SARAH“Where did you find my bracelet?” I snapped, my voice louder than I intended, trembling with the anger that had been bubbling inside me all day. My gaze locked onto the bracelet on Isabella’s wrist—a charm bracelet I could never mistake. My bracelet. The one I had been searching for like a lunatic all morning, tearing through every corner of the house only to find it here, now, dangling mockingly from her wrist.Isabella’s eyebrows lifted ever so slightly, her lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile, as if my frustration amused her. “Sarah,” she said softly, in a tone so calm it only fueled my fury, “there’s no need to get so worked up. It’s just a bracelet.”“Don’t tell me to calm down!” I spat, my chair scraping loudly against the floor as I shot to my feet. The sharp sound echoed in the room, but I didn’t care. My anger had its own momentum now, unstoppable. “Where the fuck did you find it? I’ve been looking for it all day, tearing this place apart, and now it’s just c
MARCO I sat at my desk, my eyes fixed on the ledger before me. The columns of numbers blurred into one another, mocking me with their impenetrable logic. No matter how hard I tried to focus, to force my mind into the calm precision I was known for, it felt like grasping at smoke. The harder I tried, the more elusive it became. I leaned back in my chair with a sharp sigh, running a hand through my hair. The scattered papers, the quiet hum of the office—it all felt like a testament to my failure. I’d been sitting here for hours, pretending to work, trying to keep my mind from going where it always went. But nothing worked. The numbers refused to make sense, and my thoughts refused to stay in line. This wasn’t me. I was always in control. Always sharp. But lately, it felt like control had slipped through my fingers. Like the more I tried to hold onto it, the faster it unraveled. I hated the feeling. Hated that I couldn’t snap my fingers and make it all go away. I pushed back my ch
SARAHThe rhythmic motion of my hands moving the crochet hook through the yarn was oddly soothing. It was one of the few things that could keep my mind calm these days. I sat on the living room couch, determined to finish the little blanket I’d started weeks ago. The soft, repetitive motion allowed me to focus on something other than the chaos that had become my life.Across the room, Isabella was lounging on another couch, scrolling through her phone. She hadn’t said a word to me since she’d entered the room, and I wasn’t about to start a conversation. The silence between us was sharp, almost suffocating, but I preferred it over whatever fake kindness she’d try to throw my way. I kept my eyes fixed on my work, ignoring her presence entirely.Every now and then, I’d hear her let out a soft laugh or the click of her nails tapping against the phone screen. It was infuriating how comfortable she seemed, sitting there like she owned the place. I tightened my grip on the yarn, forcing myse
SARAHI couldn’t shake the unease in my chest, the gnawing sensation that something sinister was at play. Those messages I’d found on Isabella’s phone were like pieces of a puzzle that didn’t fit. Marcel—the same man who had nearly killed Marco—was texting her. Why? What was the plan? I’d spent the better part of the day wracking my brain, going over every possible scenario, but none of my conclusions gave me any comfort.Was she working with Marcel? Was this about money? Revenge? Control? My thoughts circled back to the vague instructions in those texts—keeping Marco distracted, causing turmoil. But to what end? And why was Isabella still here, moving through this house like she belonged, when every fiber of my being screamed that she didn’t?I sighed heavily, putting down the crochet hook I’d been using to try to calm my nerves. The yarn sat limp in my lap, a testament to how little I’d managed to accomplish. I wasn’t going to get anywhere sitting here and stewing in my own thoughts
SARAHShowing up at the hospital to investigate felt unreal. I couldn’t shake the irony of it all—hospitals were supposed to be places of healing, sanctuaries of truth, where people put their trust in tests and results. Yet here I was, convinced that something as crucial as Marco’s DNA test had been tampered with, and the trail of deception had led me straight to the doors of this institution.Every step toward the entrance felt heavy, like I was dragging the weight of my doubts and fears behind me. This wasn’t just about Marco or Isabella anymore. It was about the truth, about justice. If someone had tampered with his test results, they had played with his life—and mine.Tony walked beside me, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket, his expression neutral but sharp. He always had this way of staying calm, of making me feel like we weren’t walking into the lion’s den. But I couldn’t help the nerves twisting in my stomach.“This is a big risk,” I muttered, breaking th
SARAH The bakery smelled of fresh bread and cinnamon, a comforting aroma that greeted me every morning. I enjoyed the simplicity of our life. Our bakery, though it was small and modest, it was our pride and joy. Papa, had poured his heart and soul into this place, and it was a decent addiction to our community. “Good morning, Mrs. Alvarez! The usual?” I asked, already reaching for a loaf of brown bread. “Good morning, Sarah. Yes, please,” she replied with a warm smile. Handing her the loaf, I couldn’t help but feel a bit of pride. Despite the financial struggles and the countless hours of hard work, I loved every moment spent here. My father and I shared a close bond, working side by side to keep our beloved bakery running. After Mrs. Alvarez left, I returned to kneading dough, humming softly to the tune playing on the radio. My father was in the back, preparing a new batch of new dough. The old Spanish tunes on the radio filled the space with nostalgia, reminding me of my mo
