Chapter One— Exposed Heiress

“Oh God. Not again.”

The words slipped out as I stood abruptly from my seat in the dessert lounge, and my chair scraped loudly against the floor.

My best friend, Diego, leaned in from across the table. “What is it?”

His voice brought me back to the fact that I was in public. My gaze lifted to find eyes on me—some stares were judging, some curious and a few widened in sudden recognition.

I forced an awkward smile, tugging the hood of my oversized hoodie over my head as I sank into my seat. I scrolled through the anonymous post on social media.

Title:

BILLIONAIRE BRAT GONE WILD: Heiress Isabella Montez caught leaving wild party with mysterious man

Category: EliteRot Chronicles

You heard it here first. The Montez Empire's darling heiress and alleged "future of the brand" took a detour from corporate princess to hotel debauchery. Sources at the event confirmed Isabella Montez's very hands-on birthday bash ended with more than just champagne showers.

Heart thudding, I skipped the filler paragraphs and went straight to the exclusive photos under the post. My stomach dropped the moment it opened.

The first photo was blurry but damning all the same; I was leaning against a broad figure in a dark suit, and his hands were steady at my waist as though he owned me. From the angle the photo was taken, it screamed intimacy.

The second shot caught the figure bending toward me. I pinched the screen to zoom the picture, squinting.

Were we kissing?

My hand flew to my lips as if they could tell me whether I had really kissed a stranger last night.

“Isa, what are you looking at?” Diego asked, trying to peek at my phone.

I ignored him, my palms sweating as I scrolled to the last picture.

It was outside this time, in the harsh flash of paparazzi lights, the stranger eased me into the backseat of a sleek car. His back and side profile were all the camera caught. He was unrecognizable. Mine, however, was unmistakable.

God. I'm doomed. This wasn't just damaging, it was a PR bloodbath waiting to happen.

I slumped against my seat, the iced coffee and snacks I had ordered to fix my hangover sitting forgotten on the table. I felt the blood draining from my face as the gravity of this sank in.

I didn’t bother checking the comments. I knew what I would see.

The headline said it all already: Billionaire Brat Gone Wild.

This was exactly why I couldn't breathe in this life. I couldn't get a break even on my birth day.

I rubbed at my temple, a sigh leaving my lips. I didn’t realize I was staring into space until Diego snatched my phone away.

I blinked back into focus as his jaw dropped.

“What the actual fuck, Isa? Who the hell is this guy? You crashed in my bed last nigh, I would know if you sneaked out with some mystery man.” He paused. “Right?”

I glared at him. “This is not the time to—”

“Rich girls play, companies pay. That’s what they’re saying.” He scowled at the phone screen. “They’re tearing you apart like vultures.”

“You're not helping, Diego!”

“It’s a true puzzle, don't you think?” He goes on. “How are they so desperate to watch someone they don't know burn?”

I twisted my hoodie strings. “By God, if you don't stop—”

“Whore?” Diego's usually warm, brown eyes turned a shade darker. “Really? I swear, these basement trolls need their fingers broken.”

I tuned out Diego's voice, my fingers drumming on the table as I tried to think of how I could have gotten into this situation.

“How did I get home last night?” I asked, grabbing his attention. “You took me home, right? That’s why I was in your bed. If—”

“Isa.”

“If that’s true, what are those photos then? Why would—”

“Isa!”

I jumped, my eyes moving to focus on him.

“I didn’t take you home last night. I assumed you—”

“What?” I exclaimed, cutting him off.

He leaned in. “Lower your voice, Isa. Unless you want half this lounge live-tweeting your meltdown.”

I glanced around the lounge; eyes darted our way again but this time, whispers accompanied it.

I leaned in as well, my voice barely above a whisper. “What do you mean you didn’t take me home? How did I end up in your bed then?!”

“I assumed you took a taxi home,” Diego whispered back.

“I didn’t! I—” I blinked. Once. Twice. I slumped into my seat with a whoosh. “I don’t remember.”

Diego’s eyes narrowed and his gaze snapped back to my phone.

“Look, his face doesn’t even show. This reeks of a set-up, Isa. Someone wanted these photos to go viral and they—”

He trailed off as he pinched the screen with his thumb and index finger to zoom the photo.

