by V. F. Mason
Is he one of those bad men who takes rich kids and asks a ransom for them?
Florian’s brother got kidnapped like this two years ago, and his father paid a lot of money to get him back. But the evil men lied to him, and they received only his dead body in a box.
Ever since, Daddy hired more security to guard the home so it wouldn’t happen to me.
But it did!
“Daddy, my daddy will save me.”
Anger crosses his face, but he still grins as he gets up, coming closer to me. His shoes thump on the floor, and I shrink inwardly, expecting another blow.
I will withstand it though.
“Hijo, if anything ever happens to you, and I’m not there… survive, survive until you can beat them. Entiendes?”
However, the hit never comes. His hand gently pats my head before he taps on my nose. “Lucian won’t save you. He lost you to me.” He chuckles and slides his hand to my nape, revulsion rushing through me at his touch. I jerk to the side, but his death grip doesn’t let me. “He should have never turned his back on me.” He wraps his hand around mine and squeezes it so hard I’m afraid my bones are going to crack. I bite on my lip, trapping the cries ready to escape my mouth.
Now that I know I’m not in a nightmare, I can’t show weakness. Daddy taught me to never be vulnerable to your enemies, and I just have to wait a little longer.
My daddy is Lucian Cortez. He will move heaven and hell.
He’ll find me.
“Ah, brave just like your father.” His other hand pinches my chin between his fingers, and he holds my gaze as he digs them so painfully into my jaw it heightens the pain in my nose. “Lucian’s blood runs through your veins. But your soul… your soul will rot in hell a thousand times over. By the time I’m done with you, there will be nothing left of his bravery and high morals.” He squeezes my throat and cuts off my air. I gulp for breath, hitting his hand and scooting back, but it’s useless against his strength. “He thought he destroyed me seven years ago. And now I have taken the most precious thing from right under his nose.”
He laughs in my face and throws me back. I gasp for breath and fill my lungs. “No more tears, Santiago. The future heir to my throne cannot have weak genes.” My brows furrow. I don’t understand anything he’s saying, and Daddy knows this man how? “I hate every Cortez, but there is no denying your strong bloodline. And victory shall be mine.” He steps from the bed, walking to the door, and throws over his shoulder, “Don’t disappoint me, Santiago. You might not like the consequences. First test is about to start.”
“First test?” I repeat, my hands fisting the sheet.
“Ace them all, Santiago, and freedom will be yours. Fail any of them… and I’ll deliver your mutilated body on a silver platter to your parents’ doorstep.”
I dart after him as he shuts the door in my face, twisting the knob and banging on it. “Let me go! Let me go! Let me go!” Maybe someone will hear me and take pity on me. My whole body trembles in fear from his words.
First test? What does he mean?
I can die here? I won’t die here!
“Survive, survive until you can beat them.”
“Okay, Papá. Please come soon,” I whisper and then jerk in shock when suddenly water starts to fall from the ceiling, just like pouring rain, soaking everything. I look around for a safe place to hide but find none, so I jump under the bed, avoiding the water that continues to fall, the droplets slapping against the marble, until it stops abruptly.
I exhale in relief until the AC starts buzzing loudly, and gradually the room becomes icy cold as frigid air hits me. I get out from the under the bed, the marble floor too cold to lie on. Only everything around me is wet and there is no blanket in sight.
My body starts to tremble, my teeth snapping against each other while I rub my arms, hoping to give myself warmth, but it’s useless. The temperature continues to drop lower and lower; it almost reminds me of winter weather. I climb on the corner of the bed, wrapping my hands around my knees, rocking back and forth, hoping that movement will give me some warmth.
Test? Is this the test?
My whole body shakes so much I can’t even focus on my rapidly beating heart, ready to burst as fear puts a tight leash on it, building images in my head of me lying dead and the evil man sending me to my parents.
Mommy won’t be able to stand it. She’d cry, and I’d hate for her to cry.
So I rock harder, focusing only on my daddy’s voice in my head, ordering me to survive.
Survive no matter what.
Seconds, minutes, or hours pass by until my knuckles turn blue and sleep calls my name, lullabying me on the wet pillow and promising relief from this discomfort if I only close my eyes.
But I keep them open with all the strength I possess in my tiny body, because I promised my papá to survive.
Cortez men always keep their word.
However, in a while, even my resolve doesn’t help me, and my eyelids shut.
Embracing darkness that is oddly more welcoming than the bright reality of this room.
“Two hours. Impressive.” Andreas’s voice snaps me awake this time, and I dread opening my eyes, not wanting to see what this new reality prepared for me next. “And you survived.” He places his hand on my forehead. “With a slight fever but still.” Is this why my whole body burns hot and my throat is so dry I’m ready to beg for water?
I finally look at him as he looms above me, the evil smirk meeting his mouth before he cups my cheek, but I don’t even have the strength to move away. “Now hopefully you’ll live through it. Then we can finally start your training.”
And for the next week, I’m treading on the thin line between life and death, dying every single day from pain and not finding any help around me.
Praying for God to come, but he stays deaf to all my pleas.
