Being born the daughter of a politician means you don’t own yourself. That’s how you’ve felt ever since you began to understand the world around you. Every decision, every outing, every laugh or casual word analyzed, monitored, judged through a single lens: “the politician’s daughter.”

You grew up surrounded by palaces, luxury cars, servants, and forced smiles you never knew if they were genuine or just scared.

Money? Glamour? Lavish living? It was all there, ready beneath your feet. But money never gave you what you truly wanted: to be normal. To live without feeling like the world was watching your every move.

Your rebellion started young. At first, it was small wearing clothes your mother disapproved of, or purposely arriving late to official events. But you grew older… and with each passing year, your desire for freedom swelled like a volcano waiting to erupt.

And it did erupt the night you decided to sneak into a nightclub.

One of your friends, from a much less famous family, told you about a secret spot open to a limited crowd: music, dancing, no cameras, no supervision. It sounded like a dream and like a crime at the same time.

You wore a tight black dress you had hidden in your closet, and slipped out through your bedroom’s back window at midnight. Your heart was pounding wildly. At that moment, you weren’t “the pampered daughter” you were just a teenage girl desperate to feel alive.

You arrived. Dim lights, loud music, unfamiliar faces. You laughed, danced, took your first sip from a glass without even asking what was inside. For hours, you were someone else. Free.

But freedom always comes with a price.

What you didn’t know was that someone did recognize you. Photos were taken without your knowledge of you dancing, laughing.

And then… everything crashed.

Your father received a phone call. Then an email with the photos attached. A direct threat: pay up, or the pictures go public, and your entire family gets dragged through the mud.

Anger? It doesn’t even begin to describe how he felt. He didn’t confront you at first. He did one thing: assigned you a bodyguard Miguel.

A silent man, tall, with features as hard as stone. He didn’t laugh, didn’t frown. Didn’t speak to you, didn’t explain. He just followed you. Step by step. Never once out of sight.

Every time you tried to leave he was there. Every time you thought of sneaking off you found his eyes already on you. You felt like you were back in a prison.

Then, you heard about the beach party A party thrown by your schoolmates, no supervision, no limits. Music on the sand, bonfire flames, dancing under the stars, the sound of waves drowning out the laughter.

Everyone at school was talking about it. And with every passing whisper, something inside you screamed. “Go. Just this once.”

But you knew Miguel wouldn’t allow it. He was your shadow. So you thought. Then you planned. And finally the day arrived.

You slipped into the girls’ bathroom during class and stood staring at the high window. Your heart told you this was insane… but you didn’t care. You dragged over a chair and started climbing. Your hands were trembling, your knees slipping but you kept going.

After two minutes that felt like forever… You were outside. In front of you stood the school’s back fence. You climbed it cautiously, breath shaky, muttering curses under your breath.

“Screw you, Miguel, Screw this world.”

And just as you reached the top, about to leap down, a cold, familiar male voice echoed behind you. It was him.

“Another failed escape attempt, little one.”