Three Years Too Late
Angel's POV
"Catalina," Raul called, his voice calm but firm, stepping slightly in front of me, his hand lingering protectively on my mine.
"What do you want?"
Her gaze flicked between us, her lips curling into a sneer.
"So this is it, Raul?" she spat, her voice trembling with rage. "You're flaunting her in my face now, in our company? You think you can humiliate me like this?"
I straightened, my irritation flaring.
"You're the one barging in, Catalina," I pointed out, stepping out from Raul's shadow.
"If you're humiliated, it's because you can't let go of something that's already gone."
Her eyes widened, shock and fury warring in her expression.
"You little—" she started, taking a step toward me, but Raul raised a hand, his presence commanding the room.
"Enough!" He hissed, his gaze burning into hers with an intensity that silenced the air.
"Catalina, you need to leave. I don't want you causing a scene."
Her lips parted, and hurt flashed across her face, thick tears streaming down her cheeks, smudging her mascara.
"I'll cause a scene, Raul? Really?" Her voice cracked, raw with pain, her hands trembling.
"You're the one throwing our marriage away for her. Three years, Raul, and you're choosing this... this whore over me?"
The word hit like a slap, but I held my ground, my jaw tight.
"Call me what you want," I said, my voice cold, steady. "But I'm not the one clinging to a man who doesn't want me. You're fighting a losing battle, Catalina."
She glared at me with all the hate in her heart.
"You think you've won?" she hissed, her voice low and dangerous. "You're just a phase, Angel. He'll get tired of you, and when he does, you'll be nothing."
Her words struck a nerve, echoing the doubts I'd voiced to Raul moments ago, but I refused to flinch.
"Maybe," I said, my voice steady, though my heart raced. "But right now, I'm the one he's kissing. The one he's choosing. Can you say the same?"
Catalina's lips parted, but no words came. She turned to Raul, her eyes pleading for a reaction, but he remained stone-faced, his hand still on my waist, a silent declaration.
With a choked sound, she spun on her heel and stormed out, the door slamming behind her.
The silence that followed was heavy, the air thick with the aftermath of her rage.
I exhaled shakily, my fingers still trembling from the kiss, from her interruption, from the weight of everything.
Raul turned to me, his blue eyes searching mine, concern softening his features.
"You okay, Caramella?" He asked, his voice low, his thumb brushing my cheek where his lips had been.
I nodded, but the truth was more complicated.
"She's not wrong to hate me," my tone was soft, vulnerability slipping through. "I'm tearing her world apart. But I'm not sorry, Raul. I can't be—not when it's you."
He pulled me close, his arms wrapping around me, his warmth grounding me.
"You're not tearing anything apart," he murmured, his lips brushing my forehead. "She did that herself, long before you came into my life. You're my choice, Angel. My everything."
"Raul," I murmured, tears spilling freely down my cheeks.
"Hey," he whispered, his voice soft and laced with worry.
"This is really hard for me," I admitted, choking back a sob. "I feel guilty. The world hates me... I—I just... are you sure we're meant to be together?"
The words tumbled out, raw and cracked. The reality stung more than I expected.
"Come here." He pulled me into his chest, wrapping his arms around me so tightly, as if trying to shield me from it all.
Thoughts swarmed my mind like a storm—guilt, fear, confusion, love—colliding until I could barely breathe.
When I'd finally calmed down, he gently led me to the couch.
"Angel," he called, his voice steadier now. He placed his hand on my knee, but I couldn't meet his eyes.
"I've started the divorce process. It's complicated—there's a lot of history, but I need you to know you won't have to doubt my intentions. Not ever."
I didn't respond. My heart was too heavy, my voice caught somewhere between pain and hope.
He didn't push. Instead, he pulled me into his arms again, his fingers moving gently through my hair.
I cried silently, pressed to his chest, until exhaustion dragged me into sleep—in his arms, where I could still feel the war between love and guilt.