CHAPTER 2
796 Words
The clock struck 7:14 p.m. when Damián entered the Alvarado mansion. He made no sound as he walked; he never did. That was his way of being present: silent, invasive, impossible to ignore. The mere sound of the door was enough to shift the very air in the house.
Valeria felt him before she saw him. Tension shot up her spine like an electric lash.
"Valeria," he said from the entryway, in that soft voice that managed to freeze her faster than a scream.
It wasn't a call. It was a reminder.
She took a deep breath and walked toward him, slowly, trying to ensure her own pulse didn't betray her. When she appeared at the foot of the stairs, she found him removing his cufflinks, looking as if he had just returned from a quiet night out. But his expression… his expression said otherwise.
"You didn't go to the event," he murmured, without raising his voice.
Valeria opened her mouth to respond, but he interrupted her by raising a hand.
"I don't need explanations. I only need to know why you believed you could make that decision on your own."
She pressed her lips together softly. "Because it’s my life," she wanted to say. But she knew exactly how that sentence would end.
"I didn't feel well," she answered, measuring every word. "I didn't want to ruin the night with a sour face."
The smile he gave her in return was elegant, perfect… and completely hollow.
"You know it’s not you who ruins nights, Valeria." He approached slowly, like a predator gauging the rhythm of his prey. "But when you vanish, when you don't show up, when people ask about you… that ruins things."
She tightened her fingers against the fabric of her robe.
"I just needed a moment for myself."
Damián stopped in front of her, far too close. He stroked her chin with the back of his fingers—a gesture almost tender that didn't match the shadow in his eyes.
"I gave you a life where you shouldn't need 'moments for yourself.'"
Valeria swallowed hard.
"That isn't living, Damián."
For an instant, his dark eyes flashed with something that looked like annoyance… or perhaps disappointment.
"Come upstairs with me," he finally ordered.
She shook her head barely an inch.
"I'm exhausted. I need—"
"Valeria," he cut her off, his tone incredibly low and firm, like a violin string stretched to its limit. "Don't make me repeat myself."
The silence fell between them, heavy and nearly tangible. She looked up, feeling her own voice breaking inside her chest.
"Damián… I’m not a child. You can't force me to—"
"I can force you to do whatever is necessary to keep things in order," he whispered, leaning in to brush against her forehead. "And you know it."
The air became unbearably thick.
It was then that the kitchen door opened. Luciana appeared with a plate in her hands and froze when she saw them. Her gaze darted quickly to Valeria, then to her brother.
"Am I interrupting?"
Damián stepped away from his wife as if the scene had been entirely normal.
"No," he replied with that false kindness that only Luciana knew how to read. "The house is yours as well."
Luciana set the plate on the counter and approached Valeria, placing a hand on her back.
"Is everything okay?"
Valeria gave a slight nod. An automatic lie.
Damián watched them both as if recording every gesture, every breath, every invisible vibration. Then he said:
"I’ll be having dinner in my office. Don't wait up for me."
And he left.
Only when they heard the study door close did Valeria release the breath she had been holding.
"Luci…" she whispered, her voice cracking.
Damián’s sister hugged her tightly.
"I don't want you to get used to this," she said into her ear. "I don't want you to accept this life."
Valeria rested her forehead on her shoulder, feeling how the weight of the day, of the marriage, of the silence, crushed her chest.
"I’m already used to it," she murmured, and the sentence hurt more than any threat.
Luciana took her hands.
"Listen to me carefully. Nothing—absolutely nothing—forces you to stay here."
Valeria looked up, her eyes glassy.
"Yes, things do force me," she finally said, with a bitter truth. "His name. My parents. My son. Everything."
Luciana shook her head.
"No. Fear forces you. And that can be broken."
Valeria wanted to believe it. She wanted to cling to that hope as if it were a rope in the middle of a well.
But from Damián’s office, even from a distance, she could feel the opposite:
Fear didn't break. Fear was something you learned to obey.
- Writer
