Chapter 11 #4
“People here can be a bit unpredictable,” he said, voice lowering. “And given your visual impairment... are you certain this is the place you want to be?”
There was real concern in his tone.
I didn’t let myself think.
If I did, I might stop.
And stopping meant going back.
Back to silence. Back to thinking. Back to him.
I reached for the door handle before doubt could grow teeth.
“I’m sure,” I said.
The door opened, and the sound of the outside world rushed in immediately—bass heavier now, laughter sharper, the distant clatter of heels on pavement.
I stepped out.
The air hit me differently here.
Warmer and alive in a way Rafael’s estate never was.
I adjusted my footing carefully, letting the ground beneath me register through my senses.
Ramiro got out on his side but didn’t move away immediately.
He stayed close enough for me to hear him clearly.
I lifted my chin slightly.
“I need this,” I said quietly, more to myself than to him.
“Will Rafael know you intend to leave him in seven months?” he asked.
I exhaled slowly.
“He knows my internship ends in seven months,” I replied evenly. “Which also means my contract as his personal assistant will end. He doesn’t know I plan to file for divorce the moment it does.”
A pause. “I’ll tell him when I can actually get a moment to speak to him.”
Ramiro went quiet for a moment. “He won’t take that well.” He paused. “And what if, before those seven months are over, this marriage turns into something real?”
My lips parted slightly, but I didn’t interrupt.
“I’ve watched you,” he continued. “The three of you. You, Tess, and Rafael... I think you could be a family that actually works.”
A soft, almost reluctant breath left him.
“The way he looks at you... the way he’s been with Tess lately... it’s different from how people know him. Most of the world sees Rafael as a monster. Cold. Ruthless. But the side he shows you is not that.”
My jaw tightened slightly.
“Milder,” he added. “More restrained. Maybe there’s still a chance for your marriage.”
I let out a short laugh—sharp, humorless, bitter enough to taste.
It came out before I could stop it.
“Rafael isn’t as cold to me as he is at work,” I said, voice steady but tight, “but the part of him still loyal to Zara will never change.”
I swallowed.
“This marriage is suffocating. I’ll endure it for seven more months—no longer.”
Ramiro was silent, so I pushed on.
“If anything, you should be helping him. He didn’t love Zara, yet he still treats her memory like something untouchable. It doesn’t make sense.”
My voice sharpened slightly. “Maybe you should ask him what he’s still holding onto. You might be the only one who can get the truth out of him.”
A breath.
“But I won’t be the only one trying to make this work. That’s not a marriage—that’s survival.”
I turned slightly.
“There’s nothing more to say. I leave in seven months. Now take me inside.”
I heard him offer his arm, and I reached out slowly, letting my fingers rest lightly against it.
Not gripping tightly—just enough contact to steady myself in the unfamiliar space.
Ramiro guided me forward.
The ground shifted subtly underfoot—gravel giving way to smoother pavement.
Then polished stone. Then something even more refined.
I adjusted instinctively, reading the changes through pressure and sound.
Voices grew closer.
Laughter layered over music.
Ramiro paused briefly ahead of me.
I heard his tone change—controlled, carrying authority I hadn’t heard him use earlier.
“She’s with me,” he said, his voice directed toward the guards at the entrance.
A brief pause followed.
Then—
A sound like a heavy door being opened.
The moment we stepped inside, the atmosphere hit me like a physical force.
Thick scent.
Noise multiplied in layers rather than volume alone.
I stepped carefully, my hand still lightly on Ramiro’s arm.
The floor beneath me changed again.
I swallowed, adjusting my posture slightly as I walked.
I could feel eyes even if I couldn’t see them.
Or maybe I was imagining it.
That was always the danger in places like this.
“Can you take me to a seat near the bar?” I asked, raising my voice just enough to carry over the music.
“What did you say?” Ramiro leaned closer, speaking louder so I could hear him clearly through the noise.
“Take me to a seat by the bar,” I repeated, steadier this time, each word deliberate and clear.
A beat.
Then—
“Got it.”
He guided me forward again.
As we moved, the sound shifted once more.
The bass became slightly clearer, the crowd noise more concentrated.
I could tell we were approaching the central area now—the heart of the lounge.
The bar.
We slowed.
Ramiro guided me toward a seat.
I felt the edge of a stool beneath my hand before I sat, the surface smooth and cool.
I lowered myself carefully.
