I hadn't slept for two nights.
Not really. I just closed my eyes. Pretended to. But my mind stayed tense, like a rope stretched too tight, about to snap.
The villa was too quiet when it wasn't pulsing with parties, shouting, or hushed talks between armed men. The silence here wasn't comforting. It was the kind of silence that comes right before the worst storms.
Angelina wriggled against me, her tiny arms flailing in the air. She was searching for warmth. She didn't understand the world I had brought her into.
I no longer knew what was right or wrong. I was just surviving in a world that wasn't mine.
And him… Eyass. That tattooed demon with eyes colder than ice. He barely spoke. And when he did, his words cut like a razor-sharp blade.
---
That morning, Margot had handed me a bottle without a word. She was the only one who looked at me without judgment. There was something calm about her, like she was already dead inside but still breathing just to spite the world. Maybe that's what I liked about her.
"You should talk to him, you know," she whispered, nodding toward Eyass, who was leaning against the living room bar, a glass of whiskey in hand, his eyes fixed on the large bay window.
I didn't even dare reply. Talk to him? The guy who had picked me up in his car in the middle of the night without saying a word, only to lock me away in this villa like some damn animal?
But Margot was right.
I couldn't carry this weight any longer.
---
It was late when I finally decided to go downstairs.
The others had already gone to bed. Ana was locked away with Laurina, laughing like their world was made of luxury and rose-colored filters. Margot was outside, smoking barefoot on the cold gravel. Denis? No idea.
Eyas was alone. Sitting in the living room. The fire crackled in the fireplace, slowly eating the logs.
He didn't even look up when I approached.
I stood a few feet away. My heart was pounding.
He carried that smell of whiskey and cold tobacco like a shadow.
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
Then, finally:
"Angelina… she's your daughter, too."
I thought my voice had been swallowed by the fire.
He raised his head. Slowly. His gaze struck mine with icy force.
My legs felt weak.
He set down his glass. Then stood up.
Each step he took toward me cut the air from my lungs. His bare chest, tattooed with black ink, told stories I dared not listen to. His face was expressionless.
He stopped in front of me. I felt his breath.
Then… he grabbed my arm roughly. I screamed, more from surprise than pain. He slammed me against the wall behind me.
"Say that again," he spat, his face so close I could smell the anger on his breath.
His eyes were bottomless pits. I saw nothing in them. Just emptiness. Cold. Hate.
My body trembled.
"S-sorry…" I stammered, my voice breaking. "I'm sorry… I…"
"Who do you think you are? Huh? You think you can come here, into my place, with that kid, and dump your motherhood bullshit on me?"
I closed my eyes. My heart was racing too fast. I felt sick.
He stayed pressed against me, not moving. His fingers still clenched my arm, firm and cold.
Then, after a long silence, he let go.
I almost fell but caught myself on the console behind me. He wasn't looking at me anymore. He'd already turned his back, like I had never existed. Like my words were nothing but poisoned air.
He stopped at the far end of the living room.
"You live here. You eat here. You breathe here. But you don't talk about that. Got it?"
I nodded.
I thought I heard a bitter laugh rumble in his throat.
"She's not my daughter. She's yours. And you better make sure she never bothers me."
---
I stayed there. Against the wall. My arm already marked by the pressure of his fingers.
I wasn't crying. I couldn't anymore.
The fire had died down. The air was colder now.
I had said the forbidden words.
And I had awakened the beast.
---
That night, I didn't sleep. I watched over Angelina in silence, eyes open toward the ceiling.
I wondered if I had made a mistake.
But deep down, I knew: I had spoken the truth.
Angelina was his daughter.
Whether he wanted it or not.