My mind raced with unanswered questions. That little discovery had left me unsettled and confused. It felt like I was back to square one. I had thought I knew everything, but once again, I was reminded that I had no control over my life.
He had left my questions unanswered on purpose. I knew it. That knowing smile on his full red lips was hard to ignore.
I felt like I was losing my mind. Something was not right. I was breaking, and I didn't know how to stop it.
This was exactly how he wanted me to feel. Trapped. Helpless. Powerless. Like being locked in a room with no doors. And I was playing right into his hands like a pawn.
Anger burned in my throat. Without thinking, I yanked the pictures off the wall and screamed at the top of my voice. I knew he could hear me wherever he was, but I didn't care. I didn't just pull them down, I ripped them into pieces until there was barely anything left.
I was furious. Frustrated. Tired of always being a pawn in someone else's game. Tired of feeling powerless and watching my life slip through my fingers.
The room was dark when I woke up.
I had cried myself to sleep after the breakdown, just like always. Something felt off. I remembered falling asleep on the cold floor, surrounded by torn pieces of paper.
So how did I end up in bed, properly tucked in?
Someone must have carried me.
But who?
The door creaked open, and my heart skipped. I turned and saw Sebastian.
He stood at the entrance for a moment. His gaze lingered on me, like he was seeing me for the first time. It made me strangely aware of myself.
"I'm sure you're not waiting for an invitation," I said, adjusting the duvet to cover my exposed thigh.
"I don't know what you think of me, Ah-reeh-ah-na, but I do respect my lady's privacy," he replied as he walked in, silent as ever.
I scoffed.
"Gentleman is the last thing I think of you. Bastard. Psychopath. Ruthless. Arrogant. I could go on."
He stopped in front of the bed, towering over me.
"I saw your handiwork earlier," he said.
My body stiffened.
"I must say, the part where you ripped the pictures and screamed was quite… interesting."
He was mocking me.
His lips curved into a faint smile, showing those annoyingly perfect teeth. I was reminded again how much I hated him.
My fingers tightened around the duvet.
"Who carried me to the bed?" I asked.
"Who do you think?" he replied.
Heat rushed to my face. He had carried me. Touched me. I didn't know how to feel about that.
"What do you want? Why are you here?" My voice came out sharper than I expected, and I was glad.
He didn't answer.
Instead, he walked past me to his wardrobe, as if I hadn't spoken.
I watched him through the glass as he unbuttoned his white shirt. Each movement was precise, controlled, almost too deliberate. When he took it off, his back came into view, marked with scars.
Not just surface scars. They looked like they carried stories. Secrets.
My gaze lingered longer than it should have.
What would it feel like to trace them?
I flinched and forced my thoughts away.
What was wrong with me?
I turned my attention to the frame on the nightstand. I hadn't noticed it before.
It was a picture of Sebastian from years ago. Beside him stood a woman, her hands resting on his shoulders. Her eyes were sharp, her expression fierce, with a cunning smile on her lips.
She wore an army uniform that made her look even more commanding. The four stars on her shoulder stood out.
There was no way I wouldn't recognize her.
Elena Valeria Alvarez Morales.
A name that carried weight on its own. I had heard stories about her. Victories. Battles. A fearless woman.
She was everything I wasn't.
Strong. Powerful. Unshaken.
She felt like the complete opposite of her brother, yet just as dangerous. Two sides of the same coin.
My gaze drifted back to Sebastian.
He had already changed into a black shirt, similar to the one he had taken off. It seemed like his wardrobe only knew two colors. Black and white.
"Be downstairs in half an hour for dinner," he said, buttoning his shirt.
"Get something pretty to wear."
"I'm not eating with you," I replied immediately.
His hands paused.
"That wasn't a request, Ah-reeh-ah-na," he said coldly. "It was an order."
"Then tell them to bring the food up here," I shot back.
He paused at the door, then slowly turned.
He walked toward me, stopping only when he stood directly in front of the bed.
My body went still.
His gaze locked onto mine, dark and unreadable.
He leaned forward, closing the distance between us until his face was just inches from mine.
My breath caught. My heart pounded loudly in my chest. I tightened my grip on the duvet.
His fingers brushed against my cheek.
Slow. Deliberate.
Not gentle. Controlled.
My jaw clenched, and I fought the urge to push him away.
"You really haven't learned anything, my wife," he said.
The word hit harder than anything else.
Wife.
I hated it.
He tilted my chin up slightly.
Then he leaned closer, his lips brushing against my ear.
My body stiffened instantly, heat rushing through me in a way I didn't understand.
"My house. My rules," he whispered.
His voice was low, firm, leaving no room for argument.
And then there it was...
That same unwelcomed warmth.