MARCOThe ride back to the estate was silent. My men knew better than to question me right now, not when I was deep in thought. “Sarah..” I muttered to myself. , seeing her action at the bakery, had been an unexpected surprise. I hadn’t planned on her—hadn’t planned on any of this, really. But sometimes, life throws curveballs. I leaned back in my seat, closing my eyes for a moment. Her face flashed before me: bold, fierce, and simply captivating. There was something about her that stirred something wild within me. I loved breaking the wills of stern girls, and Sarah just had “challenge” written all over her. When we finally pulled up to the estate, I got out of the car and motioned for my men to follow me into my office. Once we were all inside, I closed the door and turned to face them. “Change of plans,” I announced, my voice steady. “We’re not touching Santiago. Not yet, anyway.” Tony, my younger brother and second-in-command, looked confused. “But boss, I thought the plan was
SARAHI laid on my bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the incident at the bakery. That guy who walked in—yeah, he was undeniably good-looking. The kind of looks that make you glance twice. But, ugh, that cocky attitude. I hated cocky guys. They always thought they could get whatever they wanted just because they flashed a smile or said the right things. My phone buzzed on the nightstand, snapping me out of my thoughts. I grabbed it and saw Nicole’s name flashing. “Hey, crazy girl!” I answered, trying to sound as cheerful as possible. “Hey, Sarah! Guess what tomorrow is?” Nicole’s voice was practically vibrating with excitement. “Hmm, let me think… your birthday?” I teased. “Bingo! And you know what that means—we’re hitting up the biggest club in town to celebrate!” I frowned, feeling a bit skeptical. “A club? You know I’m not really into that scene, Nic.” “Oh, come on! It’s my birthday! We have to do something big. Plus, you need a break. You’ve been all work and no play la
SARAHShowing up at the hospital to investigate felt unreal. I couldn’t shake the irony of it all—hospitals were supposed to be places of healing, sanctuaries of truth, where people put their trust in tests and results. Yet here I was, convinced that something as crucial as Marco’s DNA test had been tampered with, and the trail of deception had led me straight to the doors of this institution.Every step toward the entrance felt heavy, like I was dragging the weight of my doubts and fears behind me. This wasn’t just about Marco or Isabella anymore. It was about the truth, about justice. If someone had tampered with his test results, they had played with his life—and mine.Tony walked beside me, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket, his expression neutral but sharp. He always had this way of staying calm, of making me feel like we weren’t walking into the lion’s den. But I couldn’t help the nerves twisting in my stomach.“This is a big risk,” I muttered, breaking th
SARAHI couldn’t shake the unease in my chest, the gnawing sensation that something sinister was at play. Those messages I’d found on Isabella’s phone were like pieces of a puzzle that didn’t fit. Marcel—the same man who had nearly killed Marco—was texting her. Why? What was the plan? I’d spent the better part of the day wracking my brain, going over every possible scenario, but none of my conclusions gave me any comfort.Was she working with Marcel? Was this about money? Revenge? Control? My thoughts circled back to the vague instructions in those texts—keeping Marco distracted, causing turmoil. But to what end? And why was Isabella still here, moving through this house like she belonged, when every fiber of my being screamed that she didn’t?I sighed heavily, putting down the crochet hook I’d been using to try to calm my nerves. The yarn sat limp in my lap, a testament to how little I’d managed to accomplish. I wasn’t going to get anywhere sitting here and stewing in my own thoughts
SARAHThe rhythmic motion of my hands moving the crochet hook through the yarn was oddly soothing. It was one of the few things that could keep my mind calm these days. I sat on the living room couch, determined to finish the little blanket I’d started weeks ago. The soft, repetitive motion allowed me to focus on something other than the chaos that had become my life.Across the room, Isabella was lounging on another couch, scrolling through her phone. She hadn’t said a word to me since she’d entered the room, and I wasn’t about to start a conversation. The silence between us was sharp, almost suffocating, but I preferred it over whatever fake kindness she’d try to throw my way. I kept my eyes fixed on my work, ignoring her presence entirely.Every now and then, I’d hear her let out a soft laugh or the click of her nails tapping against the phone screen. It was infuriating how comfortable she seemed, sitting there like she owned the place. I tightened my grip on the yarn, forcing myse
