Chapter 3 –
POV Raquel
I woke feeling the warmth of a body behind me and the echo of another presence on my skin.
For a few moments, I didn’t know where I was. Or who I was. I could only feel—the warmth, the slow breath of a sleeping man, the light touch of a hand on my waist, as if it had always belonged there. Then I remembered. Everything.
The room ZEUS. The silk sheets. The swing in the corner. His tongue. My cries. My body shuddering as it broke free after so long suppressing itself.
Eduar Hilton. Twenty‑five years old. Dangerous. Impossible. Mine… if only for one night.
I opened my eyes slowly. Dawn’s light slipped gently through the linen curtain. The luxury that had felt like a dream the night before now pressed heavy on my chest. I felt guilt pulsing in my throat. My body ached—for pleasure, for shame, for reality.
He was still asleep, serene, his chest bare like a Greek masterpiece. So young. So confident. So separate from my reality.
What had I done?
I slid out of bed with the care of someone trying to conceal a crime. Fumbled for my clothes in the dim light, like a thief slipping away. The thong lay at the foot of the bed. The dress was draped over a chair. My heels scattered—proof of surrender. Each piece of clothing a reminder of what had happened. And what worried me most… I had enjoyed it.
Not just the sex.
The forbidden.
The way he had looked at me.
The sensation of being desired.
Of being a woman—not just a mother.
Not just “the scandal’s widow.”
Not just the one responsible for everything.
I dressed quickly, shaking. I left a note on the bedside table:
“Thank you for last night. —Raquel”
No last name. No number. No clues.
I opened the door without looking back.
The hallway was empty. The music had stopped. No laughter or bodies dancing among shadows remained. Only echoes, the scent of ancient desire, and my conscience weighing on me like a knife tied around my neck.
At the entrance awaited Celeste. Disheveled, makeup streaked, but with a wordless smile.
“Did the goddess Athena sleep well?” she asked, as if we were returning from a spa rather than sin.
“Don’t start,” I whispered, swallowing the lump in my throat.
“Relax. I’m not judging. I just wanted to say… you glowed.”
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. Because a part of me wanted to keep glowing.
The ride home was silent. The city woke to its routine, oblivious to my internal storm. I stared through the window, seeing nothing. My mind kept repeating:
“He’s twenty‑five.”
The same age as my son. The same age I was when I had my first child.
The age of my scars.
When we arrived home, the facade looked dimmer than ever. As if it knew what had happened. As if it awaited me with a verdict already passed.
“Thank you,” I said to Celeste, not meeting her eyes.
“You deserved it,” she replied, surprisingly gentle. “But now… go back to fighting, warrior.”
I entered quietly, like an intruder—carefully, silently. But I wasn’t fast enough.
Antonio was there. Standing. In pajamas. Barefoot. Arms crossed. His eyes… mirrored his father’s. But this time, they held judgment.
“Where have you been?” he asked, in a calm that hurt more than any scream. “Do you know what time it is, Mom?”
I felt the air leave my lungs. My lips parted… then closed… then opened again.
“I was with Celeste… It was her birthday. Mine too…”
“Your birthday?” he laughed. A hollow, painful laugh. “While the triplets cried wondering where you were. While Mariam made excuses. While I kept this house together with tape.”
My body—last night fire—turned to stone.
“Mrs. Carolina called,” he continued without mercy. “Said if there’s no meeting today, she’ll take legal action. And the lawyer sent word—funds are blocked. Everything, Mom. Everything.”
Carolina. The mistress who stayed. The woman who stole Manuel and now wanted to take my name.
“And the children?” I whispered. “Are they okay?”
“Yes. But they don’t understand why their mother disappears all night,” he said, looking at me as if he didn’t know me. “We need you here. You can’t disappear. You can’t show weakness. Not now.”
There it was. The verdict. The return to the cage.
I walked up the stairs silently, opened the door to the triplets’ room. They slept, cuddled. Innocent.
My guilt pierced me like a slow dagger.
I had committed a sin. One I didn’t regret.
I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Makeup ruined. Neck covered in marks.
The dress hung on the towel rack like a war trophy.
I hated myself. And at the same time… I envied myself.
Because for one night, I wasn’t the broken mother.
Not the betrayed wife.
Not the collapsing business owner.
I was a woman who was desired. Physically loved. Seen. Touched. Savored.
And that… even though it hurt now… was beautiful.
The battle for the Santodomingo legacy had only just begun.