Expecting my father to burst through the door to come for me and show me care during my pneumonia instead of me crawling for medicine while their disgusting laughter echoes around me.
But my father fails me too.
In two weeks, I fully recover.
And when Andreas demands more of my soul, I wish I hadn’t.
Because his training forever killed the real Santiago Cortez inside me, and the monster of his creation was born within me.
Briseis
Rolling onto my side, I burrow my head into the pillow, sighing at the softness and moaning at the ache zapping through me at the movement. My muscles are so sore even wiggling a toe hurts.
Blinking a few times, I look around, focusing on the bare white walls and black nightstand with a water and aspirin on it.
Sitting up on the bed, I snatch the note attached to the lid and read it out loud. “In case of headache, drink and take the pill.” Fisting the note, I throw it away and wince a little when the throbbing in my temples intensifies. Huffing in exasperation as he guessed right once again, I swallow the pill, enjoying the warm water soothing my dry throat.
Putting the glass back on the table, I wrap the blanket around me and swing my legs to the side, my toes curling at the cold marble. As I get up, I glance around, searching for Santiago, but to my relief, he’s nowhere in sight.
I’m not ready to meet him naked, my body aching in the most unfamiliar places from his lovemaking.
Fucking.
I should say fucking, even if it sounds crude to me, because that’s what happened, right?
Two people who gave in to the temptation of the flesh, the lust overpowering any common sense and shameful desire no truth can apparently shake off.
However, dwelling on it makes me sound like a broken record, and the last thing I want to do is wallow in my self-pity, exhausting myself in the process.
The lust awakening my body whenever he’s nearby will be my cross to bear till my last breath.
The illicit things I indulge in despite the sexy body belonging to a monster, for he has no name or personality for me.
Or so say the l
ies I came up with in order to forgive myself.
Even his pull toward me can be used to my advantage if used right.
Yeah, right.
I roll my eyes and chuckle under my breath, because just the idea is laughable. On my way to the bathroom, I grab a light summer dress from the closet. I drop the blanket before going in and then step into the shower stall to turn on the hot water.
Only to yelp in surprise when I turn and see Santiago watching me through the glass door. “What are you doing here? Get out!”
So much for not wanting to be naked and vulnerable in front of him!
A sinister smile lifts the corner of his mouth when he opens the door, stepping inside wearing nothing but sweatpants hanging dangerously low, showcasing the perfect V.
God, why does the devil have to be so handsome. My hands are itching to touch him all over again.
Even if only to slap the smug smile off his face. “Get out,” I repeat, covering myself with my hands as much as I can although at this point, he has seen everything.
Still, allowing his touches in the darkness where I push away reality is one thing. Building intimacy and being familiar during the day is a whole different level.
My weak stupid heart doesn’t have good enough armor against him.
Under no circumstances can I fall for a monster.
“Breakfast’s ready. Or should I say lunch? You’re quite the sleeping beauty.” I send daggers his way, holding my chin high, and he winks. “Hurry up. We have a dinner to attend.”
My brows furrow, and I momentarily forget about my nakedness. “What? Why?” Does this marriage include us going to social functions together? Or whatever else being his wife entails? Why would he want it?
Doesn’t sound like a man who plans a divorce in the near future at all!
“Because my parents want to meet you, querida.” He shuts the door, walking out while I stand still, the water cascading on me, yet the warmth is gone, coldness and panic replacing it.
His parents? I have to meet his parents?
Oh my God!
My own family despised me for being illegitimate. I can just imagine what Lucian and Rebecca think about their son’s less than stellar choice. They probably hoped he would settle with someone famous and beautiful whose family dotes on their princess like they do on Jimena.
A point they will make clear during tonight’s dinner.
I slam my fist into the tile at the thought of being subjected to scrutiny once again and not being able to do anything in order to avoid it.
I almost wish he would have given me a contract before this marriage; at least I would have had a clear understanding of why he wants me and what my responsibilities are.
I quickly finish washing my hair and body, dry myself, and put on my clothes, barely glancing in the mirror as I dart toward the kitchen.
Santiago sits on the couch, his legs propped on the small table while he flips through the news channels on the muted TV, not settling on anything, and says without looking at me, “Breakfast is on the counter.” I see a steaming white mug and a plate full of eggs and toast plus an avocado.
My stomach growls loudly. My cheeks heat up, and I quickly pick up the fork, digging it into the eggs. I take my first bite, closing my eyes when the taste hits my tongue. I quickly enjoy a few more bites before focusing my attention back on TV, ready to munch on my toast.
It pauses midway to my mouth though when I read the headline on the news.
Footage of the house along with the report showing something in the background appear, and I exclaim, “Turn the volume up!”
“No point. They haven’t found anything and don’t know who did it. Your father is at a nearby hospital, and doctors are treating his injuries,” he casually replies, turning the TV off and resting his head back on the couch.
Bile rises in my throat when all those dead bodies flash in my head, and I lose my appetite, wrapping my hands around the mug and lifting it my mouth, inhaling the mint scent into my lungs before taking a tentative sip. “Police will have questions for him. He’s the only survivor. You should be prepared.” Dad won’t hesitate to throw them under the bus, seeking retribution for the humiliation they subjected him to.
