Page 228 of Vexatious Queen

Victoria rushed in and hauled her mother up, fury blazing in her eyes, but neither of them spoke. Patricia clutched at her, sobbing like a wounded animal.

My lip twitched. She was trying for an Oscar with this act.

“Victoria,” Edmundo said coldly, stepping forward. “Get your mother out of this house. And Patricia…”

Her sobs stopped as she looked at him, hopeful. I nearly laughed.

“If you ever set foot here again, I will be the one to end you.”

“Papa, it’s my fault, I⁠—”

“No, Victoria.” His voice cut through her words. “I warned your mother never to come here without permission. Using you as an excuse was vile, even for her. This is not on you.”

Patricia shot me one last venomous sneer before Victoria dragged her away. The door slammed, and the silence that followed was thick and echoing.

Edmundo took in the wreckage. The overturned bench, the scuffed floor, the piano now sitting slightly crooked. Then his gaze landed on me.

“If I’d known violence was the price of a conversation, I would have paid it sooner.”

His jaw tightened.

“Ana…I can’t do this tonight. I’m leaving. Tomorrow. Or the next day. We will talk.”

“Eddie, please.”

He shook his head once, already turning away. The door closed behind him with a final, hollow thud.

I stood alone in the ruin of the room, the echo of his absence rubbing over the old ache in my chest that was my constant companion.

I had survived betrayals, bloodshed, and ghosts. I had rebuilt an empire in my image and learned how to live without mercy. But the thought of losing him—again—for good this time…hurt in a way no blade ever could.

Still, I straightened. Because loving him had always been the one risk I took without armor, and I would rather bleed from that truth than live a life built on lies.

MARCH 8 – SUNDAY 6:30 PM

Edmundo

Ididn’t tell Marcus where to go. That should have worried him. It didn’t. We just quietly drove around the city resembling a funeral procession.

The city slid past the tinted windows in streaks of light and shadow, streets blurred together as if distance could untangle what had just detonated inside my house. The hum of the engine was steady, the creak of leather comforting in an odd way. Three armored SUVs followed close behind us, headlights like watchful eyes. None of it reached my chest.

My hands were clenched so tightly in my lap that my fingers had gone numb. I welcomed it. Pain was easier when it was simple.

I glanced at the rearview mirror, and as if sensing my stare, Marcus looked back at me, checking in before turning back to the road. Marcus was being exactly what I needed…a friend.

The image wouldn’t leave me.

Yuliana. My Ana. Alive.

I hated that she lied to me, that she didn’t feel she could come to me, and believed that I would’ve interfered in her plans. She was probably right. I’d never known how to be anything but protective when it came to her.

Seeing her on top of Patricia, holding a sharp steel blade against her throat...she was not the Ana that I remembered, who needed my protection. Maybe she never did. There was something far too enticing about her. Always had been. One look, one touch, and I wanted her no matter the cost to my heart. Did that make me a masochist? Probably. What else would you call what we had?

Four hundred and ninety-two days of mourning. Waking up with the hollow ache of loss lodged behind my ribs. Building a future around an absence I thought was permanent. And she had been breathing elsewhere the entire time.

Marcus checked on me in the rearview mirror, his face impassive, trained when not to pry.

“Do you want me to keep driving around?”