Chapter 9: Cadence of Collapse

MARISOL

The walls felt tighter with every breath, the room shrinking no matter how still I stood. Every polished surface mocked me.

Nothing could soften the truth. I was caged.

I paced the living room, arms cinched tight around my waist, as if I could hold myself together long enough to stop the cracks from splitting wide.

Cold marble sucked heat from my feet, each step a cruel reminder. Luxury didn’t change what it was.

A prison.

Dante’s words wouldn’t let go. They’d carved their way in and stayed.

You’ll be a shadow of who you are.

I’d thought my father and Marcos had taught me fear. I’d been wrong.

This wasn’t fear. This was something deeper. His threats didn’t skim the surface. They burrowed under my skin, into the marrow.

And they stayed.

Heavy shutters blocked the windows. No light. No view. Just silence. The world existed beyond the walls, but I would never touch it again.

Hope had bled out hours ago. All that remained was the weight of reality pressing against my ribs.

Even if I ran... where would I go?

Nowhere. There was nowhere left.

My hands curled into fists, nails biting deep. Exhaustion tugged at every part of me, but I clung to what remained.

Anger. My father’s grip. Marcos’s cruelty. Now Dante’s control. They’d all taken pieces.

And the truth settled heavy in my chest.

There was no escape. No door left to try.

But this choice? This one was mine.

I stumbled toward the kitchen.

There had to be something. Anything.

My fingers shook as I yanked drawers open one by one. Empty. No knives. No sharp edges.

This prison wasn’t meant to protect me. It was built to keep me breathing, even when I didn’t want to.

I couldn’t breathe right. Every inhale cut short.

I clutched the edge of the counter.

“I can’t even do this right. I just want it to stop,” I whispered, barely recognizing my voice.

Heat coiled under my skin, bitter and blinding.

I yanked off my sweatshirt and let it fall to the floor. The chill hit bare arms but didn’t cool the fire inside.

My fingers fumbled with the scrunchie at my wrist. I ripped it free, dragging my hair back into a knot, as if taming it could calm the storm screaming in my head.

What’s the point?

The silence didn’t answer. It never did.

A sob ripped from my chest before I could stop it. Hopelessness surged, then cracked and gave way to rage.

My fist drove into the mirror. A sharp crack split the air.

Pain exploded through my hand, and for one breathless second, I felt it.

A flash of satisfaction.

Glass rained down, tiny blades that glittered like stars.

Blood smeared across the porcelain, hot and steady.

But the pain didn’t land. Not really.

Nothing could hurt more than going back.

I stared at the broken reflection. Fractured eyes. Fragmented truths.

But the girl looking back?

She wasn’t broken. She was finished.

One jagged shard gleamed up at me. I reached for it.

Its cold kiss bit into my palm, but I didn’t pull away. Didn’t flinch.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I muttered, the words cracking on my tongue.

I looked up. The girl in the mirror stared back. Hollow.

Blood smeared across my knuckles, trailing from the deep split in my palm. It clung to the shard like it belonged there.

Her eyes were mine, but they looked like they’d been emptied out a long time ago.

This is the only choice they haven’t taken from me.

My back still burned with memories. Every scar from Marcos’s punishments. Every welt from the man who called himself my father but never once looked at me with anything but disgust.

He didn’t raise me. He used me.

I had trained until my body gave out, again and again. Not for him. Not for Marcos. For me. To survive them. To stay one step ahead of whatever monster came next.

But what was the point of surviving if all that was left was this?

The glass glinted in my hand. I felt the sting, but it was distant. Dull.

In the mirror, I looked like a ghost. A shell.

Maybe I’d been gone a while already.

Tears came then, silent and relentless.

But underneath the salt was something else.

Relief. I had it. Finally.

I curled tighter around the piece of freedom I’d found.

Each sob shook something loose inside me. Weight, I didn’t know I still held.

I didn’t know if I was crying from grief or freedom.

No more pain. No more fear. Just this.

Finally, I found my way out.

* * *

DANTE

The worn cover of her journal rested beneath my fingers, familiar now.

Frustration simmered beneath my skin, but curiosity edged it out.

The file had held only cold facts. The truth lived here, in these pages.

The diary bled poetry and pain. Dreams she’d buried. Lyrics born from loneliness.

A soul crying out in the dark.

Then one passage stopped me cold.

The training has been brutal. I don’t know if I can take a life. The thought chills me, but what scares me more is what happens if I can’t. If they find me before I’m ready, I’ll end it myself. It’s just a matter of time.

Cold clenched my chest.

I’d seen her pain in these pages before, her resilience tempered in fire.

But this... this cut deeper. Her raw fear. Her absolute resolve.

Everything locked into place.

The weapons. The relentless training. She fought with the ferocity of someone ready to tear through flesh and bone.

But the memory that hit harder than any written word came with her voice, ragged with fury.

"I don’t belong to you! I don’t belong to them! I belong to myself!"

She had screamed it at me, fire flashing in her eyes, fists shaking at her sides.

Unbreakable. Unyielding.

Then she’d collapsed. The fight drained from her body.

The fire, gone.

My grip tightened around the journal.

Guilt rose, sharp and clawing.

The cruelty had been deliberate. Every cold word. Every calculated threat.

All of it meant to make her feel the sting of my anger, to punish her defiance.

I’d never intended real harm. I would never send her back to that family.

But she didn’t know that.

She’d already been on the edge, her strength buckling beneath the weight of her past, along with my rage.

My mother’s face flashed in my mind. The helpless tilt of her mouth in those final days.

The shame of failing her.

I wouldn’t fail again. Not with Marisol.

The door burst open.

Felix’s tension hit the room like a shockwave.

“Boss! Bathroom sensor in the guest house. It tripped an alarm.”

My heart slammed against my ribs.

I’d disabled the camera there. A rare concession for privacy.

My jaw locked as I lunged for the control panel. My hands moved fast, precise despite the dread spiking through me.

The feed snapped on.

She was on the floor.

Blood streaked her fingers, curled tight around jagged glass. Sobs wracked her body as tears carved down her cheeks.

“Shit!” The journal hit the floor, forgotten.

We ran.

Adrenaline ripped through me like fire.

Her voice echoed in my head, slicing deeper than before.

The only thing you’ll be sending back to my family is my cold, dead body.

I’d brushed it off. Thought she was being dramatic. Manipulative.

I hadn’t believed her.

I should have.

That wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.

My mind sprinted faster than my feet.

I couldn’t shake the image of her curled on that tile floor. Alone. Bleeding.

I thought she was playing me. Acting tough. Playing the victim. Feeding me whatever story bought her time.

But she wasn’t faking.

Every word in that journal had been a scream no one heard.

And I hadn’t listened either.

I’d made her feel like nothing more than a pawn. Like her life still didn’t belong to her.

And she’d believed me.

God, what had I done?

The night air bit at my face as we sprinted for the guest house.

Every second dragged. Every heartbeat slammed with the weight of what I’d done.

None of my twisted games mattered now.

I’d played the monster, never stopping to see that she already lived with real ones.

She hadn’t known my threats were hollow.

I can’t lose her. Not like this.

The vow struck hard, clear through the chaos.

If I can reach her in time, I’ll protect her. No matter the cost.