The moment the plane doors opened in Los Angeles, Elena felt the difference.
The air was colder. Cleaner. Controlled.
Everything looked organized — polished floors, quiet announcements, people walking with purpose. No shouting vendors. No chaotic honking. No humid heaviness clinging to her skin.
She followed the other passengers carefully, afraid of making a mistake. Her passport felt heavier than usual in her hand.
Immigration was the longest thirty minutes of her life.
When it was her turn, the officer barely smiled.
"Purpose of visit?"
"Promotional hosting contract," she answered, hoping her voice didn't shake.
He scanned her passport, looked at her, then back at the passport.
"Are you traveling alone?"
"Yes, sir."
Another pause.
Stamp.
The sound was simple.
But to Elena, it sounded like a door unlocking.
She was officially inside the United States.
Her connecting flight to Las Vegas was only an hour later. Everything felt rushed. She barely had time to think, barely time to breathe.
When the smaller plane landed in Las Vegas, night had already fallen.
And that was when she saw it.
Lights.
Not ordinary lights.
Neon. Gold. Giant screens. Buildings glowing like they were competing with the stars.
Even from the airport window, the city looked unreal.
Her heart pounded.
"So this is Las Vegas," she whispered.
Excitement mixed with fear.
She grabbed her suitcase and stepped out.
But when she checked her phone, something felt wrong.
No messages from the agency.
No driver name.
No instructions.
She tried calling.
No answer.
She waited near the pickup area for thirty minutes.
Then an hour.
Her battery dropped to 12%.
She tried again.
Voicemail.
The crowd slowly thinned.
People were picked up by friends, by taxis, by black luxury cars.
Elena stood there alone.
The bright lights suddenly didn't feel welcoming anymore.
They felt overwhelmed.
Her phone died.
And that was when reality hit.
She was in Las Vegas.
With no contact.
No address.
No plan.