5

Camille

The return to the inside of the mansion was a blur of sensations I could barely distinguish. Seconds seemed to drag, and at the same time, race by too fast.

My hands were still cold, but now it wasn’t just panic consuming me—it was the shock of everything that had just happened.

Javier Herrera. He found me during my escape attempt, calmed me down, and then, as if he wanted to pour salt into an open wound, revealed himself to be the man I hated the most.

Every time I replayed the moment he said his name, a knot tightened even more in my throat.

When I arrived at the mansion, nearly tripping over my own feet, I found its interior in silence. The Mendonza mansion, always so oppressive, was dark and quiet—except for the lights on in Juan Carlos’ office on the second floor.

I took a deep breath and stepped inside, knowing that facing my stepfather was inevitable. He must already know about my escape attempt, and whatever came next wouldn’t be easy.

As I started up the stairs, I heard footsteps behind me. I turned and saw one of Juan Carlos’ guards, Hugo, staring at me with a stern expression.

— Mr. Mendonza is waiting for you in the office, — he said firmly.

I nodded without saying a word. Deep down, I knew he would take pleasure in reminding me of the “reality” of my position—something he did with a certain relish whenever I tried to resist.

My stomach was in knots, and each step felt heavier than the last. When I reached the door, I took a deep breath and knocked twice before entering.

Juan Carlos was behind his desk, hands clasped, his face rigid like a marble statue. His gaze locked on me the second I crossed the threshold.

— Close the door, Camille, — he said without even raising his voice. But there was something in his tone that made me shiver.

I closed the door and stepped forward, trying to keep my head high, but he was like a shadow that always loomed over me—a presence I could never ignore. His authority was embedded in every fiber of my being, and he knew it.

— Want to tell me what went through your head? — he asked in a low, dangerous voice.

For a moment, I considered lying, but I knew it wouldn’t work. Juan Carlos was far too cunning to be deceived. So I decided to be honest but kept my posture firm.

— I can’t marry Javier Herrera, Juan Carlos. He… he’s…

He raised a hand, silencing me.

— This marriage isn’t something you get to choose, — he said, rising and circling the desk to stand before me. — This marriage is necessary. And before you start talking about “rights” and “free will,” allow me to remind you of one thing: your mother and your sister depend on me. Every day.

Those words hit like a punch to the stomach. My mother and sister. Juan Carlos knew exactly where to strike to make me yield. He didn’t need to be explicit—the warning was as clear as a bell.

— I know this isn’t what you want, but what you want doesn’t matter here, — he continued, his expression calm, as if discussing something trivial. — This marriage is the foundation of peace between the Mendonza and Herrera families, a peace that will benefit both sides and bring stability to everyone. So you will do as you’re told, because there is no choice. Unless, of course, you’d rather face the consequences.

I stayed quiet, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. I knew I couldn’t afford to look weak.

— Understood? — His voice sliced through the silence like a sharp blade.

— Yes, — I replied, barely above a whisper.

The next thing I felt were his fists against my face, again and again. And even though I tried to protect myself, it was useless—Juan Carlos was bigger than me and had twice my strength. Besides, it wasn’t the first time he punished me for my defiance.

When his hands tired, they were replaced by his leather belt, which served its purpose perfectly for the next few minutes—until even he grew tired.

I sat down slowly, brushing the hair from my face, trying to mentally list the parts of my body that ached, while he ran a hand through his graying hair, slicking it back.

He came closer, leaning down to speak in a low, almost whispering tone that made his words even more terrifying.

— And before you even think about running again, know this: Javier already knows about your little escape. Apparently, he was the one who found you. And let me tell you—he’s not exactly… pleased. — He gave a cold smile. — That should be enough for you to understand that, from now on, your days of freedom are over.

I felt the ground vanish beneath my feet.

My heart pounded in my ears, and his words spun in my mind. He stepped back, returning behind his desk with a satisfied expression, like he had just ensured I was properly contained.

— Go rest, Camille. Tomorrow, you have much to do to prepare. The ceremony will be in two days.

Two days.

This was an endless nightmare that only got worse. With no other choice, I turned and left the office with trembling legs and a sinking heart. I walked to my room, each step heavier than the last, as the weight of the situation crushed me.

When I closed the door behind me, I let myself fall onto the bed, squeezing my eyes shut to hold back the tears.

I was trapped, completely dominated by forces far greater than I could fight alone. And the man I had the most reason to hate was about to become my husband.

The next day, an entire team of preparations invaded the mansion. Women carrying fabrics, flowers, boxes upon boxes of things I barely understood spread throughout the place. One of them, in charge of my dress, entered my room with a look that mixed professionalism and pity.

As she took my measurements and discussed dress details, I could barely pay attention. My mind was a whirlwind, torn between thoughts of escape and my growing fear of Javier. I barely knew him, but the stories about him painted a man who was cold and ruthless—someone who didn’t hesitate to do whatever was necessary to maintain power.

Later, I was called to a meeting with Roberta. She was waiting for me in the living room, sitting on the couch with a tired but relieved expression when she saw me.

— Camille… — She extended her hand to me, and when I took it, I felt the weight of her concern.

— Mom, I don’t want to do this, — I said, my voice cracking, though I tried to sound strong.

She gently squeezed my hand, her sad eyes reflecting the reality she already accepted.

— I know, sweetheart. I know. But… sometimes we do things we don’t want to, to protect those we love.

Those words were both a sentence and a promise. She had resigned herself to it—and that only made everything more painful. I felt a silent, powerless rage building inside me. In that moment, I knew I was completely alone in this battle.

That night, when I went to bed, I found an envelope on my pillow. The paper was expensive, and the seal bore the Herrera symbol. With a knot in my stomach, I opened it and pulled out the note.

"Good night, Camille.

I hope what happened yesterday made it clear that there are limits.

Tomorrow, we will meet again to discuss what I expect from our union.

— Javier Herrera."

Reading those words felt like a punch.

He knew he had frightened me and was using it to his advantage. And tomorrow… tomorrow I would have to look into the eyes of the man who, soon, would take control of my life.

I turned off the light and curled up in bed, wishing—more than ever—that there was a way out of the prison that Juan Carlos, Roberta, and now Alejandro were building around me.

But deep down, I knew there wasn’t. Tomorrow, I would have to face Javier and listen to everything he had to say.

Se quiser, posso te ajudar a revisar a tradução para deixá-la mais literária ou ajustá-la ao tom que você pretende usar — algo mais sombrio, emocional, ou direto. É só dizer!