Chapter 1
“Everything has consequences.
Even a hopeless first love.”
Jimena
Chicago, Illinois
Months earlier
Jimena
“Miss Cortez.” Someone gently touches my arm, making me jerk, and my eyes snap open, only to close again when the blinding sun streaming from the window hurts my vision. I blink several times until I see the smiling flight attendant wearing a blue uniform. “We’ve landed.”
Looking around the spacious private plane belonging to my family consisting of a white-and-dark color scheme, the endless soft chairs along with tables leading to the separate room where one can lie down during international flights, and a bathroom that has a shower, I realize that most of the crew is gone and everything is put neatly together.
This could only mean one thing.
I’ve been out cold for a while, and they woke me up because they absolutely had to.
My cheeks heat just thinking about their discomfort, and I groan inwardly when I glance at my wristwatch.
Thirty minutes, that’s how much time they’ve given me, and it means I’m already late.
On my first day back!
Sitting up, I clear my dry throat and reach for the water bottle next to me, returning her grin. Nervousness washes over me, fear sinking into my every bone at the prospect of returning home.
To a hometown that has been so cruel to me.
Familiar panic drums in my blood, so I shake my head. Squeezing the bottle tighter and flicking it open, I say, “Thank you, Miranda.” I force a laugh out. “I don’t even know how I missed it.” I shrug. “The pilot must be really good.”
Flying has always been the greatest source of my fear. Just thinking about it sends miserable sensations through my entire system while my body stays tense and aloof during the entire flight.
However, in true Cortez fashion, I wanted to grab my fear by the horns, so to speak, and enrolled in flying school to get my pilot license. Although my body trembled all the freaking time, and I had the desire to barf whenever I had lessons…I got my license, and it’s been smooth sailing for me ever since.
This is sans the fact that I never actually operated a plane on my own and can’t see myself doing that in the future, but understanding how the machine works and how much control the pilot has over it calmed my anxiety.
“I’ll make sure to tell him that. It was his first flight with us, and he was a nervous wreck.” She lowers her voice to a whisper, “Imagine his surprise when he found out he’d have to fly his boss’s daughter home. The guy almost had a heart attack despite his young age.” The voice drops even lower when she leans closer as I sip my water, welcoming the cold liquid in my throat while Miranda catches me up on the latest gossip. “He’s single, and I’ve heard Mary, our head designer, has the hots for him.” She makes a zipping motion over her lips. “But you didn’t hear it from me.”
My brow furrows at this, and I close the bottle, putting it away. “Isn’t she engaged to one of our other pilots?”
“That’s why you didn’t hear it from me.”
The thing about growing up in generational wealth, where luxurious and exclusive things have been available to you since the day you were born…you tend to make great friends with all the people who work for you because they become part of the family.
Or at least that’s how my parents raised me. They drilled in us from an early age how privileged and lucky we are to have such opportunities and chances, so we should always be respectful toward those who spend their lives making ours easier.
“Well, good luck to everyone involved.” I unfasten my seat belt and get up, stretching my arms wide while seeing two security men grabbing my suitcases at the end of the aisle and heading outside. “I should be back before you know it,” I inform her, hugging her close as her vanilla scent twitches my nose. “You know I don’t stay for long.”
She frowns. “Yeah. I don’t think your folks are happy about that.”
My heart pangs painfully yet again inside my chest, so I plaster a fake smile and grab my purse from the nearby seat, ready to finally face the upcoming events head-on and stop hiding in some European city like a fugitive who committed a crime.
Although, in a way, that’s exactly what happened, and isn’t it just tragic?
“Have a nice stay, Jimena,” Miranda whispers and then speaks up louder for everyone to hear, “Miss Cortez is ready now.”
“You too, and keep me posted on the drama.” I wink at her, and she laughs, already adjusting my seat and plumping the pillow after me as I go to the exit. I nod at the various crew members who are always present on board whenever I fly.
