Adora's P.O.V

“Cowards!” I shouted at both men who sat by my side, fighting their grip that helped me as if their lives depended on it

I couldn't hold the frustration anymore; my blonde hair was fully shattered now.

“Let me go!” I shouted. My makeup was already ruined from sweat, and my shoes had vanished to God knows where; my legs? They fought restlessly, and I couldn't stop myself from kicking, pushing everything around me, even though I still couldn't escape.

The car suddenly stopped with a soft thud.

“Take the lady out,” the driver said, his voice calm and mean. He turned his head slowly to look at us. I felt a hot, sick feeling in my stomach, pure disgust. I wanted to spit in his face. The word “lady” sounded like a cruel joke.

The man to my right clicked the door open. He yanked my arm hard. My body wanted to pull back, but his grip was iron. Pain shot through my wrist, and I gasped. He held me like I was a thing, not a person.

“Quiet!” he hissed, his voice sounding low and angry. His eyes locked on mine with a hunger that made my skin crawl. He looked like he wanted to break me with words alone.

“You shut up!” I shouted, hating the small tremble in my voice. How dare he tell me to be quiet, as if I were a slave or a child? Rage burned under my fear.

I tried to stand tall. I forced my chin up, tried to breathe steadily. I wanted to be brave for my father, for myself. But the anger and the fear swirled together, and the fight inside me felt like it was losing power. Tears came without permission, hot and fast, and I could not stop them. They ran down my face and fell on my almost torn dress.

The man moved closer. His steps were quiet but heavy. His face bent close to mine until his breath hit my cheek. He smelled of smoke and something like metal and old clothes. His voice was a cold whisper.

“If I were you,” he said, “I would act like the good bait you are and stop this attitude before it drags you six feet under and forgotten.”

His words were a knife. I felt them cut through whatever hope I had left.

He kept going, slow and cruel. “Take this as a secret from me to you, the Canas don’t like hard-headed people. No one is going to save you. If you act smart or stubborn, forget about staying alive. The mafias don’t mind shedding blood… innocent blood.”

He turned his head away, toward the bright white house in front of us, like he was looking at the prize. I watched his face and felt my chest get tight, like something heavy pressed on it.

My hands shook. My mind scrambled. I wanted to scream more words, to tell him I would never be anyone’s bait, that I would fight until the end. But my voice felt small and thin. Fear pushed my anger down into a cold, empty place.

I thought of my father on the floor, begging. I thought of the torn paper, the contract, and the way El-Cana smiled like this was all a game. A hot, bitter sadness filled me. I had always trusted my father. Now his choices had put me here, and the world felt upside down.

The lights from the house cut across my dress. My legs were weak, but I forced my feet forward, step by step, each step harder than the last. My tears blurred the lights into long streaks.

Inside me, a small voice kept fighting: Don’t give up. Don’t be what they want. But everything around me told me I was alone, small, and easy to break.

They closed the car door with a hard click. The sound felt final. My heart slammed against my ribs. I pressed my fingers to my arm where his grip had left a bruise. It hurt, but it reminded me I was still here.

I did not know what would come next. All I knew was the weight of their words, the cold of their hands, and the way El-Cana’s men looked at me like I was already taken. My world had shifted in a single night. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run. Instead, I walked toward the house, tears on my face and a small, stubborn hope burning somewhere inside my chest.

Inside the house, everything looked too perfect, too clean to be real.

The walls were painted pure white, so white that they almost glowed under the golden lights. The floor reflected everything, smooth and shiny like glass. Even the air smelled expensive.

My eyes caught the line of maids standing by the wall, each one dressed in a neat black and white uniform. They stood in a perfect row, hands folded in front of them, eyes down. None of them dared to look at me. It was as if I were something sacred or cursed.

“Our lady’s room has been arranged,” said one of them. She was older than the rest, with sharp eyes, her hair neatly pinned back. From the way she spoke, I knew she was the chief maid. Her voice was calm, but it carried a kind of warning underneath.

I pulled at my arms again, fighting the grip of the men beside me. My wrists hurt. My breath came fast, but they didn’t loosen their hold. It was useless. My body was tired, but my mind wouldn’t stop fighting.

Then I froze. Something on the wall caught my eye.

A large framed photo hung just above the grand staircase. Two men, standing side by side. The same dark hair. The same sharp jawline. The same piercing eyes.

“Twins?” I whispered, then shouted, “Twins?”

My heart jumped painfully in my chest. My eyes darted between the faces in the photo, searching for a mistake, a trick, but there was none. My mind raced back to that night at the club. The man with the scar. The same cruel smirk. The same dangerous aura.

It was him.

And yet, there were two of him.

One, the man who stood in front of my father and forced me into this nightmare.

The other, the man from the club who had pulled me close, whispered things I didn’t understand, and looked at me like I was already his.

The truth hit me hard, like a slap.

They were brothers. Twin brothers.

The Canas.

Had this all been a set up?

I couldn’t breathe for a moment. My stomach turned. My legs felt weak. I wanted to scream, to cry, to run, but where could I go?

How was I supposed to live under the same roof as two devils? Two men who looked the same but carried different kinds of darkness? One killed with silence, the other with charm.