Nobody's Daughter

Aaliyah

The air in Salzburg felt lighter today, though that might have been wishful thinking on Aaliyah’s part. She glanced at Cruz, who was pacing the suite, her sharp eyes flicking to the window every few minutes. It was the same old Cruz: focused, stoic, and impossible to read. But something had shifted over the past few days—a softening she could feel more than see.

“You know,” Aaliyah began, watching Cruz pause mid-step, “we could sit in here and stare at walls all day, or we could get out and do something fun.”

Cruz turned her sharp gaze to her, skeptical as always. “Define fun.”

Aaliyah grinned, already prepared for the resistance. “DomQuartier Salzburg. History, art, and culture all in one place. Think of it as a cultural field trip.”

“You want to go to a museum?” Cruz’s voice carried an edge of disbelief.

“Yes, and you’re coming with me,” Aaliyah said, standing and stretching. “Unless you’re too scared to spend a little time outside the suite?”

Cruz arched an eyebrow. “I’m not scared.”

“Great,” Aaliyah said, grabbing her coat. “Then it’s settled.”

--

The museum was breathtaking, every hall a masterpiece of architecture and history. Aaliyah couldn’t help but marvel at the intricately painted ceilings, the gilded mirrors reflecting light like fragments of a dream. She moved ahead of Cruz, taking it all in, her steps light and purposeful as though she belonged there. Cruz, as usual, followed with an air of quiet vigilance, her eyes scanning every doorway and corner.

“Relax, Cruz,” Aaliyah said, glancing over her shoulder with a grin. “We’re in a museum, not a crowded street.”

“Doesn’t mean we’re safe,” Cruz replied, her voice low.

Aaliyah rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the warmth blooming in her chest. She slowed her pace, waiting for Cruz to catch up. “If you’re going to insist on being my shadow, at least try to enjoy the art.”

Cruz stopped in front of a large oil painting, her gaze narrowing slightly as she studied it. It depicted a pastoral landscape, the colors vibrant and alive, as though the artist had painted from memory rather than life. Aaliyah watched Cruz’s profile, the way her expression softened slightly, her dark eyes reflecting the golden hues of the painting.

“It’s beautiful,” Cruz murmured, almost to herself.

Aaliyah turned fully toward her, her heart skipping a beat. There was something vulnerable in Cruz’s tone, something Aaliyah rarely got to see. She stepped closer, her voice light but deliberate. “It’s not as beautiful as you.”

Cruz blinked, her head snapping toward Aaliyah. “What?”

Aaliyah grinned, enjoying the faint flush creeping up Cruz’s neck. “You heard me.”

For a moment, Cruz looked like she didn’t know whether to roll her eyes or walk away. Instead, she turned back to the painting, her voice clipped. “Focus on the art.”

“Way ahead of you,” Aaliyah replied, her grin widening.

They wandered through more of the museum, stopping occasionally to admire sculptures and artifacts. Aaliyah found herself deliberately brushing against Cruz as they walked—a light touch on her arm, a guiding hand on her back. Cruz didn’t flinch or pull away, but she didn’t acknowledge the touches either. Still, Aaliyah liked to think she noticed.

In one of the grand halls, they came across an enormous gilded mirror framed by intricate carvings of flowers and vines. Aaliyah stopped in front of it, tilting her head as she admired the craftsmanship.

“You could fit an entire room inside that frame,” she said, glancing at Cruz’s reflection. “What do you think?”

Cruz’s gaze flicked to the mirror briefly before scanning the rest of the room. “It’s… elaborate.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Aaliyah said, laughing softly. She stepped closer to Cruz, her voice dropping slightly. “You know, you’re allowed to enjoy yourself. It won’t kill you.”

“I’m fine,” Cruz replied, but there was a faint twitch of her lips that Aaliyah caught in the mirror.

“Is that your way of saying you’re having fun?” Aaliyah teased, turning to face her directly.

Cruz met her gaze, her expression unreadable. “I’m saying I’m not regretting it.”

