Chapter 2: The Great Neon Escape

"Loan sharks?!" I shrieked, my voice cracking so hard it echoed off the surrounding buildings. "Sissy, you went to France for an art tour, not to join the mafia!"

"There’s a fine line between high fashion and organized crime, Toby! I'll explain later!" Sissy grabbed my wrist with a grip like a steel vise. "For now—RUN!"

With a violent yank, she dragged me into a dead sprint. Behind us, I heard the heavy thud of leather shoes hitting the pavement.

"Hey! Stop right there!" one of the suited men shouted in a thick French accent.

"Never! Your interest rates are predatory!" Sissy yelled back over her shoulder, her neon pink beret flying off her head and landing perfectly on a stray cat.

We bolted down a narrow alleyway. I was practically flying behind her, my legs pumping furiously just to keep up. For someone wearing three-inch designer heels, Sissy was terrifyingly fast. It was like she was fueled entirely by panic and adrenaline.

"Where are we going?!" I gasped, my lungs burning. "They're gaining on us!"

"Trust your Sissy! I have a flawless strategy!"

Her "flawless strategy" turned out to be ducking behind a row of giant, smelly restaurant dumpsters. We squeezed into the narrow gap between the brick wall and the plastic bins, holding our breath.

A second later, the heavy footsteps of our pursuers rushed past the mouth of the alley.

"Where did they go?" a muffled voice grumbled outside. "Look for the sparkling girl!"

We waited in agonizing silence for two whole minutes until the voices finally faded away.

I let out a massive breath, slumping against the brick wall. "We're alive. Oh my god, we're alive." I turned to glare at her. "Okay, start talking. Why are French men chasing you? Did you steal a painting from the Louvre?"

"Of course not!" Sissy scoffed, adjusting her oversized sunglasses which, miraculously, hadn't fallen off. She dusted off her trench coat, immediately regaining her dazzling posture. "I am an artist, Toby. A visionary! But visionaries require funding. I may have borrowed a tiny, minuscule amount of money to launch my glitter-infused clothing line in Paris."

"How much is 'minuscule'?" I asked, a cold sweat breaking out on my neck.

Sissy gave a bright, sparkling, completely unapologetic smile. "Fifty thousand euros."

"Fifty thousand?!" I nearly choked on my own spit. "Sissy, that’s a fortune! How are we supposed to pay that back? We're just normal citizens!"

"Correction: you are a normal citizen," Sissy said, tapping my nose playfully. "I am a sparkling genius. And I already have a plan to make that money back in a week."

Before I could ask her what insane stunt she was planning next, a shadow fell over our dumpster hiding spot.

I slowly looked up.

Standing at the entrance of the alley wasn't the French loan sharks. It was a tall, incredibly handsome guy with silver hair, wearing a sleek school uniform that looked identical to mine. He had his hands in his pockets, staring down at us with an expression of pure, unbothered amusement.

"Well, well," the silver-haired guy said, his eyes locking onto Sissy. "I wondered what all the noise was about. If it isn't the chaotic 'sparkling' girl who ruined my family's art gala last year."

Sissy’s jaw dropped. "You... You're the heir to the Vance Corporation!"

The guy smirked, stepping closer. "And you're currently trespassing behind my family's restaurant. Care to explain what you're doing in the trash, Sissy?"

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