A Debt Never Dies
2272 Palabras
Chapter 1
A Debt Never Dies
(Sofía Valentín)
I never thought a debt could breathe. I had always imagined debts as cold numbers on a screen, or perhaps as those cream-colored envelopes my father used to hide in his desk drawer with trembling hands. But that night, in the marble hall of the D’Luca mansion, the debt had a pulse.
The air felt heavy. It pressed against my chest as if someone had uttered my name with an ancient, distilled hatred.
My heels—the only decent pair I had kept from my former life—had stopped echoing on the polished floor. Now, only my breathing could be heard: erratic and shallow. The mansion walls were adorned with portraits of men who seemed to judge me from the past—men with steel eyes and square jaws who understood the world only through power.
"Sit down, Sofía Valentín."
His voice wasn’t a shout. There was no thunder. It was worse. It carried the absolute certainty of a man who has never needed to raise his tone to be obeyed. A man who knows that silence is a weapon sharper than any bullet.
I didn’t sit. My legs were so tense that I felt if I tried to bend my knees, I would collapse like a house of cards. I stayed where I was, fists clenched at my sides, nails digging into my palms to anchor myself to reality. Facing me was the man who had just decided the course of my existence without even asking me for the time.
Aaron D’Luca.
I had read his name in financial chronicles, heard it whispered in the hallways of the embassies where I worked as a freelance translator. They were rumors no one dared to confirm: stories of a "modern Don" who cleaned up the tracks of the past with the efficiency of a surgeon. In my mind, I had drawn him as an older man, worn down by sin, perhaps even grotesque.
He was not.
Aaron D’Luca was young. Too young to carry such darkness. His elegance wasn’t forced; it seemed to emanate from his pores. He wore an impeccable black suit, a white shirt open just enough to not look like a politician, but closed enough to maintain a frigid distance. His eyes—dark, fixed—did not blink as he studied me. He looked at me as if I were an arithmetic problem he had already solved in his head.
"I’m not sitting," I said, hating the betrayal of the tremor in my voice. "I want to know what I’m doing here. Why your men dragged me out of my apartment like I was a criminal."
He tilted his head slightly. A minimal, almost imperceptible gesture. To his right, two armed men—shadows dressed in gray—moved half a step forward. They didn’t aim their weapons. They didn't need to. Their mere presence was a reminder that in this room, the law of gravity was dictated by the man sitting behind the mahogany desk.
"You are here," Aaron said, interlacing his fingers over the desk, "because your father signed a contract with me fifteen years ago.
A contract that, until today, has not been honored."
My stomach churned, a cold nausea rising in my throat.
"My father is dead," I replied firmly, trying to invoke his memory as a shield. "He died three years ago. Whatever he did or didn’t do went to the grave with him."
"Debts don’t die, Sofía," Aaron replied. His tone was almost pedagogical. "Debts are like sins: they seek out the closest blood to find their redemption."
The silence that followed was surgical. Precise. Painful. I remembered my father’s face the last time I saw him. He was exhausted, with deep dark circles that looked like permanent shadows. He had promised me everything was under control, that we would soon leave the city and start over in a place where the name Valentín meant nothing. He had lied to me. It wasn't under control; he was running from a monster that was now claiming me.
"My father wasn't a criminal," I said, stepping forward, indignation momentarily overcoming my fear. "He was an intermediary. A translator. Like me. He helped people understand each other, nothing more."
"Your father," Aaron corrected, standing up with a slowness that made me recoil, "was a man who asked for protection and capital from the wrong family... and then disappeared with both. He wasn't a translator, Sofía. He was a thief who used words to disguise his debts."
"That’s not true!" My voice sounded sharp, desperate.
Aaron didn't flinch. He began to walk around the desk. Every step he took narrowed the distance between us and multiplied the weight of his presence. He stopped less than a meter away. I could smell him: sandalwood, old paper, and something metallic, like rain before a storm.
"Do you know what the problem with innocent people is, Sofía?" he asked, lowering his voice until it became a dangerous secret. "They believe the truth protects them. They believe that if they didn't do anything wrong, the world owes them an explanation."
He held out a black leather folder toward me. I refused to take it, keeping my hands hidden behind my back.
"Your father signed this contract," he continued, unbothered by my rejection. "And he left something as collateral. Something he considered his most precious asset in case his life ended before paying the last cent."
"I have nothing to do with his mistakes," I whispered, feeling the world start to spin off its axis.
Aaron smiled slightly. It was a curve of his lips devoid of humor, cold as the marble beneath my feet. He gestured to one of his men. The subordinate opened the folder and began to read in a monotone voice, stripped of any emotion:
"In the event of default, the debt shall be settled with the highest value asset held by the debtor. If the capital is insufficient, compensation shall be personal and transferable to his direct heirs." Signed: Daniel Valentín.
I felt the floor tilt. I leaned against the back of a chair, feeling the carved wood beneath my fingers.
"That doesn't mean anything," I said, though my voice was barely a thread. "It’s a vague clause. It’s illegal. In any court in the world..."
"In my world," Aaron interrupted, closing the distance until his shadow completely covered me, "the rules are very clear. We don't need courts, Sofía. We only need honor. And your father stole mine."
