Her Billionaire, Her Revenge

Mateo's point of view The moment I passed those glass doors, I knew something was strange. It was the unusual quietness that caught my attention. quite tidy. Everything was perfect, just perfect. It seemed as though someone had removed all traces of truth from the atmosphere. I ought to have turned to leave. I was unable to follow the events during the gala. The sight of Clara, after all these years, disturbed me. She turned straight ahead, as though I were only another face in the throng. She acted as if I had never been her primary focus. Nonetheless, I recall everything. Every damn second passes by. Today, I couldn't stop thinking about that child. Emilina. Her big-eyed glance up at Clara was quite deliberate. Her view. But the remainder? That was all I could do. With her head out of her cubicle, my assistant remarked, "Delgado, conference room four." I nodded quickly and started down the corridor, but my head was whirling. Was Clara back in business? Retaking? Closeness? A closeness? Did that child resemble my mother at the age of six? The second I stepped into the room, my belly twisted. Clara was already there—sitting at the head of the table like it was hers. She didn’t flinch when she saw me. Simply stared. She remarked, "Mateo." Perfect. Mild. hazardous. "Clara" "Your arrival is early." "You're brilliant." "Is that sarcasm or shock?" "Two." "I am not here for you." "I am beginning to believe that." She stood and moved towards the window, seemingly unconcerned. I kept staring at her, unable to stop. I kissed her neck throughout my terrible dreams. She said without turning, "I didn't know you would be here today." True? You were significantly less knowledgeable in this area. She flinched at that. She hesitated for a moment. I noticed her hesitation. "You've changed." You have not been the same. "Was that supposed to hurt?" No. That's just the truth. God, I wish I could yell. For five years, I had been yearning to ask every question, so I wanted to toss the table across the room and yell at every one of them. Why did she leave me? Why did she not share Emilia with me? "You saw her," Clara replied, her voice subdued now. "She's yours!" She looked around, her gaze searing through me. I saw nothing else but storms. "Would it make a difference if she were? "She resembles me." "She has my eye." "And my entire face." "Coincidence." Both of us understood that was a lie. At last I took a seat. Although my intellect wanted to slow down, my body resisted this desire. "You lied to me." "Before I even started speaking, you stopped believing in me." You were excited. "You burnt it all down first." Quiet. Heavy. It's like drowning in an air-filled chamber. "I almost told you," she said softly. One evening. But already you had your hands around my throat without touching me." These are forceful. The memory of that night is vivid in my mind. The scream. The wine glass broke into shards. The photo's frame was broken. "You ought to have told me anyhow." "You never listened when the truth wasn't the one you wanted." She wasn't incorrect. I slumped back and looked up at the ceiling, as if it held the answers I was seeking. My teeth clenched so tightly that they ached. And all I could imagine was Emilia's face. Her hair was disheveled. She had a gentle smile on her face. She wrapped her arms around Clara's waist, as if she were grasping the entire earth. "Yours, isn't she?" Clara did not respond. She merely gazed at me, urging me to blow. She has the right to know the truth. "So did I." "You are punishing me by using her." "I'm shielding her from you." That dug farther than I had intended. Her phone buzzed then as well. She turned to view the screen. Her facial expression changed. It's pale. Cool. She exudes a sense of disconnection from her inner being. "What are you asking?" I rose. She is silent. She quickly grabbed her suitcase and rushed out of the room. I trailed her quickly down the corridor, past the side entrance, and into the parking garage. 'Clara! What's happening? She tried to give someone a call. Her hands were shaking, rather vibrating. "Who messaged you?" "Lucía." "What happened?" Lucía asked, "Emalia's missing." Everything froze. "What kind of missing do you mean?" She had a scheduled violin class. She never made it. My pulse was flying so quickly I felt lightheaded. "For what length?" "I remained silent for over an hour." Nobody summoned me. Nobody mentioned anything! She staggered, and I grabbed her by the arm. "We shall find her. I swear—" "You don't get to swear anything to me!" she said, pushing away. Her voice broke; her body shook. I answered, "I'm calling the cops." "It's too late." Whoever carried out this act knew her calendar. She knew where she would be. She had planned this. Her words pulled my air out. We got the car running. Despite the noise of the city, all I could hear was Clara breathing as if her chest were about to collapse. She whispered, more to herself than to me, "Who would do this?" Then it suddenly struck me. Santiago). "Go into the car." "Where are we going?" "To the man once promising he'd ruin me with the one thing I loved most." She asked nothing else, either. I arrived in. Out of the garage, I ground it, negotiating traffic with white knuckles on the wheel. Miguel Morales. Miguel Morales was once my father's comrade, turned adversary. That man hated me more than he loved his life. I could remember his remarks precisely. "One day, Delgado, I'll locate the thing you love most... and that is how I will bury you. I used to laugh back then. I now felt like throwing up. Silent next to me was Clara. Her chest swiftly rose. Her phone was like her final lifeline; she gripped it tightly. "Are you okay?" She said, "I'm not okay." Whispering. Everything she has is what I have. I turned towards her. I said it silently rather than aloud. No more. Right now she is ours. And I would split this entire miserable city apart to retrieve her. But suppose I was already running too late? Was Santiago working alone? Alternatively, was someone else supporting him? Could I put my trust in Clara? Had I ever known her exactly? And assuming this was the start... How much worse was it likely to get?