Prologue – Popcorn, Plushies, and Peril
Ria Miller
I was thirteen the night everything ended. One moment, I was winning a quiz on a brightly lit stage; the next, I was locked in a dark room with a stranger’s voice telling me I’d never see my family again. I didn’t know then, but that night would decide the rest of my life.
All the colorful lights were blinding, but I couldn’t bring myself to blink. What was this place? A ballroom? A party hall? Honestly, who cared? It looked magical. Laser beams danced from the ceiling, the floor vibrated beneath my feet with every drop of music, and laughter rippled louder than the speakers. Families bustled everywhere—mothers in gowns, dads with half-spilled drinks, and kids hopping between buffet tables and glowing arcade machines. The air fizzed with cotton candy and caramel popcorn.
I stood there, completely dumbstruck, my mouth slightly open and arms frozen at my sides. A warm hand suddenly curled around my shoulder, jolting me out of my trance.
“Oh, Dad!” I squealed, turning to look up at him. He raised a brow, amused.
“I’m going to love this party. Thank you for bringing me. This is going to be the best day of my life!”
I kissed his cheek and gave him a sideways hug, never peeling my eyes away from the magic in front of me.
“Don’t get too excited and wander off,” came my mother’s gentle but firm voice. She had just entered, juggling two squirmy toddlers on either hip. “Always stay alert and watch your surroundings, Ria.”
My twin baby brothers, Arthur and Austin, both two years old, squealed when they saw me. I reached my arms out just as they wriggled free. Thankfully, Dad stepped in just in time to catch Arthur while I scooped up Austin, who grabbed a fistful of my hair immediately.
“Ow! Naughty!” I teased, laughing. My heart swelled. My two tiny pumpkins—the names I proudly chose myself—were the brightest part of my life.
“Grace, don’t worry. This place is well-guarded. No one’s going missing today,” Dad assured, gently placing a kiss on Mum’s forehead. She smiled and nodded, ushering us further inside.
This wasn’t just any party—it was his company’s annual family get-together. Every year, Thompson & Company hosted a casual celebration for employees and their families. But this year? This year was… different. Bigger. Brighter. Almost suspiciously perfect.
After the company’s CEO passed away months ago, his second wife, Irene Thompson, took over everything—legal affairs, board control, even public appearances. Whispers swirled around her, but tonight, she was the generous host behind this grand event.
As soon as the introductions with Dad’s colleagues were over, I kissed Mum’s cheek and bolted toward the arcade section—carefully, of course, dodging knees and punch cups. But just as I was about to disappear into the fun, I felt a soft tug at my hair again. Austin’s chubby fingers.
“Oh, now you’re getting naughty?” I scolded in mock frustration. “You two need to wait a few more years before you can join me in the fun zone. For now, be good, drink your milk, and nap, okay? I’ll be back for tickles later!”
I kissed both their cheeks again and dashed off, weaving through the crowd like a pro.
I was in heaven—darting through glow-in-the-dark tunnels, stacking plushies, and biting into candy floss bigger than my head.
Then came the announcement.
“All girls aged between 13 and 16, please proceed to the central stage for a special quiz challenge! Win big prizes!”
My ears perked up. A quiz? I loved quizzes. I wasn’t just smart—I was a child prodigy. I’d even skipped a whole grade in elementary school. Logic puzzles, riddles, reasoning—I could outmatch anyone my age. This was my thing.
I ran toward the stage with excitement bubbling in my chest. The challenge had multiple rounds—logic, memory, speed, aptitude—and I blazed through them. Kids dropped out one by one until only three of us remained for the final round. And I won.
The host clapped. People cheered. My heart soared. I asked to see my parents. Instead, two tall guards approached me with serious faces and said they’d take me to collect my prize and meet my family.
I followed. Trusting. Naive.
They led me through a side corridor—dark, cold, and eerily silent, away from the party’s glow. I frowned. “Where’s my mum? My dad? I want to go with them—”
Before I could finish, one of the men pushed open a heavy wooden door and shoved me inside. The door slammed shut behind me.
I screamed. Pounded my fists. Begged to be let out.
Silence.
Then a speaker crackled overhead.
“You’ve been trapped, Ria. If you don’t cooperate, you won’t see your parents or brothers alive again.”
My knees buckled. The voice didn’t sound familiar. It was distorted. Monotone. But the words were crystal clear.
My family had been taken.
And I was the bargaining chip.
I stayed in that dark, lifeless room for what felt like days. Maybe two? No windows. No food except stale crackers and a bottle of water. No one to talk to. My head was filled with the sound of my own sobbing.
Eventually, someone came for me. I was “rescued,” they said. Sent to a foster home. A few weeks later, a wealthy couple—the Martin—adopted me. They were loving, kind, and generous. They took me to Paris. Gave me everything.
But deep down, I knew. Someone was pulling the strings. My adoption. My new life. Even my future marriage. All of it… a setup.
Because somewhere out there, my family was alive.
And for them… I would become whoever the world wanted me to be.
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