He began to walk around me slowly, like an appraiser evaluating a piece of art he hadn't yet decided was worth the auction price.
"We recovered the money, the properties, even the contacts he tried to sell to our rivals," he continued. "Everything was recovered... except you."
I turned sharply to follow him with my gaze. My heart hammered against my ribs with a force that made me dizzy.
"Me? What do I have to do with his business?"
"Everything," he confirmed, stopping in front of me. "Sofía Valentín. Twenty-six years old. Graduated with honors. You speak four languages. No criminal record. No protection. Not the slightest idea of the abyss you were leaning over every time you turned on the light in your apartment."
I swallowed hard, my throat feeling dry as paper.
"You can't hold me responsible for something I didn't sign. I am not property."
Aaron raised his hand. With two fingers, he took me by the chin. He didn't squeeze, but the gesture was more dominant than any tight grip. He forced me to hold his gaze. His eyes were a labyrinth of dark intentions.
"I’m not holding you responsible," he said with a terrifying softness. "I’m turning you into part of the payment."
"This is kidnapping," I said, tears of frustration beginning to blur my vision. "You know it. The police..."
"The police don't enter this mansion unless I invite them for coffee," he cut me off with disdain. "And it’s not kidnapping. It’s a pending agreement that is finally going to be closed."
I yanked myself away from his touch with a sudden movement, backing up until my back hit the cold stone wall.
"I’m not staying here. I’m not going to be your slave or your bargaining chip."
"I didn't ask you to stay," he replied, returning to his seat with the parsimony of a king tired of negotiating with beggars. "I brought you here to inform you of the terms."
I took a deep breath, trying not to crumble. My lungs burned.
"Inform me of what?"
Aaron settled into his chair, interlacing his hands over the mahogany surface. He looked at me with a coldness that froze my blood.
"That in seven days," he sentenced, "you will be my wife."
The world shattered around me. The sound of my own heartbeat was the only thing filling my ears.
"What...? You’re crazy. You are absolutely insane."
"The wedding will be discreet," he continued, ignoring my outburst. "Civil. Legal before the law of men and recognized by the Families of this circle. You will carry my last name and, with it, your father's debt will be settled forever."
"You can't force me. We aren't in the Middle Ages. You can't just... buy a wife."
Aaron leaned his elbows on the table, leaning forward. His expression became more intense, more predatory.
"I’m not forcing you, Sofía. I’m giving you options. Because, contrary to what you believe, I am a reasonable man."
He held up one finger.
"Option one: you accept the contract, you marry me, and your life continues under my protection. You will have everything you desire, except your freedom to leave. Your name will be cleared, and no one will ever haunt you again for Daniel Valentín’s sins."
He raised a second finger. The glint of his signet ring on his ring finger seemed like a warning.
"Option two: you refuse. In that case, the debt remains alive. And since your father is no longer here to pay the interest, I will have to collect it in other ways. Ways you won't like. Ways that involve your 'friends' and your few remaining relatives beginning to disappear."
My voice broke completely.
"What kind of man does this? How can you live with yourself knowing you’re destroying a person who hasn't done anything to you?"
Aaron studied me for a long moment, as if he were searching for something in my face—a sign of weakness or a strength he hadn't yet found.
"The kind of man who doesn't mix feelings with business," he replied with a voice that admitted no rebuttal. "And the kind of man who never leaves a debt unpaid."
"I don't love you," I said, almost in a scream, as if that were the ultimate defense. "I don't even know you. I don't know who you really are behind that expensive suit."
"I didn't ask for love, Sofía," he said, standing up once more. "I asked for loyalty. Love is a weakness that men in my position cannot afford. Loyalty, on the other hand... loyalty is the most valuable currency there is."
Silence fell over the room again, heavy and suffocating. I looked around, searching for an exit, but the men at the door were statues of flesh and bone. I was caught in a web woven fifteen years ago.
"If I accept..." I began, my voice barely a whisper, "if I accept this... this contract... there will be conditions."
A shadow of something like curiosity crossed his gaze.
"Speak."
"You won't touch me," I said, trying to sound braver than I felt. "You won't force me into anything in private. I won't be a trophy you display at your parties. If this is a business deal, then let's keep it as such."
Aaron approached again. This time he didn't stop until he was so close I felt the heat of his body. He leaned into my ear, and his breath brushed my skin, sending a shiver through me that I didn't know was terror or something darker.
"Interesting," he murmured. "You have fire, Sofía. Your father didn't mention that. Fine. You shall have your conditions... for now."
He stepped away and headed toward the large double doors.
"But understand one thing," he added before leaving. "I don't marry women to possess them like objects. I marry to protect what is mine. And from this moment on, you belong to me."
He looked at his men over his shoulder.
"Take her to her room. Have everything she needs prepared. Starting tonight, no one touches her without my explicit permission. If a single scratch happens to her, your heads will roll on the marble."
The door closed behind him with a sharp thud that resonated through my entire body.
I stood there, trembling, alone in the vastness of the hall. Because I had just understood something much worse than fear: Aaron D’Luca didn't see me as a victim. He saw me as recovered property.
And the contract... the contract wasn't the end of my nightmare. It was only the beginning.
- Autor
