Chapter 10: The First Bleed
763 Words
The flashbulbs hit me like physical blows.
After the claustrophobic darkness of the tunnels and the bleach-scented terror of my bedroom, the Capital’s press room felt like standing on the surface of the sun. The air was thick with the smell of expensive perfumes, hot lighting equipment, and the collective greed of a hundred reporters waiting for a tragedy to sell.
I stood at the polished mahogany podium, wearing a high-collared, powder-blue dress my father’s stylists had chosen specifically to make me look fragile. They had even applied a subtle layer of pale makeup under my eyes to emphasize the "trauma" of my kidnapping.
I looked down at the microphones bristling like steel thorns. My hands rested on the edge of the wood, trembling. It wasn't an act.
"My daughter has been through hell," my father’s voice boomed through the speakers, deep, resonant, and dripping with manufactured sorrow. He stood beside me, his arm wrapped protectively around my shoulders. "But the Castille family does not break. We rebuild. And we will not let the lawlessness of the Iron Valley dictate the future of this great nation."
A murmur of sympathetic applause rippled through the room. I kept my eyes downcast, playing the part of the broken bird perfectly.
Then, a faint, rhythmic crackle vibrated against my right eardrum.
"I'm in." Mateo’s voice was a low, electric hum in the tiny, translucent earpiece hidden beneath my dark hair. Just hearing his voice steadied the frantic beating of my heart.
"Look up, Clara. Third row. Left side."
I slowly raised my head, letting my gaze drift over the sea of cameras and notepads.
He was there. Mateo Vega, the cartel boss who owned the shadows, was standing in the middle of my father’s meticulously controlled press pool. He was wearing a faded olive jacket, a press lanyard hanging around his neck, and dark-rimmed glasses that entirely changed the harsh architecture of his face. But the dangerous, golden flecks in his eyes were the same.
He wasn't looking at my father. He was looking dead at me.
"The Cayman accounts are open," Mateo murmured into his lapel mic. His lips barely moved. "Initiating the burn protocol. Say goodbye to the campaign fund."
My father squeezed my shoulder gently, leaning into the microphone. "We must stand together against the shadows. Against the cartels who think they can steal our children in the night"
"Fifty million down," Mateo whispered in my ear.
"and against the corruption that threatens our borders," my father continued, his charismatic smile flashing for the cameras.
"Eighty million down." I stared right into Mateo's eyes as he systematically dismantled my father’s empire with a few keystrokes on the encrypted tablet hidden in his messenger bag. It was the most intimate, violently beautiful thing I had ever witnessed.
"One hundred and twenty million. He is completely zeroed out, Clara. The bleeding is done."
As Mateo spoke those final words, a side door to the press room burst open.
My father’s chief financial advisor practically sprinted onto the stage. The man’s face was the color of ash, his suit completely soaked in sweat. He ignored the glaring cameras and the bewildered reporters, rushing directly to my father’s side.
He leaned up on his tiptoes and whispered frantically into my father’s ear.
I didn't hear what he said. But I felt the exact moment the Senator realized his shadow empire had just collapsed.
My father didn't stop smiling. His face remained frozen in that perfect, practiced politician's mask. But the hand resting on my shoulder suddenly clamped down with the crushing force of a steel vice.
Pain shot down my arm, sharp and breathtaking. His fingers dug directly into my collarbone, bruising the skin beneath my powder-blue dress.
"Excuse me for a moment," my father said to the crowd, his voice perfectly smooth, betraying absolutely nothing. "Campaign business never sleeps."
He turned to me, the smile still plastered on his face. But his eyes were dead, black pits of pure, unadulterated rage.
"We are going back to the estate," he whispered to me through his teeth, his grip tightening until I thought my bone would snap. "Right now."
I looked out into the crowd one last time. Mateo was already turning away, slipping backward into the sea of reporters, fading into the Capital just like a ghost.
The war wasn't in the shadows anymore. It was in the light.
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