Chapter 1: The boy in the rain
He knew my name before we met. I wish I'd never learned his.
Barcelona looked beautiful when it rained.
That was the problem with Barcelona.
Even when the sky turned black and the streets flooded with reflected lights, the city still managed to look like a place where people fell in love.
I hated it.
Especially that evening.
My trainers splashed through a puddle as I hurried across the university courtyard, clutching my bag against my chest. Rain slipped beneath my jacket, my hair was sticking to my cheeks, and my phone had died ten minutes ago.
Perfect.
Absolutely perfect.
“¡Lucía! Move your beautiful little ass!”
I turned just in time to see Zoe Castillo waving frantically from beneath the university library's entrance.
“I'm going to kill you!” I shouted.
“Get in line!”
I ran the remaining distance and stumbled beneath the shelter.
Zoe took one look at me and burst out laughing.
“You look like you've been dragged behind a taxi.”
“Thank you. Your friendship means everything to me.”
“Anytime, cariño.”
I glared at her.
“Don't call me that.”
“Fine. My miserable, wet roommate.”
“Better.”
We pushed through the library doors, escaping the rain and the cold wind blowing in from the streets.
Universidad de Sant Jordi was beautiful in the way old European universities tended to be beautiful: towering stone arches, dark wooden doors, enormous windows, and corridors that made every footstep sound like a secret.
It was also full of people who thought their family names made them royalty.
I had spent two semesters learning to ignore them.
Tonight, however, the entire library seemed to have forgotten how to whisper.
Students were gathered near the entrance, pretending not to stare at someone seated beside the tall windows.
Zoe followed my gaze.
“Oh.”
I looked at her. “What?”
She grabbed my arm.
“Oh, no.”
“What do you mean, oh, no?”
“Please tell me you know who that is.”
I looked back at the man by the window.
Black shirt. Sleeves rolled to his forearms. Dark hair falling carelessly over his forehead. A silver watch gleaming beneath the library lights.
He was looking down at his phone, one hand resting beside an untouched cup of coffee.
He wasn't doing anything particularly interesting.
And yet, people kept looking at him.
A girl at the next table had been staring for so long that her friend had to nudge her.
Two guys near the shelves were whispering.
The librarian herself seemed strangely reluctant to tell him that food wasn't allowed inside.
“Should I?” I asked.
Zoe stared at me as if I'd announced that I'd never heard of the internet.
“Lucía. That's Adrián Valdés.”
The name meant nothing to me.
Apparently, this was a crime.
“Okay?”
“Okay?” she repeated. “His family owns Valdés Global. Hotels, property, construction, investments. His father has more money than some countries. And Adrián is the only son.”
“Congratulations to his parents.”
“His family is worth billions.”
“Then he can afford a better personality.”
Zoe made a strangled noise.
I turned to her.
“What?”
“You cannot say things like that in public.”
“Why?”
“Because he can hear you.”
I glanced towards the window.
Adrián had stopped looking at his phone.
His eyes were on me.
Oh.
His eyes were very, very brown.
And he was smiling.
Not the polite smile people gave strangers.
Not the empty smile rich boys wore when they knew everyone wanted something from them.
This smile was slow.
Almost familiar.
As if he'd been waiting for me to say something interesting.
I looked away first.
Which annoyed me.
“Come on,” I muttered, pulling Zoe towards the stairs. “We have work to do.”
Behind us, a chair scraped against the floor.
Then came the sound of footsteps.
Unhurried.
Confident.
Getting closer.
“Lucía Álvarez.”
I stopped.
Zoe's fingers tightened around my arm.
Nobody had called my full name.
Not like that.
Not with such certainty.
I turned.
Adrián Valdés stood a few steps away, his hands in his pockets. Up close, he was even more irritatingly attractive. There was a faint scar near his jaw, almost hidden by the shadows, and something watchful in his expression that didn't match his easy smile.
He looked at me as though the rest of the room had disappeared.
“You're late, Lucía.”
My stomach tightened.
“Late for what?”
His smile faded slightly.
For one strange second, he looked almost hurt.
Then he recovered.
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
I stared at him.
“Do I know you?”
The question changed something.
His shoulders stiffened. His gaze dropped briefly to the silver necklace around my neck before returning to my face.
“No,” he said softly.
A pause.
“Not anymore.”
Before I could ask what that meant, he stepped aside.
“Have a good evening.”
He walked away as if he hadn't just dropped a small bomb into my life.
I watched him return to his table.
Zoe stared at me.
I stared at her.
Then we both spoke at once.
“What the hell was that?”
