Page 43 of Of Vows and Betrayal

“Oph—”

“Tell me, are you exactly the person you planned to be? Can you genuinely say you are the man you wanted to be?”

“No, it was stolen from me.”

“Stolen?”

“Stolen,” he repeats, his voice hoarse. “Taken by circumstances beyond my control, by choices I had to make to survive.”

“Just like I’m making choices now,” I retort, the anger simmering beneath my skin. “Choices to survive in this world that I was forced into.”

He steps closer, his eyes fierce and unyielding. “Survival doesn’t mean giving up who you are. You’re more than a pawn in their game.”

His words from the fair resonate again in my head.Nothing more than a kid. “Maybe that’s what I want. Maybe I’madultenough to make my decisions,” I snap, frustration boiling over.

“And you think Romero is the answer?” he asks, his voice dripping with disbelief.

“What does it have to do with you anyway? You made it abundantly clear what place you have in my life, and I agree.”

“Maybe it would be best if I left then. You will have Romero’s guards to protect you.”

It stings, but I have pride. “Yes, maybe you should. It was always supposed to be temporary, wasn’t it?”

His eyes widen, and for a moment, I see a glimpse of pain. But then his expression hardens, and he takes a step back, nodding slowly. “Yes, it was. I suppose it’s time.”

A hollow feeling settles in my chest as I watch him turn away. “Goodbye, Javier.”

He pauses, his back still to me. “Goodbye, Ophelia.” His voice is thick with unspoken words, and for a moment, I almost call him back, almost reaching out to bridge the chasm growing between us. But I don’t. I can’t.

As he walks away, the finality sinks in. The garden feels colder, emptier. The vibrant colors of the flowers dull, and the scent of roses turns bittersweet. I force myself to breathe. The choice is made, and the path is set. It was too risky anyway; I am poison to those around me.

Butterflies rest when it rains to protect their wings—I must rest now, too, preserving the little inner peace I have left. If I stayed close to Javier, the storm brewing inside me would become a hurricane.

Chapter 11

Javier

Istand in front of the church, and she exits in a flowing white dress. This dream haunts me, but tonight, it’s different. This time, it’s not Paloma in the dress—it’s Ophelia. Romero stands beside her, beaming, but Ophelia’s mouth is taped shut, her emerald eyes filled with silent, desperate tears.

I want to save her, to rush forward and tear the tape away, but my feet are rooted to the ground. I try to call her name, but no sound escapes my throat. Panic rises as I struggle against the invisible chains holding me in place.

Suddenly, she jerks back violently, and I see the bullet’s impact square in the middle of her chest. Her white dress blooms red as blood spreads across the fabric. My heart wrenches, and I try to scream, but the sound is trapped inside me. The unbearable pain of loss seizes my chest, making it impossible to breathe.

“No, not her! Please, god, not her!” My mind shouts in the prison of my body. As she falls, her eyes lock onto mine, filled with a mixture of sorrow and acceptance. When her body hits the ground, her finalbreath escapes with a haunting smile.

“Ophelia!” I shout, bolting upright in my bed, my body drenched in sweat, my heart pounding wildly. The remnants of the dream cling to me, leaving an ache deep in my soul. I blink rapidly, taking in my surroundings, the dark room slowly coming into focus.

I sit on the edge of the bed, resting my forearms on my legs, trying to catch my breath. Tiago’s voice echoes in my mind:Focus on the present. Ground yourself.I look down at the burgundy carpet, concentrating on the feel of the fibers under my bare feet and the cool air on my clammy skin. I take a deep breath, focusing on the sensation of the air filling my lungs and the rhythmic rise and fall of my chest.

I run my fingers through my hair, feeling the dampness from sweat. I touch the smooth wooden edge of the nightstand beside me, tracing the grain with my fingertips. Gradually, my racing heart begins to slow, and the overwhelming panic starts to fade, replaced by a tenuous calm.

“That smile…” I mutter. I saw it before; I hadn’t really connected the dots, but now I do. That day in the alley, she had it—the moment she thought she was going to die… she had it.

Fuck!

I look at the time on my phone, three a.m., but I don’t care. I dial Derek’s number.

“You okay?” he asks as soon as he answers.

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