And they didn’t fade.
Chapter five
Ingrid
Iclosed the door with a heavy sigh, resting my forehead against the cool wood. My mind reeled, replaying the day in pieces—the morning, the afternoon, my father’s call… and Tristian.
I hoped I hadn’t bothered him. Or scared him off. The way he brought me home so abruptly—had I crossed a line? Had I upset him by trying to understand his art?
My stomach tightened with anxiety. God, what if I ruined things?
Gosh, Ingrid, you just met the guy not even a week ago,I chided myself, squeezing my eyes shut.I think I’m losing it here. But, he left you his hoodie. That’s got to mean something… right?
Hanging my coat on the hook and placing my shoes neatly by the door, I paused, then slipped off Tristian’s hoodie. My abuelita wasn’t around, but I didn’t want a repeat of her questions after last time Tristian brought me home. And I didn’t want to run into anyoneelsewho might ask, either. Carefully folding it, I tucked it into my bag and made my way toward the staircase.
I had barely taken two steps when the distinct sound of something falling in the kitchen echoed through the hall, followed immediately by heavy, purposeful footsteps thudding against the floorboards, coming straight for me.
I looked over my shoulder and felt the blood drain from my face. My father was marching toward me, his expression a mask of fury.
I trembled, turning fully to face him, though I kept my gaze fixed on the floor.
Once he reached me, he didn’t hesitate. He grabbed my arm harshly, his fingers digging into my flesh, and yanked me forward. Tears pricked my eyes, his grip tightening until the skin turned white around his fingers. I held back my gasp of pain.
“Where the hell were you?” he seethed, enunciating every word hard into my face.
I gulped, my throat dry. “I-I was just out at a café—”
“For four hours?” His voice thundered up the staircase. “Four hours at a damn café?”
Biting my lip, I tried to open my mouth to speak, but the words died in my throat.
My mother stepped into the hallway, a delicate cup of tea in her hand. She drifted past as though we were not even present—as though my father’s fingers weren’t driven into the flesh of my forearm—then through the lounge door, to the sofa in the corner where she sat, her gaze fixed on the steam rising from her cup.
She was just like my father in a sense. Cold and distant, but she didn’t treat me with the physical aggression he did. However, her silence was its own kind of weapon against me.
Papa pulled me closer, shaking me as he squeezed my arm even tighter. “Do you know how many people know who you are? I don’t need another fucking Camila out in these streets. All of my businessmen know I’ve disowned her already… Do you want me to do the same with you?”
My heart hammered against my ribs. A few tears slipped free, tracing hot paths down my cheeks.
“No, Papa.” I had never disobeyed them before, and I knew that if I did, the consequences would be dire.
“I give you the slightest bit of freedom you ask for, and you take advantage of it like this? You get a set time, and you mustobeywhen I tell you to. If I give you two hours to yourself, then that means I give you only two fucking hours.”
I nodded quickly—anything to stop the pressure on my arm, anything to keep his voice from rising further.
“I have a reputation to uphold, and you being out in those streets doing God knows what is not permitted. Do I make myself clear?” He whispered the last part, his voice dropping to a terrifying register as he squeezed my arm one last, burning time.
I nodded. “Y-yes, Papa.”
He pushed me away from him with a look of disgust and adjusted his suit jacket, smoothing the fabric as if nothing had happened—as if he hadn’t just terrified me for the rest of the night.
“I have the dates for the meetings and events that you will be attending with me soon. Influential acquaintances and partners I have scheduled for you to meet. That internship may be an exciting opportunityfor you—” his eyes narrowed “—if you learn to behave yourself.”
Rubbing my arm, which was throbbing and likely already bruising, I gave another submissive nod. “OK,” I responded softly, waiting to be dismissed.
He waved his hand at me carelessly and turned away. “Out of my sight,” he muttered.
I scrambled toward the stairs, only glancing back for a second to glimpse my mother, who was gazing anywhere but at me as she sipped her tea. Then up I went the rest of the way, fighting to keep my composure.