---
By nine o'clock, the rain had become worse.
By nine fifteen, Zoe had abandoned me.
Her excuse was that she needed to meet a friend.
Her actual words had been, “I'm not getting involved in whatever that was. If you disappear, I'm telling the police you were warned.”
Some friend.
I stepped out of the library and pulled my jacket tighter around me.
The courtyard glistened beneath the streetlights. Beyond the university gates, Barcelona's evening traffic crawled along the wet road, headlights stretching into long golden lines.
I checked my phone.
Dead.
Of course.
I could walk home. It wasn't particularly far, and I had walked the route a hundred times.
I was halfway down the steps when a black Ferrari pulled up beside the curb.
I stopped.
The passenger window lowered.
Adrián Valdés sat behind the wheel.
Of course he did.
Because apparently, the universe had decided I hadn't suffered enough.
“Get in,” he said.
I looked at the car.
Then at him.
“Absolutely not.”
One corner of his mouth lifted.
“Good evening to you, too.”
“Are you following me?”
“Would you believe me if I said no?”
“No.”
“Then I'll save us both the embarrassment.”
I folded my arms.
“Why are you here?”
“To take you home.”
“I have legs.”
“I noticed.”
“Then you understand the situation.”
He glanced at the rain, then back at me.
“Lucía, it's pouring.”
“Barcelona has rain. Incredible discovery.”
He laughed under his breath.
For a moment, the famous Adrián Valdés looked less like a billionaire heir and more like a man enjoying an argument he had no intention of winning.
Then his expression changed.
“Please.”
The word caught me off guard.
He didn't sound amused anymore.
I shook my head.
“I don't get into cars with strangers.”
His eyes held mine.
“I'm not a stranger.”
“That's a very concerning thing to say to someone you supposedly just met.”
Something flickered across his face.
Regret, perhaps.
Or fear.
Then he leaned back in his seat.
“Fair enough.”
I turned to leave.
“Lucía.”
I stopped, despite myself.
His voice was quieter now.
“Don't take the waterfront route tonight.”
A chill moved through me that had nothing to do with the rain.
“Why?”
He looked towards the road.
“Because I know what happens when you walk home alone.”
My heart stumbled.
“What does that mean?”
But he was already looking at me again, and the expression on his face had become unreadable.
“Go home,” he said. “Lock your door. Don't answer it unless you know who's outside.”
I stared at him.
“You're insane.”
“Probably.”
“And creepy.”
“Frequently.”
“And I don't trust you.”
For the first time that evening, his smile disappeared completely.
“I know.”
He raised the window.
The Ferrari pulled away from the curb and disappeared into the rain.
I stood beneath the streetlight, watching its red taillights fade.
Then my phone vibrated.
I nearly dropped it.
It shouldn't have been possible. The battery had been dead for hours.
But the screen was glowing.
One new message.
Unknown number.
YOU LOOK BEAUTIFUL WHEN YOU'RE AFRAID.
I stopped breathing.
Another message appeared.
ASK HIM WHY HE STILL HAS YOUR OLD HOUSE KEY.
I looked up at the empty road.
The Ferrari was gone.
I told myself it was a prank.
Someone from university playing a stupid game.
There had to be a reasonable explanation.
Then a third message appeared.
This one contained a photograph.
My fingers went numb.
The picture showed a lake beneath a dark evening sky. Trees crowded the edge of the water, their reflections broken by the wind.
A younger version of me stood near the shore.
I was smiling.
Behind me stood a boy with dark hair and one hand resting gently on my shoulder.
Even through the grain and faded colours, I recognised him.
Adrián.
He looked younger in the photograph, perhaps eighteen. His hair was longer, his face softer.
But he was looking at me with the same expression he'd worn in the library.
Like I was someone he had been waiting for.
Like he was afraid I might disappear.
I turned the photograph over.
There was handwriting on the back.
Six words.
YOU PROMISED YOU WOULD REMEMBER ME.
I read them once.
Twice.
A third time.
I had no memory of that lake.
No memory of that photograph.
No memory of ever meeting Adrián Alejandro Valdés before tonight.
But the girl in the picture was undeniably me.
And if I had once stood beside him, smiling like I trusted him with my life, then there was something terribly wrong with the story I had been telling myself.
My phone vibrated one last time.
A final message appeared.
11:47 P.M.
No explanation.
No name.
Just a time.
I looked at the clock.
11:46 p.m.
One minute until midnight's first secret.
One minute until nothing would ever feel normal again.
And somewhere in Barcelona, Adrián Valdés was waiting for me to remember a night I had spent four years trying to forget.
