The air in the mansion felt different after that morning.
Still, silent, and heavy—like the house itself knew Rafael didn't trust me anymore.
He didn't say it outright. He didn't have to.
Every look, every word, every touch now carried a new edge.
He still called me mi amor, still brushed my hair from my face, still kissed me before he left the room… but it wasn't tenderness anymore. It was possession. A warning wrapped in affection.
The note was gone, and so was the tiny sliver of safety I'd felt hiding it.
Now all I had was fear.
Fear—and the growing whisper inside my head telling me that if I didn't leave soon, I never would.
For two days, Rafael barely left my side.
He worked from the study with me seated across from him, like I was a decoration he couldn't take his eyes off. Men came and went, bringing him reports and updates, and every time one of them looked at me for a second too long, Rafael's gaze hardened like stone.