From a medical slash security guard to two pilots and two flight attendants who, according to my father, are needed to keep an eye on his princess so nothing ever happens to me.
Most of the time, his rules and overprotection are psychotic and annoy me because it paints me in such a bad light in front of everyone. Who needs all these people catering to one person on a flight?
Miranda and a pilot would have been enough, but I can never say anything.
For the pain and devastating loss my family experienced all these years ago shaped them into control freaks who need to pour all their love into their children and sometimes suffocate them to death with it.
And as a child who had to endure their grief, I always keep my true emotions locked away deep in my soul because seeing them would kill my parents.
“Get a grip, Jimena,” I order myself, putting on my sunglasses because my expressive blue eyes would scream about my discomfort, and we can’t have that.
Part of growing up with the staff means they tattletale on you to your parents, no matter your age. I might be almost twenty, but they won’t listen to me for shit and will instead report to my parents.
The last thing I need is their interrogation followed by a lecture and reassurances that mean nothing anyway.
“Thank you all, and have a nice day,” I say to the crew and step on the stairs as the frigid wind whooshes over me, coldness enveloping me while my white summer dress skirts over my legs accompanied by thunder shaking the sky announcing the upcoming storm. “Just great.” One of the reasons I rushed home today instead of tomorrow like I originally planned. I couldn’t risk anyone’s life or missing my parents’ thirtieth anniversary.
That for whatever reason theyve decided to celebrate a year later, so technically its their thirty-first one.
A sigh slips past my lips because compared to most of my family, I hate rain and despise coldness with a passion, preferring summer, which once again makes me the odd one out.
I start descending the stairs, where the black car is already waiting for me. Our driver, George, gets out and runs around the vehicle, wearing his standard gray uniform while adjusting his chauffeur hat with one hand and holding an open umbrella in another. “Miss Cortez. Welcome back home!” He looks up and shakes his head when the light drizzle starts that will turn into a pouring rain shortly judging by the lightning flashing and dark clouds gathering together. “Just on time!” He grins, the wrinkles on his face deepening while warmth practically oozes from him as he has this whole grandpa vibe. The man has worked for us his entire life and doesn’t have his own family, so he treats us all like his grandchildren on most days.
“Hi, George!” I wave at him and speed up my pace, my sneakers tapping soundly on each step until I finally reach the ground and come closer to him. “I told you many times to just call me Jimena.” The man used to run around the garden trying to catch me back in the day and faced a lot of my tantrums, so the idea of him addressing me this formally doesn’t sit well. “How are you?” I tap him on the shoulder.
“Good, good. I’m going on paid vacation soon.” He opens the car door for me. “Your father practically ordered for me to take one.”
“Sounds like him,” I tease him and get inside, letting him shut the door, and it takes a minute for him to close the umbrella and hop in as well, starting the vehicle. “Where are you going?”
“To the Bahamas. I figured since your father is paying, I might as well go crazy.” He catches my reflection in the review mirror and wiggles his brows. “Maybe meet a nice old lady. I wouldn’t mind having some company.”
I push my bag farther away and rest my back against the seat while pressing on the button, rolling down my window and allowing for the fresh air to slip in and inhale into my lungs. Somehow, the way home seems even more suffocating than I originally anticipated. “Just a small tip, George. Ladies don’t like to be called old.”
He barks out a laugh, turning swiftly to the right until we leave the airport and get on the narrow road leading us to our mansion located on the outskirts of the city. I have around forty minutes to mentally prepare myself and put my mask back on.
The mask I’ve mastered over the years and learned to wear if I wanted to survive in our home.
A home that has a place for my perfection and none for my imperfections because only one person has a right to be imperfect and show his true emotions in our house, and that’s my brother.
And the truly tragic part about it?
I can’t even hate him for it, and somehow just end up hating myself more.
“Enough about me! Tell me about yourself. How was Europe? Your mother told me you traveled to several countries. You must have had some fun.”
