chapter 2

Authors pov

Cristiano tried to touch her to comfort her, but she was having none of it. She threw the duvet at me, her eyes blazing with anger and hurt. "Leave, or I'll call 911!" she shouted, her voice cracking with emotion.

As he stood there, a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins as he backed away, his hands raised in surrender. "Teresa, please..." Cristiano tried to plead, but she was beyond reason.

Cristiano turned and made my way to the door, feeling her eyes on him like a dagger. He heard her footsteps behind him, and then the door slammed shut, the sound echoing through the silent night like a gunshot.

"Teresa, I'm sorry!" Cristiano shouted, pounding on the door with my fist. "I'm so sorry!" But she was drowning in her emotions, unable to hear me.

With that cristiano leaned against the door, his forehead pressed against the cold wood, and felt the weight of his mistakes crushing him. He could hear her sobs, muffled by the door, and his heart broke all over again.

He never gave up on her, hebpushed off the door and stumbled back to my car, his legs feeling like lead. Just then he slid into the driver's seat, his eyes fixed on the dark shape of her house, and felt the tears prick at the corners of his eyes.

Cristiano started the engine and pulled away from the curb, leaving her estate and my shattered dreams behind.

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"Roberto, please listen to me!" Cristiano begged, his voice cracking with desperation. But his son was unfazed; his eyes fixed on Cristiano with a cold, unyielding gaze.

Cristiano tried to explain to make him understand, but he was deaf to his words. His face was a mask of anger and disappointment, and cristiano couldn't bear the weight of his judgment.

Cristiano's eyes, weak and pleading, searched his face for a glimmer of understanding. But it was like looking into a stone wall.

"Why are you begging him, Cristiano?" Cristiano's wife, Graciela, asked, her voice laced with disdain. She turned me to face her, her eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and pity.

Immediately he forced a smile, a weak attempt to reassure her. "It's nothing, Graciela," he lied, hugging her tightly to shield her from the truth. But his eyes betrayed him, and he knew she saw the desperation lurking behind them.

"What's going on?" Graciela screamed, her voice echoing through the hallway as she clutched her husband's arm, her nails digging deep into his skin.

He winced, feeling a surge of guilt and shame. "Nothing, Graciela, I swear," he pleaded, trying to extricate myself from her grasp.

But Roberto's silence was deafening. He shrugged his shoulders, his eyes cold and unforgiving, and walked away, leaving Cristiano feeling like a condemned man.

As he reached the stairs, he turned back, his eyes blazing with anger. "I hate you,

"He spat, his voice venomous. "I wish my mother knew who she was married to."

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Teresa's heart still seethed with anguish, her feet pacing out a frenzied rhythm on the floor. She ravaged the room, shattering exquisite vases and sending shards of crystal flying like tears. Her eyes, red and raw from crying, scanned the space wildly as if searching for an escape from her torment. And then her gaze collided with a figure standing in the doorway—a man shrouded in shadows, his face hidden behind a black mask.

"Hello, Teresa," he whispered, his voice low and menacing, like a snake slithering through the grass.

Teresa's breath caught in her throat as he stepped forward, his hands buried in his pockets like a gunslinger ready to draw. Her mind raced with fear and confusion. "Who are you?" she demanded, trying to keep her voice steady. "How did you get into my apartment?"

The masked stranger didn't flinch; his eyes fixed on her with an unnerving intensity. "I've come for you, Teresa," he hissed, his voice dripping with malice. "You have something that belongs to me."

Teresa's voice trembled like a leaf as she retreated from the masked stranger, her back pressed against a massive flower arrangement. "I don't even know you!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide with fear. "How could I possibly have something that belongs to you?"

The stranger advanced towards her, his footsteps echoing through the room like a death knell. "Don't play dumb, Teresa," he sneered, his voice dripping with malice. "I know you have it. Hand over the disc, and we'll be done here."

Teresa's eyes welled up with tears as she stuttered, "W-what disc? I don't know what you're talking about!" She shook her head, her hair flying wildly around her face.

"Don't lie to me," he growled, his voice low and menacing. "I know you have it. You're running out of time, Teresa. Give it to me, or suffer the consequences."

Teresa's breath came in short gasps, her heart racing like a wild animal. She felt trapped, cornered, and utterly helpless. The stranger's words hung in the air like a guillotine, ready to drop at any moment.

His eyes roamed the room, devouring the opulent decorations, his gaze lingering on the crystal chandelier like a covetous lover. "Wow, you have exquisite taste, Teresa," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Lorenzo always did have a flair for the dramatic."

As he turned to her, his smile grew wider, his eyes glinting with malice. "Now, about that disc... I know you've been hiding it from Lorenzo. Hand it over, sweetheart."

Teresa's laugh was a harsh, mocking sound. "You think I'd just hand it over to you? After what Lorenzo did to me?" She took a step back, her eyes flashing with defiance. "Get out of my house, before I call the police!"

But before she could reach the landline, his hand shot out, slapping her across the face with a force that sent her stumbling back onto the couch. Her head spun, her vision blurring as she tasted blood on her lips.