Touch Me And Your're Dead! [English]

04

Chapter 04

"Nanny!"

A young girl approached excitedly, holding a flower in her small hands and offering it to an elderly woman who sat on a wooden chair, sewing a piece of clothing. The child's eyes sparkled with innocent joy as she presented her gift.

"Hilda, where did you get that? Did you pluck flowers from the garden again?" the elderly woman asked with a gentle but reproachful tone, setting down her sewing kit and the garment she had been working on. Her weathered hands smoothed the fabric as she looked at the child with a mixture of affection and mild exasperation.

The child suddenly stopped in her tracks when a photograph slipped from the nanny's lap and fluttered to the ground. Without hesitation, little Hilda quickly picked it up, her curious eyes immediately drawn to the image.

"Nanny, who is this child?" the young girl asked, studying the photograph intently. She could see her nanny in the picture, standing beside a boy who appeared to be around six years old.

"He's my son. Handsome, isn't he?" the nanny asked, a warm smile spreading across her face, her eyes lighting up with maternal pride. The child nodded eagerly, captivated by the story behind the photograph.

"Where is he now, Nanny? Why isn't he with you?" the little girl inquired innocently, extending the photograph back to the elderly woman. Her small fingers held the picture carefully, as if sensing its importance.

"He's far away now," the elderly woman replied simply, her voice carrying a weight of unspoken sorrow.

That was all the old woman said. Little Hilda looked at her with innocent eyes, clearly seeing the sadness that had settled over her nanny's features. The woman offered no further explanation about her son, leaving the child's questions hanging in the air like autumn leaves.

"Child, I've told you not to go to the main mansion. What if Mr. Alegre sees you?" the elderly woman said, her voice filled with concern as she placed her hands on the young girl's shoulders. Her grip was gentle but firm, conveying the seriousness of her warning.

"But Nanny, didn't you tell me he's my daddy? Why can't I see him?" the young girl asked with the straightforward logic of childhood. The elderly woman froze, her hands trembling slightly on the child's shoulders.

How could she possibly explain to little Hilda that when she was just a baby, her own father had attempted to kill her? The old man Alegre's hatred for Hilda was profound and consuming, blaming the innocent child for the loss of his most beloved wife. The weight of this terrible secret pressed down on the nanny's heart like a stone.

The elderly woman exhaled deeply and slowly knelt in front of little Hilda, bringing herself to the child's eye level. Her aged knees protested the movement, but she needed to be close to the girl for what she was about to say.

She was grateful that the old man Alegre had been away on vacation for almost five years now, unable to see little Hilda during this time. A small, sad smile crossed the elderly woman's face as she considered this small mercy.

"Someday you will understand everything, but when that day comes—never let it affect you, and you must stay strong. Always remember this—"

The elderly woman gently placed her hands on the young girl's head, her fingers combing through the child's long, silky hair with infinite tenderness.

"Your mother loved you more than life itself. She sacrificed her own life for you because of that love. No one can match the love your mother had for you—a love that your own father will never understand."

The elderly woman gazed intently at little Hilda, memorizing every feature of the child's innocent face, knowing that these precious moments were fleeting.

Return to Reality

Hilda jolted awake when an announcement crackled through the speaker above her seat. She straightened in her chair and rubbed her forehead, trying to shake off the lingering emotions from her dream. The pilot announced that the plane was beginning its descent into Italy. Hilda slowly surveyed her surroundings, the harsh reality of her situation flooding back.

"I haven't dreamed about Nanny in so long," Hilda whispered to herself, her expression softening momentarily. She remembered how her nanny used to tell her that whenever she dreamed of her, something good would happen.

Taking a deep breath, Hilda looked out the airplane window at the landscape below. It was her birthday, and she had secretly prayed that on this day, she would finally be granted the freedom she desperately craved. She needed to find a way to escape from old man Truson's men.

Hilda glanced at the elderly Truson, who was snoring softly beside her. On the other side of the aisle sat two more of his men, their eyes fixed on her with unwavering vigilance. The woman shuddered with fear and looked down, overwhelmed by the intensity of their surveillance.

Their watch over her was suffocating, and she had no opportunity to seek help since it appeared that old man Truson had commandeered the entire section of the plane. Only one stewardess passed through their area, and when Hilda had tried to get her attention earlier, the woman had simply given her a cold look and hurried away in apparent fear.

Hilda shook her head, fighting despair. She couldn't afford to lose hope. There was still the airport—she would have one more chance to escape.

When they arrived at the airport, Hilda's blood ran cold as she noticed even more of old man Truson's men had gathered. She couldn't understand anything they were saying; their foreign words sounded like gibberish to her ears.

"Are they aliens?" Hilda whispered to herself, clutching her head in frustration. She couldn't comprehend a single word. Apart from Tagalog and a little English, no other language was familiar to her.

Hilda had no idea what to do or how to ask for help in this foreign place.

"Take her back first," old man Truson commanded after a tall man approached and whispered something in his ear. The conversation was brief but seemed significant.