Taking a hairband from my bag, I quickly braid my long locks while answering his question. “Just two. I went to Italy and Greece to explore art and ancient cultures, soaking up the rich history of those countries that span centuries.”
Not to mention amazing food and people where I could forget about all my worries and a green-eyed devil who occupies my mind in dreams and nightmares alike as he urges me to explore the darkest and deepest parts of me that crave to indulge in sin as their next breath.
“Oh, that’s great, kiddo. Perfect choice, actually, in your current circumstances.” He grips the steering wheel tighter as the rain intensifies, tapping soundly on the roof, and I extend my hand from the open window, welcoming the droplets on my palm.
Anything is great as long as it distracts me from my internal turmoil. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I figured it’s great to travel and explore Europe while you studied in a Spanish boarding school. Now that you’re back home for good, though, and plan to attend the university here, it would have been more difficult.” His voice softens when he adds, “You hate to fly and all that.”
I freeze at this, my hands clenching while a tremor rocks my body, and I swallow hard. “Who said that?”
“Your parents.” He frowns when he stops the car by the red light. “They said you’re enrolling in school here. That was the deal, right?”
My heart plummets at this, and I roll my lips so I won’t scream in frustration, just as the car speeds up and the wind slaps me on my cheeks while my conversation with Dad plays in my mind.
“An associate degree,” he says, leaning back in his office chair and studying me intently while I shift uncomfortably under his drilling stare. “That’s what you want to do once you graduate in May?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve spent four years in one of the best boarding schools in the world, being an A student while simultaneously achieving all your goals in the music world before you decided you didn’t want to do it professionally.” Harp has been such a big thing for as long as I can remember. I fell in love with the instrument at first glance, and it soothed my soul in ways nothing else could.
Except I did something so horrible that I can’t find my usual solace even in my music, which means I have to run away from it, too.
“Dad—”
“What’s going on, Jimena?”
I huff in exasperation, dropping on the chair opposite his and decide to be as honest as I can. “I don’t know what I want to do.” He grabs his whiskey glass, taking a small sip, and since he stays silent, I elaborate, “Picking something now means I’m risking choosing a profession that won’t work for me in the future.” I exhale heavily. “I don’t want a degree I won’t use.”
“Knowledge is power, darling. I’d say its one of the most valuable things a person can have, so there is no such thing as a useless degree.” Right. I guess it was the wrong thing to say to my father and mentally prepare myself for the lecture. But I blink in shock at what he says next. “You’re lying to me, and I’ll pretend to believe you on two conditions.”
“What are they?” My soul fills with dread because I’d have to either take them or do whatever the hell they have planned for me next.
I’ll get access to my trust fund at twenty-five, but until then, my father controls all my finances.
“First condition. You take a year off and do whatever you want. Enroll in some classes, travel, whatever your heart desires to cure this hurt in your eyes.” The air sticks in my lungs at this because my dad, indeed, sees everything. He might be one ruthless and vicious man when it comes to his enemies.
To me, though?
He’ll always be the best dad in the world, even if I forever exist in my brother’s shadow for him.
“My daughter is hurting, and she doesn’t want to tell me why. I’ll respect it and give you a chance to heal.”
Tears form in my eyes at the love dripping from his every word, and I get up, ready to hug him. “Gracias, Pápá.”
His splayed palm stops me, though, and I freeze, waiting for him to voice his second condition. “Once the year is up, you’ll come back home for good and choose a degree you want to study in Chicago.”
A loud honking in the distance snaps me out of my thoughts. I press my wet hand to my chest while the rain pours so much that I can barely see the road besides the shimmering lights all around us as the window wipers work like crazy. Mother Nature’s mood fits my own. “Yes. That was the agreement,” I reply hollowly while George grunts and resumes driving. My heart breaks into tiny little pieces because Dad didn’t forget about it.
I expected him to change his mind once I announced my desire to study art abroad, knowing it would make Mom proud, even though I have absolutely zero interest in pursuing a career in arts.
But I forgot one crucial thing.
