20. Guilt

20. Guilt
The one who loves you will look at your broken and call it beautiful.

GABRIELLA

I froze the moment I turned around.

There he stood—Alejandro.

His storm-grey eyes burned with fury, locked onto me like a predator that had just caught its prey. The air thickened. My heart thundered in my chest.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, voice low and razor-edged.

In my panic, a book slipped from my hand and hit the floor with a dull thud—
The Stranger by Albert Camus. Ironically fitting. I looked like I’d been caught mid-heist—which, in a way, I had.

My breath hitched. My mind scrambled for an explanation, one that wouldn’t unravel under his scrutiny. I forced my eyes to well up, swallowed hard, and crafted the only narrative I could think of in the moment—one that balanced guilt with vulnerability.

“I... I couldn't sleep,” I said, voice trembling. “The house was so quiet, too quiet. My thoughts wouldn’t stop. I just... needed a distraction. I remembered Sandra mentioning how Alejandro’s study had amazing books. I thought maybe if I read something, I could calm down. I didn’t know it was off-limits."

I lowered my gaze, letting my fingers fidget nervously, hoping the performance looked real. I wasn’t lying entirely—I
had been anxious. Just not for the reasons he thought.

Alejandro stared at me for a long moment. The tension stretched like a blade between us.

Then, something shifted.

His shoulders dropped slightly. The cold fury in his eyes melted into something more tired, more human. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I shouldn’t have snapped. With Sandra gone, I’m on edge. I should’ve made it clear this wasn’t the library. That’s down the west wing—ask Lupe, she’ll take you.”

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” I said, quickly kneeling to retrieve the book, clutching it to my chest like a shield. “I just... needed something to hold onto.”

He nodded, his eyes now scanning the floor like he, too, didn’t know what to say.

“And don’t worry about Sandra,” he added, straightening his cuffs. “Every family member has a hidden GPS tracker implanted. We’ve traced her signal to a forested zone outside Guadalajara. I’m heading out with my team now.”

My throat tightened. “You’ll bring her back… right?” My voice cracked as I looked up at him. “Please. She’s—she’s the only good thing in this place.”

His expression softened, just for a second. “I promise.”

With that, he turned and left, the heavy door closing with a soft click behind him.

The moment he disappeared, I rushed to lock the door. My hands shook as I grabbed my burner phone and called the agent in charge of the kidnapping.

“Abort extraction. Desert the van and scatter. Leave no traces. Now.”

I exhaled shakily, adrenaline still thrumming through my veins. I grabbed a random book—something thick and harmless-looking—and walked slowly back to my room.

But there was no comfort waiting for me there.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing. The guilt churned in my gut like acid. I had told myself this mission would be clean. Calculated. Merciless. But now… things were changing. She had changed things.

Sandra had let me in without question. She hugged me like a sister. Trusted me like one. And I’d used her like a pawn.

A tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it.

This was never supposed to be personal.

But now it was.

I looked down at the book in my hands. I couldn’t even read the title. The words blurred.

Whatever happens from here, I’ll protect her,
I vowed silently. No matter what.

Composing myself, I hurried downstairs, my pulse pounding in my ears.

What I saw brought me to an abrupt halt—Alejandro, with Sandra limp in his arms. His face was stricken, not with his usual intensity or brooding authority, but something far more vulnerable. Fear. Real, raw fear. It was the first time I'd seen it shadow his expression.

I followed him wordlessly to Sandra’s room, my breath catching as he gently laid her on the bed. He splashed water on her face, whispering her name in a voice that cracked with worry.

Sandra stirred. Her eyes fluttered open.

And then—she broke.

Sobs erupted from her chest, loud and ragged, like something inside her had snapped wide open. Alejandro held her close, murmuring soft reassurances I could barely make out.

Then, without warning, her body began to convulse—violent, involuntary spasms overtaking her as her limbs jerked and twisted.

Alejandro’s voice rose in panic. “Call the doctor!
Now!”

But I was already moving, my instincts kicking in.

“I’ve got her!” I said, dropping to my knees beside her. “She’s seizing.”

I guided Sandra gently to her side, carefully cushioning her head to prevent injury. I checked her airways and cleared the area around her. My hands were steady, but inside, I was cracking—because I
knew this wasn't just a simple panic response. Something deep had been triggered.

After what felt like hours but was likely just a minute or two, her body stilled. The storm passed. Sandra let out a trembling breath and clung to me as if I were the only solid thing in a spinning world.

“I’m here,” I whispered, brushing the hair from her face. “You’re safe. I’m not leaving you.”

Alejandro watched silently, his jaw clenched, his eyes shimmering with unspoken emotion. For once, the cartel king had no answers—only desperation.

“I’ll stay with her,” I told him gently. “She needs to know she’s not alone.”

He gave a tight nod, then backed out of the room like a man surrendering a battlefield.

I hummed softly, rocking Sandra slightly as her breathing steadied. She curled into me like a child, and eventually, her eyes slipped closed.

Sometime later, Ricardo entered quietly, his gaze scanning the room until it landed on Sandra. He let out a breath of relief when he saw her sleeping.

“She’s stable now,” I whispered. “But the seizure... it was severe. Has anything like this happened before?”

He hesitated. Then nodded, the weight of memory dragging his voice down.

“Yes. Five years ago. She was kidnapped by one of our rival cartels. Held for days. Tortured. Repeatedly raped. We got her back, but… the damage was already done.”