Aaliyah smiled, the warmth in her chest growing. “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”

--

By the time they left the museum, the sun had begun to set, casting the streets of Salzburg in a soft, golden glow. Aaliyah wasn’t ready to let the day end. As they began their return to the suite, her mind raced with possibilities, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips.

“DomQuartier was fun,” she said, kicking off her shoes as they stepped inside. “But I think we can do better.”

Cruz gave her a wary look. “What are you talking about?”

“Dancing,” Aaliyah said, her grin widening. “There’s a club not far from here. Live music, good drinks, lots of people. It’s perfect.”

Cruz frowned, her arms crossing over her chest. “That sounds like a terrible idea.”

“No, it sounds like exactly what we need,” Aaliyah countered, stepping closer. “Think about it. A crowded club is the last place anyone would expect us to be.”

Cruz hesitated, the gears in her head visibly turning. Aaliyah could see her calculating the risks, weighing the pros and cons. Finally, Cruz sighed. “Fine. But only for a little while.”

Aaliyah beamed. “You’re going to love it.”

--

The club was alive with energy. Neon lights pulsed in time with the heavy bass that shook the walls, and the air was thick with heat and the scent of spiced cocktails. Aaliyah felt her pulse quicken as they stepped inside, her excitement buzzing like a live wire.

Cruz, predictably, looked like she was ready to bolt.

“Relax,” Aaliyah said, leaning closer so Cruz could hear her over the music. “We’re supposed to be blending in, remember?”

“This is me blending in,” Cruz replied, her tone flat.

Aaliyah laughed, grabbing Cruz’s hand and pulling her toward the bar. “At least have a drink before you start brooding.”

They ordered drinks—Aaliyah’s a fruity cocktail, Cruz’s a whiskey neat—and leaned against the bar, their shoulders brushing occasionally. Aaliyah sipped her drink, watching Cruz over the rim of her glass. There was something oddly endearing about the way Cruz stood, stiff and vigilant, like she was on a stakeout.

“You’re hopeless,” Aaliyah said, setting her drink down. “Come on.”

Cruz frowned. “What now?”

“Dancing,” Aaliyah said, grabbing her hand. “I didn’t bring you here to sulk.”

The dance floor was a blur of light and sound, the rhythm of the music thrumming through Aaliyah’s veins. She turned to face Cruz, her body already moving to the beat. Cruz, however, stood awkwardly, her hands hovering at her sides.

“Loosen up,” Aaliyah said, stepping closer until there was barely an inch between them. She took Cruz’s hands and placed them on her waist, her grin playful. “Just follow my lead.”

Cruz hesitated but eventually began to move, her steps stiff at first. Aaliyah guided her, keeping her movements fluid and natural. Slowly, Cruz relaxed, her grip on Aaliyah’s waist steady but gentle.

“You’re not half bad,” Aaliyah said, her voice soft enough that only Cruz could hear.

“Don’t get used to it,” Cruz replied, but there was the faintest hint of a smile on her lips.

Aaliyah felt a thrill run through her, the heat of Cruz’s hands and the intensity of her gaze making her dizzy. For a moment, it felt like the rest of the world had faded away, leaving only them and the music.

Aaliyah grinned, letting the music guide her movements. She stepped closer, her body brushing against Cruz’s as they found a rhythm together. Cruz followed her lead, her steps growing less rigid, more natural. The warmth of her hands on Aaliyah’s waist was distracting in the best way, and Aaliyah found herself wondering if Cruz even realized the effect she had.

The song shifted, its tempo slowing slightly, and Aaliyah leaned in closer, her lips near Cruz’s ear. “You’re not a half-bad dance partner,” she murmured.

Cruz huffed a laugh, her eyes tinged with something softer.

Aaliyah pulled back just enough to meet Cruz’s gaze. The neon lights cast shadows across her face, making her dark eyes seem impossibly deep. For a moment, the noise of the club faded, and it was just the two of them, moving in sync.

