HIS TO CLAIM

Chapter eleven: The Breaking point

Everything for the trip was already set. Sophie had bought the tickets days ago, and we’d gone shopping together, our arms weighed down with glossy bags filled with new outfits I didn’t even care for. All of it was bought with his card, of course. Every swipe of it had been a test, a silent dare for him to react. Yet… nothing. Not a word. Not a whisper. His silence gnawed at me, made me wonder if he even cared.

It was the night before we were supposed to leave, and guilt finally caught up with me. I knew I had to tell Gwen. She had been more than a housekeeper, more than Marcelo’s loyal shadow—she had been the closest thing I had to a mother since mine was buried under crumbled walls and gunfire. The thought of her heartbreak weighed on me heavier than the secret thrill of my escape.

So I went to find her.

The mansion was still and cavernous as I crossed through the massive living room. The chandelier above glittered coldly, throwing fractured light over the marble floors. My footsteps echoed too loud, my chest tightening as if the walls themselves were judging me. I turned toward the kitchen—her sanctuary.

But it was empty.

For a moment I froze, disoriented. Gwen was always here, always moving with quiet efficiency, always making this cold house feel just a little less like a prison. To see it spotless, empty, lifeless… it felt wrong.

I swallowed the unease and climbed the staircase. Her room was at the far end of the hallway. I knocked once, lightly, then turned the handle and slipped inside.

The room was dim, cloaked in shadows, but I could make out the small silhouette hunched on the bed. And then I heard it—soft, stifled sobs.

“Gwen,” I whispered, my voice unsteady.

She sat up abruptly, wiping at her cheeks with a clumsy hand. “Ah, nothing dear,” she said, forcing her voice into a tone that was rough but almost cheerful. “Why are you here?”

The lie cut through me.

I rushed to her side, kneeling beside the bed, gripping her arm. “What’s wrong? Please, tell me what happened.” My voice cracked, because I had never seen her like this—her strength undone, her eyes swollen, her composure shattered.

“Nothing, sweetheart,” she insisted. “It’s fine.”

“That’s not true,” I pressed, desperation clawing its way up my throat. “Don’t hide from me. What’s wrong, Gwen?”

She shook her head, her lips tight. “It’s nothing, I promise.”

I wanted to scream at her, demand the truth, but instead I exhaled shakily, defeated. “Okay… I just came to tell you that Sophie and I are going on a trip tomorrow. For my birthday.”

Her head snapped toward me, shock etched across her features. “What?”

“It’s just for a while. I just… I don’t want to spend my birthday locked up here. I’ll be back, I swear.”

“Does Mr. Dominique know?” she asked, her tone suddenly sharp, almost fearful.

“Of course he does,” I snapped. “I used his money for everything. If he had a problem, he’d have said something.” My anger flared, hot and bitter.

She sighed heavily, her eyes clouded. “Lucía… you are provoking him. You don’t understand what you’re doing. That man—he saved you. He’s been protecting you for months. And you… you keep fighting him as if he were your enemy.”

The words struck me like a slap. Rage surged through my chest.

“Saved me?” My voice broke into a bitter laugh. “How do I know he saved me, Gwen? How can I know he didn’t kill my family? He’s a possessive lunatic who keeps me locked in this gilded prison because he thinks he owns me! What kind of sane man does that? He’s not a savior—he’s a psycho!”

Her lips curled in frustration. “You don’t know anything, dear.”

“Then tell me!” I exploded, my voice echoing off the walls. My hands trembled as I clutched at her sleeves. “Tell me why he locked me up. Tell me why my family had to die. Tell me, Gwen, because I’m drowning in questions and you’re the only one who can stop me from going insane!”

Her eyes glistened. Her hands cupped mine, warm but shaking.

Her voice trembled, but her words were steady. “He didn’t kill your family, dear. He saved you. He pulled you from death itself. I know you think he’s the villain, but he’s not. He isn’t your enemy—though he isn’t a saint either. No one is. But he protects you in ways you cannot yet see. He has been through hell, worse than you can imagine…”

Her words rang in my ears, striking something raw in my chest. But I couldn’t accept them. I couldn’t let go of my hatred.

“Then tell me,” I whispered, broken. “Tell me what he’s been through to make him this… twisted.”

She shook her head, anguish twisting her features. “I can’t. I’m sorry, dear. Just… please, think carefully before you act.”

Her refusal left me hollow, furious, and more lost than ever. My mind spun with questions. Who was Marcelo Dominique really? If he didn’t kill my family, then who did? And why keep me caged here like some prize?

I didn’t know. And I hated that Gwen might.

My thoughts spiraled, every question stabbing deeper. Did he kill them? Did he not? Was this entire cage built on lies—or on a twisted kind of love?

Fuck him. f**k his silence. f**k this prison.

If he wanted me safe, then he’d find me, wherever I went.

“I’m sorry, Gwen,” I said coldly, turning toward the door. “But I don’t care. I’m going on that trip, and I’ll be back after. That’s all.”

I left her in the dark, her sobs echoing faintly as I shut the door.

That night, sleep was a stranger. I tossed, turned, tangled in sheets that felt like chains. My body was restless, my mind a storm. Excitement and fear warred inside me. For once, I had a chance to leave—even if it was temporary—but Gwen’s words had poisoned my resolve.

What if she was right? What if Marcelo wasn’t the monster? What if he truly had saved me?

And yet… why lock me away? Why claim me as his possession?

I needed answers.

So I got up.

Barefoot, I padded through the silent halls, the air heavy, the mansion too still. I reached his office door, hesitated. Memories flashed—the way his mouth had been on me once, rough and claiming, his voice calling me a w***e even as he ignited fire in my skin. My breath trembled. I turned the handle.

Locked.

My chest constricted. He wasn’t here.

I turned away, my steps leading me not to my room but toward his.

The closer I got, the more the air thickened. And then—voices.

At first muffled, then clearer.

A woman’s voice, high-pitched, breathless. “f**k, harder, Marcelo!” Her moans rang through the crack of the door, followed by his low grunt. The sounds tore through me like knives.

My stomach lurched. I wanted to run, to disappear, but my feet were nailed to the spot. I turned, ready to leave, when her voice cut again—sharper, venomous.

“What is wrong with you, Marcelo? You’ve been distant ever since that wretched girl came into this house. Why do you even keep her here?”

My heart stopped.

Silence.

Then her laugh, cruel and mocking. “Why keep her after killing her entire family? Oh, I see… as a trophy, hm? A reminder of your work? Just get rid of her already, Marcelo.”

The words sliced into me.

He killed them.

The world tilted, my lungs strangling for air.

Gwen had lied. Marcelo was the monster. The wolf behind the mask. The man who shattered my life and then kept me caged, pretending it was protection.

I stumbled back, blind with rage, with grief. My hand knocked against a vase, sending it crashing to the floor with a clang that echoed like gunfire.

Panic shot through me. I crouched, fumbling to pick it up, my hands trembling violently. Behind me, I heard the creak of his door opening.

I didn’t look back.

I ran.

Tears blurred my vision, but fury fueled me. I hated him more than I ever had.

Marcelo Dominique, my captor, my tormentor, my family’s murderer.

I would escape him.

Tomorrow, I would leave—and I wasn’t coming back.

Not ever.