My breath caught. A chill spread through my chest.

“I wish I could gouge their eyes out,” Ricardo growled, the pain beneath his rage palpable. “They broke her. And now, she lives with the scars.”

I gently reached for his hand, my voice shaking. “I’ll stay with her. I’ll make sure she gets through this.”

He gave a small, grateful nod and left the room quietly.

The moment the door closed behind him, I broke.

I sat there beside Sandra, tears streaming down my cheeks. My chest ached with guilt—guilt so profound it hollowed me out from the inside.

I had done this.

My plan—my manipulations—had reopened a wound so deep I couldn’t even see the bottom of it. She was supposed to be untouched by all this. A pawn, yes. But never collateral damage.

Now, I wasn’t sure how I would ever forgive myself.

And I knew, no matter what came next,
I would protect her with my life.

Even if it meant turning against my mission. Even if it meant turning against myself.

In the grip of my vendetta, I had grown blind.

Blinded by rage. Deaf to reason. Numb to the cost.

Every plan, every move, had revolved around destruction. I hadn’t stopped to consider who might get caught in the crossfire—until now.

A soft knock at the door broke through my spiraling thoughts.

“Come in,” I said, my voice barely more than a whisper.

Rosa entered quietly, her presence calm but tense. Her eyes flicked to Sandra, still sleeping fitfully on the bed, before settling on me.

“How is she?” she asked gently.

“She’s been out for about an hour. Her vitals are stable,” I said, my tone hollow.

Rosa moved to the bedside and sat down, brushing Sandra’s hair back from her forehead with a mother’s tenderness. She reached for my hand without hesitation, squeezing it with quiet gratitude.

“Thank you,” she said, voice thick with emotion. “For being there for her. You’re a good person.”

Her words were a dagger.

“I don’t know if that’s true,” I murmured, eyes dropping to the floor. “She’s like family to me now. She made me feel like I belonged, like I mattered. I’ve never had that. She’s the sister I never knew I needed.”

I paused, swallowing hard.

“She wanted to cheer me up. That’s why we went out today. She insisted we ditch the security detail to just be... normal. And now look what’s happened.” My voice cracked. “This is my fault.”

Rosa reached out, her thumb brushing a tear from my cheek. “No, sweetheart. You did what you could. What happened wasn’t your doing. Don’t carry that weight.”

Her words were kind. Too kind. And they only deepened the ache inside me.

Could these people, these enemies I had vowed to dismantle, truly be so human? So capable of love, and grief, and grace?

My heart swayed, but my mind struck back with icy logic.

They treat you kindly because you’re still useful. Don’t forget who they are. What they are. Monsters draped in silk and blood.

That night, I couldn’t eat. The food on my plate remained untouched, wine barely sipped.

The mansion was quiet, heavy with worry and exhaustion. I lay in bed, eyes wide open, the shadows on the ceiling dancing like ghosts. Regret curled around me like smoke.

Eventually, sleep took me—but only just.

And when it did, it dragged me down into the dark.

Where my nightmare began.

The next morning, I trudged downstairs in my pajamas, the fatigue of a restless night clinging to me like a second skin. My limbs felt heavy, and the emotional weight was even heavier.

Sandra was already seated at the breakfast table. She looked pale but composed. I forced a weak smile and asked how she was holding up. She nodded gently. “I’m okay,” she said softly, her eyes searching mine with quiet strength. Her resilience only deepened my shame.

I kept my expression neutral, careful not to betray the storm inside. As I turned to retreat to the sanctuary of my room, Rosa stepped into my path, her face etched with worry.

“Sweetheart, you don’t look well. What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice maternal and warm.

“Nothing,” I lied at first, but then my facade cracked just enough. “I... I had a nightmare last night.”

“Oh, my poor baby,” she murmured, and before I could step away, she pulled me into a hug. Her arms around me were warm and comforting—almost too much. I clenched my fists, digging my nails into my palms to keep the tears from spilling. After a few moments, she pulled back, brushing my hair with a gentle hand before silently walking away.

I took a breath and turned to head upstairs when I nearly collided with Alejandro in the hallway. He was dressed immaculately, a sharp black Bulgari suit hugging his tall frame with practiced elegance. My throat went dry.

“Good morning,” I murmured.

“Mornings,” he replied, his voice smooth, laced with fatigue and something softer—perhaps relief.

For a fleeting second, my gaze betrayed me, flickering to his lips, and the memory of
that kiss surged forward with uninvited clarity. I forced myself to look away, hoping he hadn’t noticed the flush rising in my cheeks.

“Thank you for taking care of Sandra,” he said, breaking the silence. “I meant to ask... how did you know what to do during her seizure?”

I steadied myself before answering. “I volunteer at an orphanage on weekends. Some of the kids there have similar conditions. I’ve been trained by the medical staff to handle emergencies. I just... did what I was taught. I couldn’t stand by and do nothing.”

He studied me for a long moment, and then his expression softened.

“Don’t blame yourself,” Alejandro said gently. “You were put in a terrible situation, and you rose to meet it. Sometimes... sometimes the only way to heal is to stop holding yourself responsible for what you couldn’t control.”

His words struck something tender inside me—an understanding I hadn’t expected from him. And yet, as he turned and walked away, I was left standing there, tangled in gratitude, guilt, and something else I refused to name.