Chapter 137 Eleven years.
CHAPTER 137
Eleven years.
SCARLETT – POINT OF VIEW
My blood runs cold as I stare at the certificate.
I run my gaze over it, reading it carefully.
MARRIAGE CONTRACT The Mexican Cartel.
Jurisdicción: Estado de Sonora, México
Registry Office: Registro Civil No. 12
Document ID: MC-4478-15
PARTIES INVOLVED
GROOM: Emiliano Vargas Caulderon
Date of Birth: March 3, 1980
Age at Signing: 35
BRIDE: Rosalina Isabel Diaz
Date of Birth: July 17, 2000
Age at Signing: 15
DATE OF AGREEMENT Signed: August 22, 2015
Effective Union Date: Union to be formalised upon the bride reaching legal age.”
TERMS OF UNION
The Bride, Rosalina Diaz, is hereby promised in union to Emiliano Caulderon under the authority and consent of her legal guardian and father, Rafeal Diaz.
The union is to serve as a binding alliance between families, consolidating shared business interests and territorial agreements.
The marriage shall be formally consummated upon:
The Bride reaching legal age
Final approval and signature from both parties
Until such time, the Bride remains under the protection and authority of her family, with exclusive claim reserved for the Groom.
SIGNATORIES
Rafeal Diaz
(Father / Legal Guardian)
Signature absent.
Emiliano Caulderon
Signature present.
My hands are trembling, and my eyes are burning with tears.
So, this is why Emiliano believes I am his? My father sold me to him as if I were nothing but an animal?
Adeline takes it from me, reads, then takes multiple pictures of it.
“I’m sorry, Scarlett,” Adeline whispers, rubbing my shoulder, trying to comfort me.
My heart caves in painfully, and the air seems to thin. The truth sinks into my bones, which only makes me cry more. My shoulders shake as I sob, and she holds me. She does not rush me. She does not point out how we are running out of time. She just holds me like a baby, presses her lips to my forehead, and lets me cry myself dry.
“How … how could he have done this to me? How could he have sold me to that monster?” I wipe my tears away, angry, rage burning in my chest.
“Do you want tough love or a good time?” Addie steps away, looking at me with a frown.
I clench my jaw hard, “Tell me the truth. Don’t lie to me.”
“Yes, he planned to sell you off, which sucks, but I think you are getting it wrong. A marriage alliance is not uncommon for us born into powerful families. The men are raised to fight wars, and we are told to sit pretty and get ready to be useful. Marriage is a weapon, a channel, something we take very seriously.” She articulates carefully, and I nod, throat stinging.
“Emiliano and your father have been friends for a while, right?” She asks.
I nod, remembering the orange tree. “Since I was about seven, or so.”
“It is a bit of a character flaw on your father’s side, but he wanted you to be fine, and who better to take care of you than someone he trusted? He probably believed that the marriage would be in everyone’s interest. You would go to Uni, study a beneficial course, and return to be Emiliano’s wife at the right time. He believed that love grew in the thorniest of gardens. He believed that Emiliano would never hurt you as those young boys would.” Her voice stays even while I burn within.
“I am not defending your father,” she rushes out, “But do not rush to criticise him. Now, he believed all those things about his friends, yet he didn’t sign the contract. Doesn’t that confuse you?”
I stare at the certificate again, at the blood stains on it.
Grief wraps around me like a noose, and I whisper, “He changed his mind.”
“Exactly, Scarlett. He changed his mind, and we need to know why.” She nods, jaws clenched.
I sigh deeply and walk to the bed. I lay on it, my heavy heart dragging me downwards.
“Do you remember anything? You should. You were fifteen,” she urges, and I close my eyes, inhaling deeply.
Memories are fickle. Ever since I left home, I’ve only dreamt about the fire whenever something bad is about to happen in the present – my very special premonition kit. I’ve also remembered the good times, the moments with my parents, but how can it happen by will?
My lungs constrict painfully when I realise all the memories I have of them are fading away, slipping through my fingertips.
I do not give up, though. I weave through my memories, pushing through the blockage.
“I can’t wait to see you in a wedding dress, mijo.” Mama gushes as she combs my long hair.
Fifteen-year-old me scoffs, “I’m never getting married.”
“Do not say that, Dios Mio, you will marry. Soon, you’ll meet a beautiful boy who will sweep you off your feet and love you. He’ll be your peace, your calm, and your storm all in one.”
I hone in on the memory, remembering Dad had left with Emiliano, only to return bleeding in his hand, eyes wide, sweating. It was the first time I saw my father afraid.
Mama got up, frowning, speaking fluent Spanish, “What’s the problem? What has happened, Rafael?”
Papa didn’t answer. He only looked at me, kissed my forehead firmly and pulled Mom away. I waited outside their office door for an hour, but no words slipped through. They never argued loudly. They discussed amicably. Instead of words, I heard gasps, shock, and anger. Then, they walked out, holding hands, smiling as if nothing had happened. I didn’t know then, and now, I do.
I open my eyes and look at Adeline, “Papa found something. He was a man of his word. He believed in the power of words. He didn’t sign it because he discovered something dangerous, but what?”
She shakes her head, brows furrowed, “Could it be the trafficking network?”
“The trafficking network?” I get up, “You think Dad found out Emilano was smuggling women and children, using his routes, and realised the marriage couldn’t happen?”
“It is very likely, Scarlett, but if your father turned down the deal, he gave Emiliano whatever excuse he could. Emiliano isn’t a fool; he probably knew your father was on to him.” She paces, “Just … just imagine. The Cartel’s Don discovers his illicit actions, and … nothing happens? Why did your father not confront him? And, why did Emiliano not kill your father then?”
I chew on my bottom lip, a headache throbbing, but I ignore it.
Why did Emiliano wait eleven years to get his revenge?
“What if something happened? What if he did something? What if someone died?” I think out loud, massaging my forehead.
“You think your father was working with someone?” She looks at me.
I’m about to respond, then a knock cuts through.
We freeze, eyes wide with fear. Is Percy back?
Rue’s voice slips through, “It’s me.”
I exhale in relief as she steps in. She’s speaking about Roman, which makes a light bulb go off in my head.
Roman’s father died eleven years ago.