Chapter 79 79
Fernando returned to his room to find Sofía still fast asleep. He sat on the edge of the bed, right beside her, his gaze fixed on her face peaceful now, unguarded.
The image struck him without warning.
A thirteen-year-old Sofía. Bloody. Broken.
His chest tightened painfully, breath catching as the memory clawed through his mind.
“You are my strong Luna,” he whispered, his fingers brushing gently over her cheek.
Never not once in his life had he imagined that this small, fragile-looking girl had endured so much. That she had spent her entire life fighting battles no child should ever face.
What a fucking bastard he had been to think she was weak.
She wasn’t.
She was stronger than most.
She was a warrior.
“My warrior,” he murmured, his thumb tracing softly over her dry, chapped lips.
A soft groan slipped from Sofía’s throat.
Pain exploded behind her eyes, sharp and relentless, as if thousands of needles were stabbing into her skull each one heavy as stone. She clutched her head, fingers digging into her scalp in a desperate attempt to ease the ache, but the pain refused to relent.
Groaning, she tried to sit up. Her body betrayed her, strength failing before she could even rise. With effort, she forced her eyes open, blinking repeatedly as she struggled to adjust to the darkness around her.
It was night.
A startled shriek escaped her when her gaze landed on a dark silhouette seated on the couch across from her. Panic surged instantly. She scrambled backward until her spine hit the headboard, chest heaving as she stared at the figure with terror-filled eyes.
But then he stood.
And when he moved toward her sitting gently on the bed beside her the fear loosened its grip.
Relief washed over her in a shaky breath.
“You scared me,” she murmured softly, pressing her fingers against her temples. She squeezed her eyes shut, pain flaring again and slowly, unwillingly, memories flooded back.
The moment he had pulled her shirt aside.
The scars.
The way she’d fainted.
The panic attack when she woke.
Her eyes flew open and met his.
She sucked in a shuddering breath, already finding his gaze fixed on her steady, unmoving. His face gave nothing away as he watched her in silence.
She looked away first.
Sofía didn’t know what to say. She knew, she knew his head must be full of questions. But she didn’t have the energy. Or the courage.
As though he could read her thoughts, he spoke.
“You haven’t eaten anything in the last thirty-six hours,” he said calmly. “Freshen up. I’ll get the food.”
And with that, he left the room quietly, giving her space.
She was grateful for it.
Sofía needed a moment to steady herself.
She pushed herself up on unsteady legs and froze when she realized she was fully dressed. A sharp gasp escaped her when the memory hit her her legs had been bare when Fernando had stormed in earlier with two other men.
Which meant…
He had dressed her while she slept.
Heat crept into her cheeks.
She washed her face and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Pale skin. Dark circles shadowing her eyes. She looked exhausted drained.
“You need to open up, Sof,” she whispered to herself.
Fernando had already seen the scars. There was no hiding the truth now. And oddly unexpectedly she didn’t feel terrified or hopeless.
She felt… calm.
Because Fernando was powerful. Because he wasn’t helpless against the monsters of her past.
And deep down, she knew, knew he was nothing like Bastien.
That realization eased something inside her. Twisted as it was, she felt a little less broken.
When she stepped out of the restroom, Fernando was already waiting. He sat on the couch, a coffee table placed in front of him, food laid out neatly.
Their eyes met.
She looked away immediately and walked toward him, sitting quietly at his side.
Without a word, Fernando picked up a plate and handed it to her. She took it, added a small portion of Chinese rice, and began eating slowly measured bites.
She could feel his gaze on her the entire time.
Watching. Observing.
It made her nervous, but she said nothing.
After four or five spoons, she stopped. He didn’t push. Didn’t insist.
Instead, he slid a glass of water and her medication toward her.
Sofía took them silently.
Then she filled another plate with rice and Manchurian and offered it to him.
“You should eat too,” she said quietly.
Fernando studied the plate, then her, before taking it. He ate half, then set the rest aside.
“You want to rest?” he asked gently. His voice was as soft as his expression.
Sofía stood and shook her head.
She moved to the window sofa and sat down, staring at the floor.
“I was thirteen,” she began, hands clasped tightly together. “My father brought a business friend home. His name was B… Bastien.”
Fernando joined her immediately, sitting close. He took her small hands in his much larger ones, squeezing them reassuringly.
“You don’t have to,” he murmured.
She shook her head. “No. I want to.”
She swallowed.
“At first, he was a good man… no he was a good man… but one night, my parents went out to dinner with him. I stayed home with my nanny. When my parents came back… they looked terrified. Like they’d seen something horrible.”
Her breathing began to quicken.
“They started packing. The nanny had already left. And then just minutes later the door burst open…”
Her voice trembled violently.
It felt like she was there again. Trapped inside the memory.
Fernando pulled her onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her trembling body, holding her tight.
“It was Bastien,” she whispered. “H… his hands were animal-like. His teeth… like a wolf’s. One eye was slashed and bleeding. The other was red.”
Her grip tightened.
“My dad shoved me into the closet. And Bastien…” Her voice cracked. “He killed my parents. Ruthlessly.”
She didn’t describe it further.
She didn’t have to.
Fernando already knew.
And as he held her, rage burned silently beneath his skin dark, deadly, and waiting.