Elena Vasquez
The laptop screen blurred, Victor Lang’s name a taunt in the dim glow of the mansion’s guest suite. My chest heaved, each breath a sob I refused to let out. Dad, Javier Vasquez, my hero, the man who’d taught me to balance books and dreams, wasn’t taken by stress or a cruel twist of fate. Alexander’s words clawed at me: Unusual toxins. Deliberate. Poisoned. Murdered. By Victor Lang, the monster who’d bet on my heart like it was a poker chip. The room spun, the ocean’s roar outside a cruel mockery of the storm inside me. I pressed my fists to my eyes, tears spilling hot and unstoppable, my father’s voice echoing: Take care of them, mija.
I stumbled to the balcony, the night air slapping my face, sharp and salty. The emerald dress clung to my skin, a lie of glamour now stained
