The first thing I smelled was smoke. Thick, bitter, and heavy. It burned my nose and throat, curling through the hallways like a living thing.
Then came the gunshots.
One. Two. Then too many to count. Each one hit like a heartbeat of fear inside my chest.
I stood frozen near the grand staircase, still in the silk robe I'd worn to bed. The chandelier above me shook with every blast outside, throwing pieces of light across the walls. Rafael's mansion—our home—felt suddenly like a war zone.
"Stay inside!" one of his men shouted from the doorway. His voice was rough with panic. "Do not come out, señora!"
But I didn't listen.
I couldn't.
Rafael had gone to check the east wing just minutes ago after hearing movement on the security feed. I told him to wait, to let the guards handle it. But he'd just kissed my forehead and said, "You're safer here, mi cielo."
Now all I could hear was chaos.
