ROSA
I couldn't sleep last night after our conversation about the engagement. Marco's words kept echoing in my head: "You can't call off the engagement, Rosa." There was something in his tone—not just concern, but urgency. Like he was protecting something bigger than just our relationship.
I found him in dad's study early the next morning, his head bent over some paperwork. The morning light streaming through the window caught his profile, and for a moment, I forgot my suspicions. The sight of him in his fitted suit, completely at home among my father's business documents, made my stomach twist. How had he adapted so perfectly to this world? Then his phone buzzed, breaking the spell.
"We need to talk," I said, closing the door behind me.
He glanced up, his expression carefully neutral. "Rosa, this isn't a good time."
"When is it ever?" I moved closer to his desk. "You keep giving me mixed signals. One minute you're kissing me in the garden, the next you're telling me I have to marry
