"The brain may lose its memory, but the heart and the body will never forget their trauma. It has been through. We may overcome it, but it's a scar that remains for life."
— Bella Angel Douglas 16
Sofia's POV
I don't know why Antonio asked me out; I kept turning it over in my mind all night. Many think a simple "sorry" can erase the past. If only. Words never change what's already happened.
The memory of my childhood feels like someone dragging me into a dark pit. My chest tightens, hands trembling, heart hammering so fast I think it might burst. A gasp escapes me, and cold sweat prickles my neck as I imagine the moments I can never forget. I claw at the edges of that pit, reaching for air, for someone — anyone — to save me, but the void is empty. No one is there. Only echoes of pain, only silence.
This nightmare has grown worse over the past few days. Monday's memory of that abandoned child at the orphanage — combined with Antonio's insult — triggered something older, deeper.
By morning, I forced myself into my routines. They're rituals, and I cling to them. Black today. My favorite color. Some see it as grim, but for me, it lifts me, steadies me.
The week passed in a blur. Over the weekend, I spent time with Steve, who came to visit on Saturday. Sunday was mass, followed by time at the orphanage. Today, Tuesday, I planned to visit again. Tomorrow, Haywood's project would swallow my time, and I'd be traveling across Africa for over a year, overseeing every detail of the hotels we were building.
At St. Gregory Orphanage, I arrived with gifts, as usual. I read to the children — my story, my way of teaching them that no matter their scars, their fears could become their power. That past hardships don't determine the future. They clung to every word, eyes wide, imaginations ignited.
Then, I sensed someone at the door. Antonio, leaning casually against the wall, a small, unreadable smile playing on his lips. My stomach tightened.
"What is he doing here? Is he stalking me now?" I whispered to Gabriella.
"He is not. Don't be self-centered," she replied softly. "You are not. It's predestined. According to the universe, this is his moment, and yours."
I hugged the children goodbye, planting kisses on each forehead, feeling their warmth, their trust. Time slowed as I approached the door. My gold-brown handbag swung at my side — a mirror of Antonio's eyes. I stepped out, pretending he didn't exist.
I had made it clear: business only. No personal encounters.
Antonio's POV
She just walked past me as if I were air. I let her go. Observing. Measuring. Watching the way she moves, the way her hand brushes the strap of her bag, the subtle tilt of her head. Everything about her is precise, controlled, beautiful.
Her storytelling had captivated the children. I leaned slightly on the doorframe, arms crossed casually, scanning the room without breaking her focus. No sudden movements, no pressure — yet the space belonged to me. I could feel her pulse shift as she sensed me there.
I speed-walked after her when she left. Her driver reached to close the door, and I held it with one hand, effortlessly. The gesture was calm, controlled, leaving no room for argument. The driver stepped back, eyes down, respecting the quiet authority in my stance.
Sofia turned sharply. Her cat-like eyes — one blue, one black — narrowed.
"What do you want?" she demanded, voice tight.
I let my hands fall to my sides, standing tall, calm. "I want to apologize," I said softly. My gaze held hers, unwavering, just long enough to make her feel the weight of my sincerity.
"You've already apologized twice," she snapped. "We don't need to go out for that. I accept your apology. Now let me go."
I didn't move closer. I didn't beg. I simply let the pause stretch. My eyes scanned the car, the street, then returned to her. My voice lowered, steady: "Thank you for forgiving me. But… I'd like the chance to know you, Sofia. Properly. Personally."
Her arms crossed. She planted her weight firmly on one leg. "Why? So you can insult me again?"
I let a shadow of a smirk play at the corner of my mouth. "No," I said. My tone was calm, measured. I took a step forward — slow, deliberate. Just enough to close the distance without threatening her. "I only want the chance to show respect. That's all."
She blinked, assessing, calculating. I watched her, standing straight, hands relaxed, energy grounded. Not desperate, not pleading, just here. Present. Controlled. Powerful.
She hesitated, then said softly, "Fine. I'll go with you… but not to a restaurant."
I nodded, a small smile tugging at my lips. I held the door for her, letting her step in first. My hands didn't touch hers, but my presence was firm, protective, commanding without force.
As the car drove away, I noticed her laughter — brief, almost adolescent — and I allowed myself a quiet exhale.
The tension hadn't fully lifted, but a line had been crossed. She had accepted. And for now, that was enough.
Author's Note:
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Bella