The noise wrapped around me immediately.
Closer and more intense.
But not overwhelming.
It was almost... numbing.
Exactly what I needed.
Or what I thought I needed.
My fingers rested lightly on the counter in front of me, tracing the edge unconsciously.
The wood—or stone—was polished, expensive, untouched by wear.
I exhaled slowly.
Seven months.
I repeated it in my mind like a structure I could hold onto.
Seven months until the internship ended.
Seven months until I walked away from his world.
Seven months to prepare Tess.
Seven months to detach.
Seven months to accept what I had been trying not to see—that I would never be more to Rafael than Tess’s caregiver.
I straightened slightly, forcing my expression into something neutral even though no one could see it.
Ramiro lingered beside me.
I could feel it immediately—that protective hesitation.
His presence hovered too close, like a shadow unsure whether it belonged.
I turned my face slightly toward him.
“Ramiro,” I said evenly, though fatigue edged my voice, “please give me a little space. I know you think I might not be safe on my own, but I’ll be fine. I just need a moment to clear my head. With you hovering like this, it’s harder than it needs to be.”
There was a pause.
Then his voice came, lower than before.
“Rafael wouldn’t be pleased if I brought you to a place like this and didn’t keep my eyes on you the entire time.”
The words were respectful but firm.
I let out a quiet breath through my nose.
“Of course he wouldn’t,” I muttered, almost to myself. “He wouldn’t want anything to happen to the woman his daughter relies on.”
The words tasted sharp on my tongue.
Then, louder, I added, forcing control back into my tone:
“You can keep an eye on me. Just... give me space.”
A beat.
I could feel his reluctance again, heavy and familiar.
Then—
“Sure.”
I heard his footsteps retreat, not far, just enough to give the illusion of distance while still remaining present.
Close enough that I knew he hadn’t truly left.
Only repositioned.
Only then did I exhale fully.
My shoulders loosened slightly, tension I hadn’t realized I was holding draining out in slow increments.
The noise around me became clearer without his immediate presence beside me.
Conversations overlapped. Glasses clinked. Laughter rose and fell in uneven waves.
I turned forward, orienting myself toward the bar.
“Can I get a glass of aged rum, neat, please?” I asked, voice steady, projecting just enough to be heard over the music.
No immediate response.
I frowned slightly.
I raised my voice a fraction.
“Can I get a drink?”
A brief quiet ripple passed through the space in front of me. I could feel it—not see it. Like attention turning, like multiple heads shifting in my direction at once.
Then the bartender’s voice came.
Polite and careful.
“Yes, ma’am. Three minutes, please.”
“Okay,” I replied simply.
I rested my elbows lightly on the bar, letting the texture of polished surface ground me.
The music continued around me.
For the first time since the dining room, my chest didn’t feel like it was collapsing inward.
The humiliation still existed.
So did Rafael’s voice.
But it wasn’t pressing directly against my throat anymore.
Time passed in fragments of sound.
Then—
“Here you are, ma’am.”
A glass slid across the counter.
I reached out immediately, fingertips brushing cool condensation.
The tumbler was heavier than expected, solid in my hand.
I brought it toward my lips cautiously and took a slow sip.
The rum burned smoothly.
Warmth spreading down my throat, settling in my chest like something grounding me in the present instead of the past.
It didn’t erase what happened.
But it dulled the edges.
I exhaled slowly.
Another sip followed.
The second went down easier.
The world around me blurred into rhythm and sound instead of thought.
This was exactly what I needed.
Distance. Noise.
Anything that wasn’t silence.
I had barely set the glass down after my second sip when a new presence entered my space.
Not Ramiro.
Not the bartender.
Someone different entirely.
A masculine voice spoke just behind my right shoulder.
“Hi, butterfly.”
The voice came too close—warm and confident.
I turned my head slightly in his direction, my expression instinctively flattening into something neutral and unreadable.
The nickname alone made something in my stomach tighten with immediate irritation.
I was definitely not here to be someone’s entertainment.
Whoever this was had either not noticed—or had deliberately ignored—the fact that I wasn’t looking at anything at all.
“I’m blind,” I said bluntly.
A beat of silence followed.
“What?” he said, surprised at first, then quickly recovering with an easy laugh that tried too hard to sound natural. “As if that changes anything?”
I didn’t respond immediately.
He leaned closer—not touching, but invading space in a way I could feel immediately.