Chapter 5
616 Words
The boutique clerk hovered nervously, wringing her hands. "Miss? Should I call someone? An ambulance?" Her voice trembled with Manhattan-bred panic.
Sofia didn't even glance at her. "No." The word cracked like a whip. "We're fine." She kept her arms locked around me, her grip iron. "Respira, Angie. Solo respira." Her breath warmed my temple. "In and out. Like the ocean."
The clerk retreated, footsteps fading. Silence descended, thick and suffocating, broken only by my ragged gasps against Sofia's shoulder.
The scent of her coconut shampoo mixed with the lingering ghost of Evelyn's perfume – gardenias and cold cash – still clinging to my nostrils.
Jonathan's lie echoed "Nothing important." Five years of whispered querida's, heated nights tangled in Egyptian cotton, the pride in his eyes when I mastered complex financial models... reduced to nothing.
My fingers dug into Sofia's back. "He kissed her forehead," I choked out, the image seared behind my eyelids. "Like... like he does to me. When he thinks I'm asleep."
Sofia stiffened. "Hijo de puta," she hissed, the venom sharp. She pulled back, her dark eyes scanning my face.
"Escúchame bien. You are not nothing. You are Angela Ramirez Rodriguez. MBA. Summa c*m laude." She punctuated each word with a gentle tap on my chest. "Tú vales más que todo el oro en sus malditos hoteles."
She stood abruptly, pulling me up with her. My legs trembled, but held. Sofia snatched her oversized Chanel bag off the velvet couch. "Vamos. We're leaving."
"But—" I gestured weakly at my tear-streaked face, the crumpled state of my borrowed blazer.
"Ahora," Sofia snapped, her voice brooking no argument. She propelled me towards the boutique door with a hand firm against the small of my back.
Outside, the assault of Fifth Avenue noise hit like a physical blow – honking cabs, chattering tourists, the relentless pulse of a city that didn’t pause for heartbreak.
Sofia hailed a cab with a sharp, imperious whistle, her Colombian steel fully visible now.
The cab ride was silent. Sofia stared fixedly out the window, jaw clenched.
I slumped against the cracked vinyl seat, Jonathan’s ice-blue eyes and Evelyn’s porcelain skin replaying on a torturous loop. Nothing important. The words carved deeper with each repetition.
Sofia’s apartment was a sanctuary of minimalist chic – all clean lines, chrome accents, and the lingering scent of her signature coconut.
She marched me straight to the oversized, slate-tiled bathroom. "Strip," she ordered, turning on the shower. Steam billowed instantly, fogging the mirrors. "You smell like despair. It’s nauseating."
I obeyed numbly, peeling off the blazer Sofia had loaned me for the fitting. The expensive wool felt like a shroud. Underneath, my simple cotton dress clung damply.
Sofia didn’t look away as I stepped under the scalding spray. She leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching as the water sluiced away mascara tracks and the phantom scent of Evelyn’s perfume. Her expression was unreadable.
"Matthew bought me this apartment," she said abruptly, her voice echoing slightly in the steamy room. She gestured vaguely at the chrome fixtures, the rain showerhead.
"Fully furnished. Top floor. Park view. Part of the ‘deal’." She picked up a bottle of her expensive shampoo, turning it over in her hands. "He liked watching me shower. From that stool right there."
She nodded towards a sleek, backless seat near the glass enclosure. "Liked seeing the soap run down... everywhere." A harsh, brittle laugh escaped her. "El viejo pervertido."
I stood frozen under the spray, water stinging my eyes. Sofia never talked about Matthew like this.
Not the real stuff. Only the jokes, the designer labels, the connections.
- Writer
