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Really. I didn’t.
I’d run away from my chance to leave Arrebol, but after everything I’d endured, what would happen?
The townhouse, though beautiful, now loomed before me, its architecture a blend of ancient splendor and modern elegance. Of course, its grandeur paled compared to Antonio's country estate, Rosa del Oro, which still haunted my dreams with its endless halls and expansive orange orchard.
Javier, who had been sitting in the front, opened my door and tenderly helped me out. He walked next to me as we made our way up the large walkway and toward the front steps. Antonio was behind me, as was Manuel, and everyone was utterly silent.
As we entered the house, I caught glimpses of lavish rooms adorned with exquisite tapestries and sparkling chandeliers. We walked past every room, our destination fixed on some unknown room.
When we arrived at Antonio’s study, it made sense.
On Antonio’s estate, Rosa de Oro, he had an enormous office with enough space to easily fit eight people, plus a library. He never mentioned a love of books, but they were always around him. During training, he gave me many books on survival and strategy. This study was no different, and there were floor to ceiling bookcases built across two of the four walls. I stared at the leather-bound tomes, avoiding eye contact with the man who drew me in like a moth to a flame.
Antonio walked to an ornate desk with his back to us and hunched over. A few seconds later, he picked up something, and his stylus started flying across a pad as if trying to capture every thought in his head before they disappeared.
The atmosphere of the room was thick with tension, anticipation hanging in the air like a heavy fog. It was as if the very walls themselves held their breath, waiting for the storm they knew would come. I envied their foresight because I did not know what would happen next.
At last, he stilled, the pen falling from his fingers as he turned to face me. His eyes met mine, filled with a mixture of surprise, anger, and longing that sent a shiver down my spine. “I have to send a letter to the Canciller.”
If it were possible for sweat to break out over the surface of one’s entire body, that was happening to me right now. “Why the hell would you do that?”
Antonio let out a long sigh. There was something frantic about him I didn’t recognize. He didn’t even ask Javier and Manuel to leave. It was extremely odd. “Because of a missive that arrived for you this morning.”
“From the Canciller?”
Antonio pressed his lips together. “In a sense.”
I took a step forward.
“My reply is short.”
"Fine,” I choked out, exasperated, and threw my hands in the air. “If you won’t tell me why you have to do it, will you at least tell me what you are writing?" I demanded. A moment passed.
"That you are back, and well enough to compete." His jaw clenched so tightly, I thought he would grind his teeth to dust.
Tears sprung into my eyes. I would still compete in the Blood Tournament. The torture and humiliation hadn’t been enough, so I would still be required to earn my place as an Élite. It made sense, technically. Then I thought of the newspaper the girl had read in the Mercado Nocturno.
“No one knows I was gone,” I said.
He nodded. “Not only do they not know you ran away, they are planning your wedding.” His expression was unreadable.
I couldn’t believe it. My life was irrevocably altered in the last week. No one had seen me… and most people just thought I was… what? Resting?
“Wedding to who?”
Antonio pursed his lips. “Isaac.”
The surrounding air seemed to hum with unspoken words, swirling like the wisps of a forgotten dream. I was suspended between two worlds, caught in the liminal space where reality and fantasy collided. Antonio's eyes held mine captive, drawing me into their depths, where shadows and light danced together in a desperate dance not unlike the one we had shared.
I took a step back, my feet sinking into the carpet in the middle of the room. The fireplace, the books, it reminded me of where I had killed Martina. The urge to run returned. “So, you know exactly what happened?” I would deal with the Isaac thing later.
He tilted his head to the side. “I know one version.”
I bit my lip.
He scoffed. “San Volcán, Carmen. That was an invitation to share. Tell me your side of the story.”
A tear slid down my cheek. Had I really thought I’d loved him such a short time ago? “Why should I be open with you? It’s not like you return the favor. How can I trust you when I don’t even know you?”
