1

Camille

48 hours earlier

The mansion was silent.

A dense, heavy silence — the kind that seems to herald a storm.

I sat stiffly in one of the leather armchairs in my stepfather Juan Carlos Mendonza’s office, my eyes scanning the details around me with an uneasiness I couldn’t shake. Maybe it was the exhaustion after a long day working at a diner, when all I wanted was the narrow twin bed in the tiny studio apartment I could afford with my meager salary.

Every piece of furniture and every work of art in that room carried a weight only someone like Juan Carlos could impose. Each item seemed to symbolize power, absolute control — something he wielded not just over his “blood” family, but over everyone who depended on him. Including my mother and my sister.

The clock on the wall showed midnight, and he still hadn’t arrived.

The air was stuffy, nearly suffocating, and the only sound I could hear was the relentless ticking of the clock. I felt like a prisoner, waiting for a sentence.

Finally, the door creaked open, and Juan Carlos entered, his footsteps firm and calculated, like those of a predator.

He wore a black suit, perfectly tailored, adjusting his cufflinks as he walked toward me. His face was expressionless, but his eyes — cold and hard — already told me what I feared.

Something big was about to happen. Something that would change my life forever — and not by my own choice.

Juan Carlos stopped in front of me and remained silent for a few moments, observing me with that stern expression that always reminded me of everything he had done to control my family.

He had always known how much it meant to me that my mother and sister were under his protection. He knew how deeply I loved them — and exactly how to use that love against me.

“Camille,” he began, his voice low and firm. “The time has come for you to do something truly important for our family.”

The word our tasted bitter on his tongue, because he knew that to me, he would never be family. Ever since he married my mother, he had trapped her in a web of power, slowly stripping away any remnants of her freedom.

I knew what he was. I knew how he used his influence to bend people to his will. Still, until now, he had avoided involving me directly in his dealings. At least, that’s what I thought.

“What do you mean by that?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady, though the truth was I already feared the answer. I knew something was wrong. I knew that tonight, something far more serious than a simple “request” was at stake.

He moved closer and sat in the leather chair across from mine, clasping his hands over the desk. His expression was serious, almost unreadable, but there was something in his eyes — a glint of satisfaction. A dark pleasure in what he was about to say.

“You’re going to get married, Camille.”

The words cut like a blade — cold and precise.

I was speechless for a moment, staring at him in disbelief. Diego had never cared about my personal life, as long as I played the role of the obedient daughter and was always available to accompany my mother to events.

Marriage? That was ridiculous.

“Married? To who?” My voice came out harsh, before I could stop it. Irritation and fear tangled in my stomach like a knot.

He smiled — a brief, cruel smile — before answering.

“To Javier Herrera.”

The name hung in the air like a death sentence.

Javier Herrera.

Known as the heir of the rival cartel.

The man who embodied everything I hated, everything I despised because of the countless atrocities he and his family had committed. His family had caused immeasurable pain to so many people. In fact, it was because of them and the power they held over half the city that we had almost become victims ourselves — before Juan Carlos. And there was no way to erase the hatred that remained.

My mind struggled to process what he had just said, but everything felt surreal.

Juan Carlos, however, continued as if it were a trivial decision.

“Marriage to Javier is the only way to ensure a lasting alliance between our families. The war between the Mendonzas and the Herreras must end. If we want stability and peace, this marriage is the answer.”

I laughed — a bitter, ironic laugh.

Peace. Was that the excuse he used to sell me off as a pawn in a game he had always tried to control?

Juan Carlos raised an eyebrow, unfazed by my disdain.

“And if I say no?” I asked, venom in my voice I didn’t know I possessed.

His answer came instantly, without a second of hesitation, and froze my blood.

“Then your mother and sister will pay the price.”

He leaned back in his chair, watching the shift in my expression with a calculating gaze.

I knew that look. He knew exactly where people’s weaknesses lay. He knew how much I loved my family, and he would use that love against me without a shred of hesitation.

“Camille, I don’t have time for sentimental discussions,” he continued, his voice colder than ever. “Either you marry Javier and ensure your mother and sister’s safety, or I let them live without the protection of the Mendoza cartel. And we both know what that means. Your mother, your sister… they would suffer the consequences.”

An unbearable rage rose within me.

I hated him more than ever, but I knew I had no choice. Juan Carlos stared at me, unbothered, satisfied by my silence — as if he already knew he had won.

He stood, walking to the window and turning his back to me.

“I understand that this isn’t what you wanted, Camille. But you must think of the greater good. This marriage will bring peace for all of us. Including you.”

Peace.

The word burned.

He was sacrificing my freedom, my dignity — and calling it peace.

It wasn’t peace.

It was a sentence. A prison he was imposing on me with the same indifference he’d use to negotiate a shipment of weapons or a trafficking route.

I closed my eyes for a second, feeling the rage give way to despair.

I had no choice.

This wasn’t about me anymore. If I dared to refuse, I knew what he’d do. I knew exactly what he was capable of.

My mother and sister were in his hands, vulnerable.

It was this — or watch them suffer the consequences of my defiance.

“Fine,” I murmured at last, my voice dry and hoarse. “I’ll do what you want.”

He turned to me, his eyes gleaming with cold satisfaction.

He knew he had won.

He nodded, like he had just sealed a profitable deal, and walked toward the door without another word.

He disappeared down the hallway, leaving me alone in the dim light of the office.

Tears stung my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. The pain and fury were still there, but they had no place now.

Diego hadn’t broken me. Not completely. I might have lost my freedom — but I wouldn’t lose my dignity.

There, in that dark, oppressive office, I felt the weight of the future he had written for me.