I check Dean’s watch and see the lecture should have started already, but she still isn’t here.
Only now does my heart begin to beat in a way that alarms me, because something is one hundred percent wrong.
When Camila walks into the room, her eyes find me instantly at the back of the room, and that’s when I see it: a flash of shock, of surprise, which she masks quickly but not quickly enough.
I tip my head toward the hallway. She follows me out, and the moment the door closes behind us and she crosses her arms over her chest, I know she’s done something. She’s too tense, too flustered compared to how she normally carries herself.
“Silas, how can I help you?” she asks, and I just look at her face, trying to anticipate what she’s about to say.
“Where is Amalia?”
She can’t hide her surprise at the question, but when she answers, my own shock must be all over my face.
“If I’m not mistaken, on her way to the Technological Institute of Monterrey, where she was transferred to as of two days ago.”
The Technological Institute of Monterrey. What in the world would she be doing there?
Camila stays far too calm at my reaction, and that only makes something in me snap. Before I even think to check whether anyone can see us, my hand is at her throat, and I shove her against the nearest wall.
“What did you do, Camila? And whatever it is, it better be reversible, because I swear to God I will make sure you regret it if it isn’t.”
Fear gathers in her eyes, and through her teeth she hisses, “Me? Nothing. I simply showed her the truth. That a married professor is taking advantage of her while his wife and child wait for him in another country.”
My world tilts because this was my fear from the very beginning. How she’d react, how I could possibly explain without everything falling apart, but that’s the problem. She doesn’t know my truth. She knows the public version of it.
My hand tightens around Camila’s throat, and I know I’m going to leave marks, but I don’t care.
Not when because of her, because of her interference, the only person I’ve cared about in this place has chosen to run from me.
Somewhere in the middle of the storm I feel in my chest — the urge to keep squeezing — a whisper cuts through, and it’s Dean’s voice, reminding me to stop. Reminding me that I need to cool down and think.
I’ll deal with Camila. But not now.
I let go of her, breathing in and out several times. I need to collect myself. I need to findher.
“You actually love her,” she whispers behind me.
Why does she sound so surprised? She tore my chest open when she pushedheraway from me.
She doesn’t deserve an answer, but just as I turn to leave, she keeps going.
“Why didn’t you choose me? What does that girl have that’s so special? For God’s sake, she can’t even match three colors together.”
I wish I could say reason won out in that moment. I wish I could say I didn’t go back and take her by the hair, tilting her head so she’d have to look me in the eyes when I gave her my answer. I wish I didn’t feel the need to break her fucking spine for speaking like that about the most brilliant woman I know.
“That girl who can’t match three colors together is the love of my life and the woman I’m going to spend the rest of my days with, Camila. That girl has more intelligence than you’ll ever acquire doing two more degrees. That girl is the only person alive who doesn’t share my blood for whom I would throw every principle and my entire reputation straight to hell, just to be allowed to orbit around her. Amalia is the only ray of light in my world, and you sent her away. I’d like to say I forgive easily, but I’d be fucking lying to you.”
She has tears in her eyes, and I curse myself for that wretched night I spent with her, for not being more alert to the fact that she was growing jealous and feeling rejected, because all of it led to this. That’s a problem, but I am Silas Vaughn, and every problem has a solution.
I bring my phone to my ear and call Andreas.
“I need you to find Amalia Sanchez, and I need you to find her NOW.”
Istand in her bedroom and try to gather every piece of information, every small detail that could explain what happened here.
The house has been in this state for over twenty-four hours. Some surveillance footage has been deleted. Downstairs, everything smells of disinfectant, and my chest tightens. Because it’s spotless. Not a speck of dust. Not a smudge of dirt on the floors.
Nobody uses professional-grade disinfectant in their own home. Which means someone wanted to cover their tracks.