“He might try” comes the amused reply, as if he knows a secret that I don’t.
That’s when I slap my forehead. “They’ll want to question me too, right?” Somehow, I shouldn’t be scared of the police, considering the latest events, but I can’t lie. They would know something was wrong.
I come closer to Santiago whose eyes are still closed, his face relaxed, and I wonder what it’s like to never fucking be afraid in this life.
Must be extremely nice!
“Highly unlikely. Their priority right now is Howard. Besides, you have an alibi.”
The wedding.
Is that why he rushed us to it? So his friends and us will have a good cover in case the cops show up? He even invited Jimena and informed his parents.
Except there is one tiny flaw with his plan. “I might still be a suspect. The illegitimate daughter who wanted revenge on her family.” The words have a bitter taste in my mouth; nevertheless, they are the truth.
According to the law, I have a motive. And it happened just after I came back home. They wouldn’t hesitate to put two and two together.
“Have you ever seen your birth certificate?”
My brows furrow. “No. I needed it once for boarding school, but Grandmother said she’d handle it. And obviously her people took care of all my documents. How is this relevant right now?”
He finally pops his vibrant eyes open, their intensity hitting me hard once again, and I take a large sip, wincing when it burns my tongue, but I keep my focus on him. “Howard’s name never showed on your birth records. You have the Dawson family name, yes, but the father section is blank.” He waits a bit, allowing me to digest this information, adding shortly, “Legally, you were never theirs. You were never included in their wills either. You don’t get a cent out of their deaths. Whatever case the police would try to build on you is destined to fail.”
Slightly lost, I whisper, “I don’t understand. Legally, they had—”
“No rights. Why do you think you were homeschooled? And then sent to Greece until you turned twenty-one?”
“I participated in functions. People saw me.” Despite the realization creeping into my mind, I still hope I’m wrong.
They couldn’t have been this diabolical, could they?
“You participated in two or three functions where they introduced you as their dead friend’s daughter. Querida, where there is money lies power. The law surely wouldn’t have knocked on their door just to check if it’s true or not.”
My heart pangs painfully, the childhood wounds slashing open again and bleeding so fiercely I forget how to breathe when the full realization of their deceit settles on my mind.
All their controlling ways over me, their threats, their degrading behavior toward me…
I withstood it all for nothing? In the eyes of the law, they could have never hurt me or put me in a psychiatry ward?
I even agreed to marry Santiago to save Dad’s ass, sacrificing my life and freedom!
Then his other words register and my heart stops, their full meaning slamming into me and almost knocking me on my knees, but I glue my feet to the floor, too afraid to move for fear of breaking.
Blank.
Father said I destroyed them, him and Mom, and she couldn’t love me no matter how much she tried.
My grandmother never accepted me, even though supposedly her blood ran through my veins, and I was her son’s daughter. She would have never turned her back on a true Dawson.
Except, I wasn’t.
Oh my God.
I was never theirs!
The mug slips from my fingers, the porcelain hitting the floor and shattering into tiny pieces, the sound ringing in my ears. The hot tea burns my feet, yet I pay no attention to that.
How can I
, when my whole existence has been a lie?
“Mierda,” Santiago mutters, scooping me in his arms and reaching the counter in short strides, the shards crunching under his shoes.
He puts me on the counter, goes to the freezer, and then comes back holding an ice pack. Lifting my foot, he presses it, and I wince. The cold sinking into my painful skin finally snaps me out of my stupor. “Thank you.” My voice is barely above a whisper, thousands of thoughts rushing through my mind so fast I don’t know on which one to focus or listen to. “I didn’t burn myself much. The tea was warm.”
He doesn’t say anything, but by how tight his jaw is clenched, I know he doesn’t much care for my reassurance. “Howard isn’t my father, is he?” He tenses, pressing the ice pack a few times before examining my foot. “Answer me!” He opened the fucking Pandora’s box himself and now hesitates to talk about it?
He raises his eyes to me, throws the ice pack aside, and plasters a hand on either side of my hips, caging me in his embrace, my legs moving slightly to give him room between them. “No, he isn’t.”
I exhale heavily. “Truly?”
“Si.”
And that’s when the pain ripping my flesh in two, which has been present my whole life, disappears, and such happiness replaces it I’m afraid I might burst!
My laughter reverberates off the walls, and my body shakes with it.
Santiago frowns, so I wrap my arms around him, squeezing him impossibly tight. He’s who delivered the news, after all. “Thank you so much,” I say into his neck and then lean back, my arms still circling him. “I’ve never been happier.” And then I realize what I’ve done, and my cheeks heat up in embarrassment.
Any minute now, we might start acting like a real husband and wife.
I push at his chest for him to step back, and he does so instantly, allowing me to hop back on the floor. “Sorry about the mug. I’m going to clean it up.”
I don’t take two steps toward the kitchen sink when his hand catches mine, bringing me back to stand in front of him as his eyes search my face. “You aren’t sad? No entiendo.”
Of course he doesn’t understand. He grew up in a loving household where people worshipped the ground he walked on. He probably would have been devastated to discover Lucian wasn’t his father.