His jaw clenched as he shoved the phone back at me. “If that’s who I think it is, you need to stay the hell away.”

I leaned in immediately. “You recognize him? Who is he?”

Diego shook his head. “He has a striking resemblance to Emilio.”

I blinked at him, thrown. “Emilio? That’s ridiculous. Why would your brother—”

“Because he’s Emilio,” Diego cut in.

I frowned as the low hum of chatter in the lounge shifted. It was louder, broken by the occasional stifled laugh.

From the corner of my eye, I caught the subtle movements—heads ducking together, fingers tapping, swiping, then angling their phones so others could see.

And then, the glances sliced toward me. Some were quick and guilty, others bold and lingering.

I sat straighter, forcing myself not to shrink, but my stomach tightened all the same.

They were talking about me. Judging. I didn't need to be told what it was about.

A few phones angled toward me and my skin crawled. Despite the attempts to be discreet, I knew they were taking photos of me.

My gaze met Diego's, my forehead furrowed with worry.

“We should go,” he said, having noticed the phones too. “We need to flip this before things get out of hand.”

We stood immediately, shuffling toward the front door, and I pulled the hood tighter around my face. Then, flashes went off as Diego pulled the door open.

“It’s her!”

“Over there!”

“Señorita Montez, a word, please.”

“What do you have to say about the post?!”

The paparazzi.

“Shit,” Diego muttered under his breath.

I ducked behind him, using him as a shield against the barrage of flashes.

“What should we do?” I asked, peeking from his shoulder, my breath catching. “We can’t walk through them.”

God. Why was I in an oversized hoodie, baggy joggers, and a messy bun today of all days?

“Use the backdoor, okay? I’ll drive around to get you.”

I nodded, tracing my steps back into the lounge as Diego walked out, closing the door behind him.

Eyes followed me as I made my way to the counter, the whispers unashamed.

“It’s really her.”

“Is she wearing his clothes?”

“Was that another man she was with just now?”

“She does look fresh out of a wild night.” Someone chuckled.

I should have gone to my usual café shop as Diego suggested. This would never have happened there; they knew how to keep their customers’ privacy.

But no! I had stubbornly wanted to do something different.

“Can I use the staff exit, please?” I asked the employee behind the counter.

“Sure, Señorita Montez,” he answered, bowing slightly. “I’ll lead you.”

I almost rolled my eyes at the formality but thanked him regardless. I followed behind him, leaving the gossipmongers behind.

He stopped at a narrow hallway and pointed toward a door. “That’s it, Señorita Montez.”

“Gracias.”

“My apologies for the inconvenience. We hope to see you again.”

I forced a smile. “Sure.”

Never!

They already had enough exposure from my presence today. They could enjoy that while it lasted.

Without wasting any further time, I hurried toward the door, pushing through into a narrow, quiet alley.

An alley, the kind where headlines always come with the word body attached.

Just perfect.

Señorita Isabella Montez was stupid enough to pick a lounge whose backdoor opened into a deserted alley.

Father had one more thing to cut me down about.

Father.

Just the thought of him made my chest tighten.

I could already hear his voice, sharp, cold, the same tone he used when the press twisted that mess with Mateo into a scandal.

“You cost us more than money, Isabella,” he'd said.

Not once did he ask if I was okay. He never did.

His secretary hadn’t texted or called. Yet. I had time to get things under control.

“Diego, c’mon,” I muttered, my gaze flicking between the two entrances to the alley, not sure which way the car would appear.

“There she is!”

“Señorita Montez!”

I turned to the voices to see a group of paparazzi hurrying toward me from one end of the alley.

Oh no.

Their cameras lifted. One click would make the difference for their careers. My eyes widened in alarm… and a shadow fell over me.

My eyes settled on a broad stretch of chest, dark shirt straining against it. My brows drew together.

I heard the camera clicks. The excited voices.

“That’s the man from last night!” one of the paparazzi exclaimed. “The back profile matches!”

More clicks. The footsteps were getting close.

I frowned, took a step back from the figure in front of me. I craned my neck back and shock jolted through me.

A smirk tugged his lips—half amused, half dangerous. “Hola, Little Red.”

What in the heavens?

Emilio Salazar?