MARCO I sat at my desk, my eyes fixed on the ledger before me. The columns of numbers blurred into one another, mocking me with their impenetrable logic. No matter how hard I tried to focus, to force my mind into the calm precision I was known for, it felt like grasping at smoke. The harder I tried, the more elusive it became. I leaned back in my chair with a sharp sigh, running a hand through my hair. The scattered papers, the quiet hum of the office—it all felt like a testament to my failure. I’d been sitting here for hours, pretending to work, trying to keep my mind from going where it always went. But nothing worked. The numbers refused to make sense, and my thoughts refused to stay in line. This wasn’t me. I was always in control. Always sharp. But lately, it felt like control had slipped through my fingers. Like the more I tried to hold onto it, the faster it unraveled. I hated the feeling. Hated that I couldn’t snap my fingers and make it all go away. I pushed back my ch
SARAH“Where did you find my bracelet?” I snapped, my voice louder than I intended, trembling with the anger that had been bubbling inside me all day. My gaze locked onto the bracelet on Isabella’s wrist—a charm bracelet I could never mistake. My bracelet. The one I had been searching for like a lunatic all morning, tearing through every corner of the house only to find it here, now, dangling mockingly from her wrist.Isabella’s eyebrows lifted ever so slightly, her lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile, as if my frustration amused her. “Sarah,” she said softly, in a tone so calm it only fueled my fury, “there’s no need to get so worked up. It’s just a bracelet.”“Don’t tell me to calm down!” I spat, my chair scraping loudly against the floor as I shot to my feet. The sharp sound echoed in the room, but I didn’t care. My anger had its own momentum now, unstoppable. “Where the fuck did you find it? I’ve been looking for it all day, tearing this place apart, and now it’s just c
SARAHBy the time dinner rolled around, I felt more settled. The small victories of the day—reorganizing the spaces Isabella had claimed and setting some quiet boundaries with Martha—gave me a sense of control I hadn’t felt in weeks. It was almost laughable how reclaiming a few drawers and shelves could make me feel so accomplished, but after days of feeling like I was drowning in chaos, I would take every win I could get.As I made my way downstairs, I mentally ticked off everything I had rearranged earlier. The bookshelf in the living room? Back to its original setup. The vase Isabella had moved to the coffee table? Returned to its rightful place on the mantle. Even the pantry had been sorted, with labels that made sense to me instead of her haphazard system. Nothing seemed out of place. Good.When I entered the dining room, the familiar, comforting scent of roasted vegetables and seasoned chicken greeted me. My dinner was already set on the table, just like always. Martha, ever tho
SARAHI woke up feeling a little lighter, the tension from yesterday not completely gone but dulled enough to let me breathe. I stretched, letting the faint morning light seep into my room before heading to the bathroom. A warm shower was exactly what I needed to set the tone for the day.After drying off, I opened my wardrobe to pick out a dress, only to freeze. Something was off. The neatly arranged rows of clothes I’d spent time organizing were disheveled, with hangers out of place and garments folded in ways I would never fold them. My brow furrowed as I scanned the wardrobe again.“What the hell…” I muttered under my breath.I pushed aside a row of dresses, checking the back for anything missing. My eyes landed on an empty spot where one of my scarves used to hang. Confused, I stepped back, trying to recall the last time I’d used it. Shaking my head, I moved to the drawers and opened the one that held my jewelry.That’s when I noticed it—my bracelet was gone.I stared at the empt
SARAHAs I walked down the hallway, the house felt different—like someone had been here, touching things that didn’t belong to them. It was subtle at first. A throw pillow on the couch was slightly off-center, its crisp lines disturbed. The vase I had carefully placed on the mini table in the living room was now perched on the corner of the mantle.I frowned, stopping mid-step to glance around. I hadn’t moved it. No one ever moved anything in this house unless I told them to. The staff knew better than to tamper with my things.Who was behind this?I shook my head, forcing myself to keep walking, but the unease stayed with me. By the time I reached the kitchen, I was determined to find some kind of distraction. I'd rather be hanging around in the kitchen than seeing him. Avoiding him right now felt far more important.Martha was there, wiping down the counters with practiced efficiency. She turned as I entered, her face lighting up with a warm smile. “Good afternoon, ma’am,” she greet
SARAHI stood in the middle of my room, staring at the slight mess I’d made over the past few days. Clothes were draped over the chair in the corner, some hanging halfway to the floor, and a stack of books leaned precariously on my nightstand. It wasn’t a disaster, but it wasn’t neat either. Still, cleaning seemed like the best way to keep my mind from spiraling. Anything was better than sitting here and stewing over Isabella and her smug, self-satisfied attitude—or Marco, with his infuriatingly calm demeanor, like nothing in the world could touch him.I grabbed a shirt off the chair and folded it with a little more force than necessary, tucking it into the drawer. The movement was brisk, almost aggressive, but it felt good. At least this, I could control. Folding clothes, organizing, tidying—it was simple and didn’t come with strings attached.“The Isabella situation,” I muttered under my breath as I grabbed another shirt. That’s what I’d been calling it in my head. It sounded clinic