The old man turned to his men and gestured for them to escort the woman out of the airport. Their movements were coordinated and efficient, like a well-oiled machine.

"Wait!" Hilda shouted desperately. The old man and his men turned to look at her, their expressions ranging from annoyed to curious.

"Go restroom!"

Hilda pointed frantically toward the interior of the airport, acting as if she urgently needed to use the bathroom. She crossed her legs and bounced slightly, putting on a convincing performance of desperation. The old man's brow furrowed in irritation, and he muttered something under his breath that sounded like a curse.

"Take her to the restroom and make sure she doesn't escape," the old man ordered before walking away, his footsteps echoing with authority. Hilda felt a wave of relief that none of his men were women—none of them could follow her into the women's restroom.

Her nanny had once told her that in public restrooms, girls and boys were separated. At least she remembered some of the lessons her nanny had taught her, and this knowledge might now save her life.

Hilda stopped walking when she saw two public restroom doors facing each other in the airport corridor. She had no idea which one was for women and which was for men—she couldn't read the signs. The symbols and letters meant nothing to her untrained eyes.

Both Hilda and the men following her came to a halt, creating an awkward moment of uncertainty.

Just then, a woman emerged from one of the doors. Hilda immediately headed toward that door and entered, her heart pounding with nervous energy. She was amazed because this was the first time she had ever entered a public restroom, and she was greeted by a large mirror. However, her wonder lasted only a few seconds as she remembered she was still on the brink of death.

She needed to think of a way to escape. The restroom was empty, giving her a moment of precious solitude. Hilda bit her nails nervously, a habit from childhood. Even if someone entered the restroom, if they spoke a different language and she couldn't communicate in English, there would be no chance of getting help.

Hilda looked at the mirror in front of her and saw her own reflection staring back—but for a moment, she saw herself as a child, sitting on the floor and crying. That had been the scene whenever she was hurt by her stepmother and neglected by her own father during her childhood.

Locked in her own room, treated like a servant, stripped of all rights, including the right to education—her childhood had been a prison of loneliness and abuse.

"I don't want to accept that this is all I am. I don't want this," Hilda whispered to her reflection, but what could she really do? She was trapped, just as she had been as a child.

She couldn't stay in the restroom forever because Truson's men would surely drag her out eventually. The walls seemed to be closing in on her, and panic began to set in.

Hilda covered her mouth and sat on the floor, tears streaming down her face as the weight of her situation crashed over her like a tidal wave.

"Please, Nanny, give me a sign to continue with this plan. I'm so scared," Hilda whispered through her tears, her voice breaking with desperation.

She continued to cry until she heard the door open. Hilda looked up to see two women entering—both beautiful and looking like models with their perfect features and confident bearing.

## Unexpected Angels

"Are you okay?" one of them asked with genuine concern in her voice.

Hilda stood up slowly, studying the two women carefully. She whispered a plea for help, her voice barely audible. She fearfully glanced toward the door, knowing the men were waiting outside.

"What do you mean, tulong?" asked the blonde woman with striking blue eyes, her head tilted in confusion.

"Are you Filipino? What happened? Are those your guards outside?" asked the woman with black hair and an extraordinarily beautiful face. Hilda's face immediately brightened with hope at the realization that this woman could speak her language.

"I need to escape. Please help me," Hilda pleaded, her voice filled with desperation and hope.

The blonde woman suggested calling the police, but she was immediately stopped by her companion, who seemed to understand the complexity of the situation better.

"We can't. It looks like a big person is behind them. Even if we give this woman to the police, she will end up back in the hands of those who took her," the dark-haired woman explained in English. Hilda couldn't understand everything, but she sensed they were discussing surrendering her to the police for her safety. However, if the police took her and it was proven to be kidnapping or human trafficking, she would just be sent back to the Philippines.

"No—no police," Hilda said, shaking her head vigorously, her eyes wide with fear at the thought.

"Please, just let me get out of the airport," Hilda added, looking at both women with pleading eyes.

"Wait! I have an idea," the blonde woman said, approaching the mirror. She removed a black wig and pulled out a dress from her bag, showing it to the others.

"How about a disguise?" she asked, displaying the items to the two women in front of her.

"Take this and change into it. Two of us came in here, and if you leave with Hannah, they won't notice you," the dark-haired woman explained. There was a significant difference in their heights and figures, but if the men outside weren't paying close attention, they might not notice that Hilda had switched places with one of them.

With trembling hands, Hilda took the offered clothing and thanked both women profusely. She quickly entered a cubicle to change, her heart racing with a mixture of fear and hope.

"We won't leave the restroom together. Are you okay being left here?" the blonde woman asked, looking at her friend, who was currently removing her wristwatch.

"We have no choice. Someone needs help. Don't worry, I can protect myself," the dark-haired woman replied, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear and checking her reflection in the mirror. There was something in her eyes—a steely determination that suggested she was far more capable than she appeared.

