was shallow, her chest rising and falling in quick bursts, but there was no sign of resistance—not yet.
Cruz stopped just a few feet from the table. She didn’t sit down. She didn’t need to. The distance was important. It gave her control, but it also gave Aaliyah space.
Aaliyah’s gaze flickered to the door, to the window, as if searching for some way to escape. But there was nowhere to go. Cruz had already blocked her exits.
"You don’t have to do this," Aaliyah said finally, her voice wavering with a raw edge of desperation. "You don’t have to take me back. I won’t go back to him."
Cruz’s expression didn’t change. She had heard this before.
“I’m following orders, Aaliyah,” Cruz replied, her tone flat, emotionless. “You’re not in control here. You have to come with me.”
But as she spoke, she couldn’t help the way her eyes lingered on Aaliyah. The girl in the wedding dress, sitting alone in the corner of this little café, the very picture of someone who had just ripped the script from her life.
Cruz’s jaw tightened. She couldn’t afford to feel anything right now. She couldn’t afford to care about what Aaliyah wanted, about the desire in her eyes to escape.
This is about the mission. Nothing more. Nothing less.
But for the first time, Cruz wasn’t so sure that was enough.