“Then whose concern is she?”
He smiles again, that horrible, easy smile.“That depends on you.”
I take a small step forward.“If you think I’m afraid of you, you’re wrong.”
“I don’t think you’re afraid,” he says calmly.“I think you’re exhausted.”He drums his fingers on the arm of the swing.“You’ve been running your whole life, haven’t you?From your father, from Vega, from yourself.”
His words hit harder than I want them to.I clench my jaw.“You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know enough.I know you were raised in a house of monsters.”He stands, takes a few steps toward me, brings his face so close to mine I can smell his bad breath.“I know your father sold you piece by piece until there was nothing left but rage.”A grin cracks across his face.“I know about the girls, too.”
My vision tunnels.“Shut up.”
He shrugs.“I know about the one you chose.The one who screamed.”His lips curl.“When I met your precious Belinda, I noticed she bore quite a resemblance.”
For a second, the world goes soundless.Then I lunge forward, fists balled, ready to strike, but he doesn’t even flinch.His eyes gleam with satisfaction.“There it is,” he says.“There’s the fire.”
I freeze, forcing myself to inhale, to remember why I’m here.
Belinda.It’s about Belinda.Not about the past.
Not aboutme.
“What do you want?”I whisper again.
He closes in on the little space remaining between us, and I notice his cologne—something subtle and expensive, the kind of scent that hides malice beneath sophistication.
It makes me want to puke.
“I needed to see what kind of woman would trade herself for another.”
My pulse spikes, though I keep my face neutral.
He studies me as if I’m a specimen.“There are pieces moving, Miss Agudelo.Pieces you don’t understand.Vega, your father, Hawk—they’re all connected, threads of the same web.”
My skin crawls.“You’re insane.”
“Maybe,” he says simply.“Or maybe I’m the only one telling you the truth.”
The porch creaks beneath us.Somewhere in the distance, a crow caws.
I glance past him into the house.It’s dark inside, but I can make out the faint outlines of furniture draped in white sheets.No movement.No sound.No Belinda.
I weigh my options.I could reach for the knife now, end him here.But if Belinda really is alive, killing him could kill her too.
So I smile.It feels unnatural on my face.“Fine,” I say softly.“Let’s talk.”
Reyes’s expression changes.“Good,” he says.“Come inside, Daniela.”
He steps back and holds the door open.I hesitate only a second before entering, still carrying my belongings.
The air inside smells faintly of dust.The floors creak.Sunlight filters weakly through yellowed curtains.There’s a grand staircase, its banister broken in two places.
Reyes gestures toward a sitting room.“After you.”
I walk ahead of him, every sense on high alert.
The room is sparse—a few old chairs, a fireplace with blackened bricks, a table with a single glass of water.No other doors.No movement.