Aaliyah’s heart pounded in her chest, the moment charged with unspoken possibilities. She wondered if Cruz felt it too, if the flicker of vulnerability in her expression meant anything. Aaliyah saw Cruz glance at her lips, and Aaliyah flushed, wondering if Cruz was going to lean in and kiss her. But before she could find out, the music surged again, and the spell was broken.

They danced until the crowd thinned, the energy of the club mellowing into something more subdued. Aaliyah led Cruz back to the bar, both of them flushed and slightly breathless. She ordered another round of drinks, her confidence bolstered by the warmth buzzing in her veins.

“Admit it—you had fun,” Aaliyah said, handing Cruz her drink.

Cruz sipped her whiskey, her gaze steady. “Maybe.”

Aaliyah laughed, the sound light and unrestrained. “That’s as close to a yes as I’m going to get, isn’t it?”

“Probably,” Cruz said, her lips twitching into a faint smirk.

Aaliyah was about to press her further when a man approached, his steps unsteady and his gaze fixed on her. “Wait a minute,” he slurred, pointing clumsily. “I know you.”

Cruz’s demeanor changed instantly. She set her drink down and stepped in front of Aaliyah, her body tense. “You’ve got the wrong person,” she said, her voice low and steady.

“No, I’ve seen her before,” the man insisted, his voice growing louder. “You’re that girl… from the Hamptons beach party last year…Ehsan’s girl!”

Aaliyah’s stomach dropped, and her pulse roared in her ears. Cruz grabbed her waist without hesitation, pulling her away from the bar and toward the exit. They moved quickly, weaving through the crowd as Cruz kept a firm grip on her.

The cool night air hit them like a wave as they stepped outside, the noise of the club muffled by the closed doors behind them. Cruz didn’t stop until they were halfway down the block, her steps quick and purposeful.

“I’m sorry,” Aaliyah said, her voice trembling slightly. “I didn’t think—”

“Don’t apologize,” Cruz interrupted, her voice softer now. “Let’s just get back to the suite.”

Aaliyah nodded, her heart still racing as they walked briskly through the quiet streets. She cast a glance at Cruz, who was as composed as ever, but the tension in her jaw betrayed her. Aaliyah’s chest tightened, guilt and gratitude mixing in equal measure.

Cruz

Cruz paced the suite like a restless predator, the weight of her usual vigilance pressing on her chest. It wasn’t paranoia—it was preparation. Salzburg might have felt safer now that Aaliyah’s father was chasing ghosts in New York, but Cruz didn’t trust lulls.

“You know,” Aaliyah began, her voice cutting through the charged silence, “we could sit in here and stare at walls all day, or we could get out and do something fun.”

Cruz turned, leveling a skeptical look at her. “Define fun.”

“DomQuartier Salzburg,” Aaliyah replied, her grin already spreading. “History, art, and culture all in one place. Think of it as a cultural field trip.”

Cruz blinked. A museum? She tried to imagine herself in such a setting, surrounded by artifacts and tourists, and the mental image didn’t inspire confidence. “You want to go to a museum?”

“Yes, and you’re coming with me,” Aaliyah said, standing and stretching. The motion was fluid, graceful, and entirely too distracting. Cruz turned her gaze to the window to steady herself. “Unless you’re too scared to spend a little time outside the suite.”

“I’m not scared,” Cruz said, her tone sharper than necessary.

“Great,” Aaliyah chirped, grabbing her coat. “Then it’s settled.”

--

DomQuartier was as ostentatious as Cruz had imagined—towering ceilings painted with intricate frescoes, gilded mirrors that caught the light like precious jewels, and winding halls filled with an almost oppressive sense of history. Aaliyah moved ahead of her, taking it all in with wide-eyed wonder. Cruz followed a step behind, her eyes sweeping over every shadowed corner and potential hiding spot.

“Relax, Cruz,” Aaliyah called over her shoulder, her grin playful. “We’re in a museum, not a crowded street.”

“Doesn’t mean we’re safe,” Cruz replied automatically, her voice low. She caught herself scanning the faces of the other visitors, categorizing them as threats or non-threats without even realizing it.

