Chapter 2

He grips my arm hard enough to sting, ordering me not to move. I obey instantly.

Around us the party roars on — music, laughter, glasses clinking — but none of it reaches me. Only my own uneven heartbeat registers.

He tells me to smile, and I force it, though it feels false, like everything else tonight. He seems satisfied, though I know better. I nod anyway. I've learned what happens when I don't comply.

He tells me to stay put and not embarrass him, then walks off, leaving me alone in a room that feels like a snare.

The instant he's gone, I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. My hands shake as I grip my dress, trying to steady myself.

I shouldn't be here — the thought pounds through me. After everything that happened that night, I swore I'd never let myself feel this powerless again. Yet here I am, surrounded by strangers whose stares feel like judgment. The crowd presses in, and my chest constricts until breathing itself feels impossible.

Then I feel it — a stare, steady and unshakeable, fixed on me. I lift my eyes and find his.

Everything else falls away. He stands across the room, technically among people but somehow entirely apart from them, as though nothing exists for him except me. I don't know him, have never seen him before, but his focus feels like he's seeing straight through me — too much, too exposing. I look away, telling myself not to look back.

I do anyway. He's closer now. I hadn't even registered him moving. I step back, but he's already there, asking who I am.

His voice is quiet, measured, quietly dangerous. I flinch — and hate myself for it. An apology tumbles out of me automatically, though I don't even know what I'm apologizing for. When he asks what I'm sorry for, I have nothing to say.

He asks my name, gentler this time. Names feel dangerous to me, like weapons that could be turned against me — but something about him makes lying difficult. I tell him: Maria Eduarda.

He repeats it slowly, like it holds weight, like I matter. No one has ever said my name that way before, and something in me cracks at hearing it.

His eyes sharpen as he studies me. He tells me I shouldn't be here. I nod before I can stop myself — I know. I always know. I just don't have a choice.

Before either of us can say more, a hand seizes my arm again, harder this time. I go rigid. It's the man who brought me, feigning lightness as he says he's been looking for me. His grip hurts, but I don't react. I barely breathe.

Then the stranger's voice cuts through everything — a command to let go of me. The other man hesitates, questions him, but the stranger repeats himself with no room left for argument. Slowly, the grip releases, and for a moment, freedom.

The stranger asks if I'm with him. I want to say no. I mean to say no. But fear closes around my throat, and instead I whisper yes — a lie that tastes like ash. His expression hardens; he doesn't believe me, and I can't undo it. I apologize again, say I have to leave, and turn away, forcing myself through the crowd, vision swimming.

Then his voice stops me cold — asking if I'm running already. I turn, and he's there again, closer, like distance doesn't apply to him, like escape was never really an option.

He tells me quietly that I might fool everyone else, but not him. I deny knowing what he means, but he steps closer, leaving no room to retreat, and says something happened to me.

I freeze entirely. How could he know that? I shake my head, denying it, but he presses on — I don't belong to that man, and I don't belong here either. Then he adds that I do belong somewhere.

I ask where, unable to stop the question. He answers: with him.

The words hit like a physical blow — too intense, too fast. My heart stumbles. Everything about this feels wrong. And yet I don't run. I should fear him, the way he watches me, the certainty in his voice — but what frightens me more is the small, dangerous part of me that wants to believe what he's saying.

Before I can process it further, a crash shatters the moment — breaking glass, gasps, sudden chaos. In the confusion, the man who brought me grabs me again, rougher now, snapping that we're leaving. My stomach drops. I turn toward the stranger desperately, but he's already moving — and this time, he doesn't look like he intends to let go.