In the capital's elite circles, it was an open secret: Victor Sanchez would sacrifice anything for his sworn "younger sister."
When he came to settle the score with me on her behalf for the tenth time, I finally abandoned my usual composure. I didn't argue. I simply threw myself into the ocean.
When I returned to the capital, rumors of my death still lingered like a bad smell.
"Did you hear? When Mrs. Sanchez jumped to her death, she was three months pregnant."
"Mr. Sanchez dove in right after her, but they never found the body. It's been his inner demon ever since."
Our reunion happened at an auction.
Victor stared at the boy next to me—a shrunken version of himself—and looked as if he were losing his mind. "You were really pregnant back then? You actually gave birth?"
I twisted the ring on my finger and scoffed. "You have a bad habit of claiming children that aren't yours."
——
Victor toyed with his auction paddle, expression regaining its icy calm. But halfway through the event, his gaze drifted back to the child.
In the corner, the boy was absorbed in a game of make-believe. He wore a tailored miniature suit that could have been cut from the same bolt of fabric as Victor's.
Victor's heart slammed against his ribs. Something clawed at him—an indescribable sense of familiarity. He watched the child in the front row swing his short legs back and forth.
That face.
An exact replica of his own.
It felt like the cruelest joke in the entire venue.
Victor moved.
He vaulted over the seats, radiating a terrifying, murderous energy. Security didn't dare intervene. The guests fell silent.
His hand shot out, fingers hooked like claws, reaching for the boy's collar.
The child didn't flinch. He simply looked up. In eyes that mirrored my own, there was nothing but cold indifference.
Just as Victor's hand was about to make contact, a shadow sprang from the side.
A hand clad in a black tactical glove clamped onto his wrist.
I applied full pressure.
Veins bulged on the back of Victor's hand. His bones creaked under the strain. He tried to shake me off, grimacing, but my grip was iron.
His gaze traveled up my arm until it crashed into my icy stare.
Victor's eyes widened.
He stared at my face as if seeing a ghost, forcing two words through gritted teeth. "Victoria Hughes?"
The venue erupted.
"Victoria Hughes? Mr. Sanchez's ex-wife? The one who committed suicide five years ago?"
"I thought they never found the body! How is she still alive?"
"I heard she was pregnant with a bastard back then. Jumped because she was too ashamed to face anyone..."
The gossip buzzed like a swarm of flies.
Expressionless, I flung his hand away hard enough to make him stumble. I bent down, straightened the boy's bow tie, and rose to my full height.
Slowly, I peeled off the glove, revealing a palm roughened by years of saltwater exposure.
I looked at Victor coldly. "Mr. Sanchez, you have the wrong person. I am this child's father, not your ex-wife."
Behind Victor, Elena Mason covered her mouth and shrieked. "A ghost! Brother Victor, she's a ghost!"
She cowered behind him, trembling in theatrical terror.
Victor instinctively pulled her into his arms—a reflex carved into his very bones. Once he had soothed Elena, he turned back to me. The shock in his eyes had curdled into something darker.
Disgust.
Even after five years, his gaze was sharp enough to draw blood.
Victor sized me up. His eyes swept over my cargo pants and combat boots before finally landing on the child.
He sneered. "You didn't die, just hid for five years? What's the matter, couldn't make it on your own? Came crawling back with this bastard to beg for money?"
He looked at me like I was a stray dog wagging its tail for scraps.
"Victoria, that outfit... is it even worth five hundred dollars? Can that lover of yours not afford to keep you anymore?"
Snickers rippled through the crowd.
I didn't look at him. I took the Rubik's cube from the child's hand and set it on the table.