Aaliyah slowed her pace, waiting for Cruz to catch up. “If you’re going to insist on being my shadow, at least try to enjoy the art.”

Cruz wanted to scoff, but her attention snagged on a large oil painting ahead. Its pastoral landscape was vivid, almost luminous, as if the artist had captured something fleeting and eternal all at once. She stopped, studying it despite herself.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, the words slipping out unbidden.

“It’s not as beautiful as you,” Aaliyah said, her tone light but deliberate.

Cruz blinked, her focus snapping from the painting to Aaliyah, whose eyes sparkled with mischief. “What?”

“You heard me,” Aaliyah said, her grin widening.

Cruz felt heat rise to her face—an unfamiliar, unwelcome sensation that she tried to smother immediately. She turned back to the painting, her voice clipped. “Focus on the art.”

“Way ahead of you,” Aaliyah quipped, sounding entirely too pleased with herself.

Cruz forced herself to keep moving, but her thoughts betrayed her. The compliment had caught her off guard, leaving her unmoored. Aaliyah’s words, her tone, the way she’d looked at her—it all lingered, unsettling and yet… not unpleasant.

As they moved through the museum, Aaliyah seemed to close the distance between them with every step. A light touch on Cruz’s arm as they paused in front of a sculpture. A hand brushing her back as Aaliyah guided her to the next exhibit. Each touch felt deliberate, like Aaliyah was testing a boundary Cruz hadn’t even realized existed.

She told herself it was nothing. Aaliyah was just… tactile. Friendly. It didn’t mean anything.

Except it did.

In one of the grand halls, they stopped in front of an enormous gilded mirror. Cruz’s reflection was startling—her posture stiff, her jaw tight, her hand hovering near her jacket as though she were seconds away from drawing a weapon. She didn’t belong here, not in this opulent space or in Aaliyah’s orbit.

“You could fit an entire room inside that frame,” Aaliyah said, tilting her head as she admired the craftsmanship. She glanced at Cruz’s reflection, her green eyes sparkling. “What do you think?”

Cruz scanned the ornate carvings framing the mirror, deliberately avoiding her own reflection. “It’s… elaborate.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Aaliyah said, laughing softly. She stepped closer, her voice dropping slightly. “You know, you’re allowed to enjoy yourself. It won’t kill you.”

“I’m fine,” Cruz replied, but even she could hear the faint crack in her usual stoicism.

“Is that your way of saying you’re having fun?” Aaliyah teased, turning to face her directly.

Cruz met her gaze, her stomach twisting. “I’m saying I’m not regretting it.”

Aaliyah smiled, the kind of smile that felt disarming in a way Cruz couldn’t explain. Her chest tightened as she watched Aaliyah turn back to the mirror, her expression soft and unguarded. For a moment, Cruz thought she might have felt… content. She shook the thought away.

--

By the time they left the museum, the sun had set, casting the streets of Salzburg in a warm glow. Cruz thought the day was over—she could sink back into her familiar rhythm of vigilance and order. But Aaliyah had other plans.

“DomQuartier was fun,” Aaliyah said. “But I think we can do better.”

Cruz frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Dancing,” Aaliyah said, her grin widening. “There’s a club not far from here. Live music, good drinks, lots of people. It’s perfect.”

“That sounds like a terrible idea,” Cruz said flatly.

“No, it sounds like exactly what we need,” Aaliyah countered, stepping closer. Cruz caught a faint whiff of her perfume—soft and warm, like jasmine and honey—and it threw her off balance for a second.

Cruz hesitated, weighing the risks. Aaliyah’s logic wasn’t wrong—a crowded club could be a good place to blend in. But the idea of being in a space like that with Aaliyah, surrounded by noise and chaos, made her chest tighten for entirely different reasons.

“Fine,” Cruz said finally. “But only for a little while.”

--

The club was alive with energy, the bass vibrating through Cruz’s chest as they stepped inside. Neon lights pulsed in time with the music, casting shifting hues of blue and pink across the packed dance floor. Cruz immediately began scanning the exits, her instincts on high alert.

