3.

Araceli was rooted to the spot as she watched them drive out of the parking lot. Her eyes reddened, with tears dripping like a cascade. 

"Araceli?" 

Francisco tugged her arm, snapping his fingers at her eyes, but she didn't flinch. 

He could see the tears as they flow helplessly on her cheeks, wetting her cherry-painted lips. 

Her tears caused tremors through his spine, making him instantly pull her closer for a hug. 

He didn't know what else he could do.

Francisco didn't ask what had happened, to him, it wasn't important. He cared more about her state of mind, and if she ever deems him worthy to share her problems, he was prepared to lend her his ears and whatever help she might need.

Araceli's frame shuddered, her head laid on Francisco's broad chest as she wails remorsefully.

 The past twelve years she spent, making bad choices with hopes to find Franco, but it wasn't worth it. 

Franco has proved he never deserved her love, and the pain was excruciating.

"Get me out of here!" She whimpered to Francisco. 

"Let's go." He held her and lead her to the car. 

...

It was a silent ride back to Francisco's mansion. Araceli rushed to the bedroom. She undressed leaving a trail of her clothes on the floor as she scurried to the bathroom. 

Her thoughts cleared up a little after she splashed her face with cold water. She looked at her reflection, her eyes glowing red on her pale and bare face. 

Her breathing slowly became inaudible. She scoffed at how pathetic she looked, tying her hair into a bun, and suddenly, she caught a glimpse of Francisco's through the reflector, but she remained calm and didn't even veer to look at him. 

"How are you?" 

Despite her turning her back on him, Francisco couldn't help but stood there waiting to hear she was fine. She grunted in response, her gaze wavering from the mirror. 

Araceli didn't know how long Francisco had been standing there, and after answering his question she expected him to leave.

 Instead, he walks closer, placing his hands on her shoulders "We still have to talk about our engagement." 

Araceli's eyes rolled in disgust. She recalled rejecting his proposal and wasn't aware why he would bring it up yet again. 

"Marry me." He whispers in her ears as he kissed her neck. "Marry me and be my first lady." He said to her again waiting for her response. 

Though Franco was no longer in the picture, marrying Francisco still made no sense to her. 

"We've talked about this at the hotel, there is nothing more to talk about." She shunned him but he didn't take the guess.

"Have you forgotten already?" He scoffed turning her around with force. He held her chin up. Her eyes locked with his-

"Have you forgotten our agreement?" His eyes deepen holding her gaze.

Araceli recalls her promise to Francisco, to do anything he will ask of her. He made her promise this, as it has always been his plan but he never disclosed it to her.

She had approached him to bring him down, thinking he killed Franco, but with Franco being alive, her efforts to gain Francisco's favor were now of no use, still, she was bounded by her promise to him.

Araceli subconsciously held her breath, and for a moment she imagined a life with Francisco. It wouldn't be such a bad idea, but her plans remained the same-to live a quiet life after finding Franco, even without him in it, she was going to find tranquility.

"I still can't accept your offer." There were no emotions in her eyes.

"There's no rush, think about it, darling." He smiled ravishingly leaving her to her thoughts. 

Upon hearing Francisco's words, she felt bitter at first. Confused as to why he would make this request. 

She chuckled bitterly on the inside, as she turned around, staring at her cold countenance. She inadvertently remembered Franco's words telling her to pretend they never met. 

Her eyelashes tremble, as she dugs her nails into her palms. The pain helped her to endure the tingling sensation in her heart. 

'Marrying Francisco wasn't such a bad idea, but a marriage with him was far-fetched.' She thought. 

After losing Franco at seventeen, she married a wealthy older man and went by her real name-Araceli Castaneda, and not the Ayla Franco knew her to be. When her husband died, she took charge of his gun trafficking business.

 There was no harm in the way she ran it, she did pure business but still, Araceli only wanted to earn enough and made the right contacts just to find Franco. 

She didn't want to be stuck with the name any longer. The newspapers, police, and some civilians knew the name Araceli Castaneda but not her face. 

Marrying Francisco would be giving the police a ticket to arrest her. It wasn't going to happen.

She quickly turned on the shower and got dressed in a long big dress. 

She scurried down the stairs, to Francisco's study, knowing that was where he would be.

She jabbed the door open and his curious gaze instantly fixed on hers.

"Let me go. I've thought about it, I won't marry you. It will mean I'm giving myself to the police. All I did was sell unregistered guns, I don't deserve to be locked up." 

Francisco laughed at her words. He stood from his chair and walked to her. 

"I'm impressed with your response. I have a solution for that." His eyes twinkled and his lips curved slightly. 

He reached for her hand, and carefully lift her onto his desk. He spreads her legs apart and stood in between her thighs.

"You can just go by your nickname Ayla, that's not a problem." 

Araceli was stunned. Shock flashed in her eyes. This man always has a solution and it annoys her. 

There was no way she would be able to get off his clenches. 

He leans closer for a kiss, but the sound of his phone interrupted. He picked up his phone from the table and excused himself to answer. 

Araceli helped herself down from the desk. A sheet of paper glued to her thighs fell on the floor. She picked it. 

It was plain. 

She placed it on his table, and her eyes instantly grasp the image on his desk. 

It was Franco's.

"But why?" Araceli was stunned. She carefully glanced through the documents on his desk. 

It contained contract documents, she couldn't find anything other than the picture. Her gaze drifted to his drawer, and surreptitiously, she strides toward the chair.

She found the drawer a bit opened, and an enclosed brown envelope on top of other documents. She took it out, revealing the documents inside.

It all contained information on Franco. His occupation, his wife's name, their house address, and even the wife's mother's details.

What was Francisco doing with it? 

Francisco soon walks through the door. When Araceli heard his footsteps, she hung the documents in the air waiting for Francisco's explanation.

"He is some detective that has been digging dirts on me for the past few months. I had Vamos to check him out." His brows crinkled and with an icy gazed he said, "I need you to take care of him." 

"Me?" Araceli's throat tightened, unable to digest what he just said. He must have said it wrong-she hoped.

"Yes you, I need you to do away with the detective like you did the former."