The cubicle door opened, and Hilda emerged, desperately trying to pull down the hem of the dress that was too short for her frame.

"Act normal if you want to escape. Fix your posture," the dark-haired woman instructed, approaching Hilda. She removed her own heels and ordered Hilda to put them on.

The woman kicked the shoes toward Hilda, who removed her sandals and attempted to put on the heels. She immediately lost her balance, but before she could fall, the woman caught her steadily.

"Sorry," Hilda apologized, trying to stand properly. The woman sighed and knelt down, her actions causing the blonde woman's eyes to widen in surprise.

"Leave now," the woman ordered after adjusting Hilda's heels and standing up properly.

"Ms. Alegre!"

Truson's men were knocking on the restroom door, their voices growing impatient. Hilda shivered with terror, fear wrapping around her like a cold blanket.

"Just a moment!" Hilda shouted from inside, trying to keep her voice steady. The dark-haired woman looked toward the door and instructed Hilda to act like she had stomach pain while they were leaving, so she wouldn't be noticed as much.

"We don't have much time left. Let's leave now," the blonde woman said, inviting Hilda to come out. Hilda took a deep breath and nervously grabbed the blonde woman's arm, her hands shaking uncontrollably.

"Gosh, you look sick. Shall we go to the doctor?" the blonde woman asked with concern, carefully supporting Hilda, who was hunched over and acting weak.

Truson's men followed them with their eyes until they noticed that the heels on one of the women didn't fit her feet properly—they were too big and she was walking awkwardly.

"Wait!"

Someone opened the women's restroom door, and indeed, a different woman was inside. The woman with Hilda cursed under her breath, realizing their ruse had been discovered.

"Run!"

The woman shouted and pulled Hilda away from there. Truson's men immediately gave chase, their heavy footsteps echoing through the airport corridor.

"Run! You go first! Get out of here!" the woman said, releasing Hilda when they reached outside the airport. The cool night air hit them as they burst through the exit doors.

Hilda tearfully thanked the woman, her gratitude overflowing. The woman removed her heels and ran away into the darkness, disappearing like a guardian angel.

## The Mysterious Savior

When Hilda disappeared from the woman's sight, the mysterious helper irritably removed her heels and—her wig—revealing her true identity.

"I just came here for vacation. I haven't been back for less than 30 minutes and I already have a new mess to fix," the person said, their voice changing to become deeper and more masculine. Truson's men were shocked when this person suddenly attacked them with swift, deadly precision.

Later, in the hallway leading to the restroom, many women screamed after seeing bodies lying motionless on the floor—bodies that were now lifeless, their eyes staring at nothing.

A figure walked away calmly, carrying a paper bag and emotionlessly taking out a phone. The person moved with the fluid grace of a predator, completely unaffected by the c*****e left behind.

"I'm at the airport. Send my car here and let's proceed to the next mission," the person said, systematically removing the worn accessories one by one.

When they exited the airport, a car immediately arrived and stopped in front of them. A man got out and opened the door with practiced efficiency.

Once seated in the backseat, the person also removed the wig they had been wearing, along with the necklace, tossing both items carelessly onto the seat.

"How many artworks did we sell in the past two days?" asked Aron Nicastro with a bored tone. At 22 years old, he was currently the director of the Trocas Foundation—a foundation where he collected paintings and sold them at high prices.

However, as an art collector, earning a billion euros in one day would be impossible through legitimate means. Of course, it wasn't legal, not because of the art itself, but because of the items hidden inside the paintings.

"Actually, who bought my paintings?" the young man corrected himself, now grinning and looking at his secretary in the driver's seat.

"One of the buyers is Mr. Nicastro. He bought two paintings the same day after we sent him your birthday gift. I think he found out that you are the owner of the foundation... so he bought the paintings to be sure," the secretary answered. Aron just smiled after hearing this information.

"Thanks to him, we were able to sell two of the paintings," Aron said, crossing his arms. After a moment, he paused, remembering the woman in the restroom.

"Did she escape from the airport?" Aron asked, looking at his companion from the restroom—his friend who was now in the passenger seat.

"I put those men to sleep before I let her go," replied the person who was now removing thick makeup from their face, revealing masculine features beneath the feminine disguise.

They had used different identities and faces so they could enter Italy without alerting the triads and people searching for them. Then they had encountered that woman in the restroom asking for help.

"Anyway, Aron, why did you help her? You're not that generous to randomly help someone," his friend said, causing the man in the backseat to look at his companion.

Aron looked out the window at the various colored lights passing by as their car moved through the Italian night.

"It's just—she reminded me of someone I know," he said quietly, his voice carrying a note of something deeper—perhaps regret, perhaps longing. The city lights reflected in his eyes as he contemplated the unexpected encounter that had disrupted what should have been a simple evening.

In the distance, Hilda was running through the unfamiliar streets of Italy, free for the first time in years, carrying with her the hope that her nanny's spirit was still watching over her, guiding her toward the freedom she had always dreamed of.