“Relax,” Aaliyah said, leaning in close enough that Cruz could feel the warmth of her breath. “We’re supposed to be blending in, remember?”

“This is me blending in,” Cruz replied, her voice low.

Aaliyah laughed, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward the bar. Cruz allowed it, though the contact sent a jolt of awareness through her. At the bar, Aaliyah ordered a fruity cocktail while Cruz stuck to whiskey, sipping it slowly as she watched the crowd.

“You’re hopeless,” Aaliyah said, setting her drink down. “Come on.”

“What now?” Cruz asked warily.

“Dancing,” Aaliyah said, grabbing her hand again. “I didn’t bring you here to brood.”

The dance floor was chaos—a blur of lights and bodies moving in sync to the relentless beat. Cruz stood awkwardly at first, her hands hovering at her sides. But Aaliyah stepped closer, placing Cruz’s hands on her waist with a grin.

“Just follow my lead,” Aaliyah said, her voice soft and teasing.

Cruz’s breath caught as her hands settled against Aaliyah’s hips, the contact electrifying and far too intimate. For a moment, all she could think about was how close they were, how Aaliyah’s body moved effortlessly beneath her touch. Her steps were hesitant at first, stiff and out of sync, but Aaliyah didn’t let up. She smiled, her green eyes shining in the shifting light, and Cruz found herself… letting go. Just a little.

Cruz hesitated before moving, her steps stiff and unsure. But Aaliyah guided her, their movements falling into a rhythm that felt surprisingly… natural. Too natural.

“You’re not a half bad dance partner,” Aaliyah murmured against Cruz’s ear, her voice low and intimate.

Cruz could do nothing but release a choked laugh. The heat of Aaliyah’s body, the intensity of her gaze—it was all too much and not enough at the same time.

For a moment, Cruz let herself forget. The noise of the club faded, and it was just the two of them, moving together like the rest of the world didn’t exist. Her green eyes, bright with mischief and something softer. The curve of her smile. The way her lips parted slightly as though she were about to speak. Cruz’s gaze dropped, just for a second, lingering on those lips. Aaliyah’s green eyes held hers, and Cruz thought she might lean in, might cross a line she couldn’t uncross.

Then the music surged, breaking the spell.

Cruz told herself it didn’t mean anything, that it couldn’t. But the way her chest tightened every time Aaliyah looked at her said otherwise.

It was a problem she couldn’t afford to have. But for tonight, Cruz let it exist.

They danced until the crowd began to thin, the relentless energy of the club mellowing into a more subdued rhythm. Cruz’s movements grew more natural, her body finally finding the flow of the music despite herself. Aaliyah never stopped smiling, her joy infectious and disarming.

Cruz hated how much she noticed. How much she wanted to keep noticing.

As they finally made their way back to the bar, Cruz’s mind was a storm of conflicting thoughts. She didn’t know what to do with the warmth buzzing in her chest, the lingering imprint of Aaliyah’s hands on her shoulders. She took a sip of her whiskey, her gaze focused on the glass as though it held answers.

“Admit it—you had fun,” Aaliyah said, handing her another drink.

Cruz sipped it slowly, her eyes steady as they met Aaliyah’s. “Maybe.”

Aaliyah laughed, her grin widening. “That’s as close to a yes as I’m going to get, isn’t it?”

“Probably,” Cruz said, though her lips twitched into a faint smirk.

She didn’t know how to process what had just happened—the dancing, the closeness, the way Aaliyah had looked at her like she was something worth noticing. Cruz wasn’t used to that. She didn’t know how to be seen.

--

Cruz felt it before she saw it—the subtle shift in energy that signaled something was off. It was instinct, the kind honed by years of watching crowds and reading people. Her gaze flicked to the man staggering toward them, his steps unsteady but his focus unmistakably fixed on Aaliyah. She tensed immediately, her hand drifting to rest near her side, where she kept her knife concealed.

The man pointed clumsily, his voice slurring as he spoke. “Wait a minute… I know you.”