Lucian Javier Cortez rules his kingdom with an iron fist and never changes his mind.
“Speaking of Greece. Did you meet anyone interesting? It must have been exciting to finally visit it, huh?” George chuckles while I roll my eyes, already anticipating what he’ll say next. “After all, your name is Elena.”
On most days, I’m incredibly proud to be my mother’s daughter because Rebecca Esmeralda Cortez is one of the best artists of our generation. A living legend, her art pieces grace countless museums and galleries, and her name alone speaks about success, wealth, and talent most people can only dream of.
She’s the epitome of born to create, and while I love all her achievements, it screwed me over big time. She loves everything about ancient Greece so while naming me, she wanted to allude to some myths, but my father refused her idea right away.
He didn’t want anyone to tease me for my name, and giving me some goddess’s name would have probably resulted in that. According to the staff, they went back and forth until they both settled on Elena as my middle name. In honor of Helen of Troy.
My parents love history and reading, always finding interesting topics to discuss. However, their favorite one has always been two particular masterpieces, the Iliad and Odyssey, written by famous Greek poet, Homer.
When the Trojan prince, Paris, fell in love with King Menelaus’s wife, Helen, and stole her, it led to the Greeks declaring war on Troy. It lasted ten years, with the Greeks winning and setting Troy on fire. Since Troy had an unbreakable wall, they used trickery. They built the Trojan horse and presented it as a gift from the gods. Soldiers hid in it, and then once the horse was brought inside the city, they all emerged and burned and conquered it. One of the reasons the horse became the symbol of the greatest deceit for thousands of years.
The war saw many losses, victories, and love stories with brave and power-hungry, vicious men on both sides who would do anything to win.
However, there were three most notable ones who stay legendary to this day.
Hector, the Trojan prince who protected his land with everything in him and whose skills and morality inspired respect even in the Greeks. One of the bravest men who just wanted to live peacefully with his family but was denied that right.
Achilles, the best warrior of the Greeks, participated in the war for endless glory and found it. It cost him his life, but he had no value for it anyway. According to him, it was better to die in good company than live in a bad one.
Among them all, though, there was one who survived the war and made it home.
Odysseus was a king of Ithaca known for his calm demeanor and cunning intelligence, which greatly served the Greeks during the Trojan War. He was a big advocate for it and managed to handle a lot of internal conflicts in order for the army to continue fighting, showcasing his diplomatic skills. If Achilles was known for his temper and anger that flared like hot flashes, then Odysseus was the opposite of him, always thinking first and acting later.
And while all these men had fascinating love interests for whom they conquered the world and won battles…my parents decided to name me after a woman who was known for her beauty and cheating ways.
Her man wasn’t any better either.
Paris destroyed his family, people, and country in the name of a fickle love.
How strong could it have been if, after his death, Helen went back to her husband, who still wanted her despite what she did?
She lost all my sympathy right there.
Whenever I voiced this question to my mom, she’d smile and just shake her head, promising me that someday I would understand Helen and see her in a different light.
My response was that I would never understand such betrayal and selfishness.
Well, never say never. Life found a way to teach me a lesson and never judge anyone because you might just do the same stupid thing and fall in love with someone forbidden and unattainable.
“Jimena.” George’s voice pierces through my musings, and I look back at him. I must have zoned out. “No luck finding your Paris?”
“No.” The lie easily slips past my lips just when thunder shakes the sky.
The truth is hideous, though, so how can I ever share it?
I’ve already met a man who could have been considered my Paris, and when he had to make a choice between the forbidden and what was right…he chose the latter because, to him, I’m nothing but a pesky nuisance.
A headache. A problem. A responsibility he couldn’t wait to get rid of.
My greatest tragedy is not being named after a woman who became a synonym of broken vows and eternal beauty.
It’s the fact that no man will ever choose me above anyone else.
My name might be Elena.
But my Paris?
He hates me.
And I can do nothing but run away from him as it’s the only way to cure the pain consuming my heart and bruising it every single day.