Cruz’s drink hit the bar with a quiet thud as she stepped in front of Aaliyah, her body a barrier. Her voice was calm but firm, laced with a warning she hoped would land despite his obvious inebriation. “You’ve got the wrong person.”

The man’s squint turned into a triumphant grin, his voice growing louder. “No, I’ve seen her before. You’re that girl… from the Hamptons beach party last year. Ehsan’s girl!”

Cruz’s stomach sank. The words hung in the air like a gunshot, shattering the fragile bubble of normalcy the night had lulled her into. She didn’t give the man a chance to say more. Her hand shot out, grabbing Aaliyah’s waist with enough force to be firm but not hurtful, and she pulled her away from the bar.

“Let’s go,” Cruz said sharply, her voice low but urgent.

The crowd was dense, but Cruz moved through it with precision, her grip on Aaliyah steady. Her pulse hammered in her ears, drowning out the music as her mind raced. Was the man just a drunk idiot? Or had Aaliyah’s father’s reach extended further than they’d thought? Either way, she wasn’t sticking around to find out.

Behind her, Aaliyah stumbled slightly, trying to keep up with Cruz’s long strides. Cruz slowed just enough to keep her upright, but she didn’t loosen her grip. “Stay close,” she muttered, her voice more clipped than she intended.

The club’s doors burst open as they stepped outside, the cold night air hitting them like a shock to the system. Cruz didn’t stop moving. Her steps were quick and purposeful, weaving them through the quiet streets until the pounding bass of the club was a distant echo.

Cruz finally slowed when they reached a quieter stretch of road, the glow of streetlights casting long shadows on the cobblestones. She scanned the area, her sharp eyes darting to every alley and doorway. When she was satisfied they weren’t being followed, she released Aaliyah’s waist and let out a slow, controlled breath.

“I’m sorry,” Aaliyah said, her voice trembling slightly. “I didn’t think—”

“Don’t apologize,” Cruz interrupted, her tone softer now but no less firm. “Let’s just get back to the suite.”

The words weren’t harsh, but they came out colder than she intended. Cruz wasn’t angry—not at Aaliyah, at least. She was angry at herself. Angry that she hadn’t clocked the man sooner, hadn’t anticipated this kind of slip-up. She prided herself on being prepared, on seeing threats before they materialized. And yet, tonight, she’d let her guard down.

They walked briskly through the quiet streets, the tension between them palpable. Cruz’s senses were on high alert, her mind replaying the man’s slurred words over and over. Ehsan’s girl. The recognition had been too specific to dismiss, and it gnawed at her, the possibility of being discovered in this supposedly safe haven.

As they neared the suite, Cruz felt Aaliyah’s gaze on her, soft but heavy. She didn’t look over, didn’t acknowledge it. Her jaw was tight, her focus forward, but she could feel the unspoken weight of Aaliyah’s emotions pressing against her like a physical force.

By the time they reached the suite, Cruz had compartmentalized the night’s events as best she could. The lingering tension in her chest, though, was harder to ignore. It wasn’t just about the potential threat—it was about the fact that, for one fleeting night, she’d let herself get comfortable. She’d danced. She’d let herself be close to Aaliyah in a way that felt more than professional.

And it had almost cost them.

Cruz glanced at Aaliyah as they stepped into the suite, her dark eyes unreadable. Aaliyah’s shoulders were tense, her expression a mix of guilt and something softer. Cruz didn’t know what to do with that. She didn’t know what to do with any of this.

All she knew was that she’d do whatever it took to keep Aaliyah safe. Even if it meant locking down every part of herself that had started to slip loose.

“Get some rest,” Cruz said quietly, her voice steady. “We’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

Aaliyah nodded, but Cruz could see the flicker of hesitation in her eyes. It lingered as Aaliyah moved toward the bedroom, the door clicking shut behind her. Cruz exhaled, letting her head fall back against the wall for a moment.

The man’s voice echoed in her mind again. Ehsan’s girl.

Cruz clenched her fists, her jaw tightening. She wouldn’t let anyone touch Aaliyah. Not him. Not anyone.

Even if it killed her.