Isolation

Morning arrived like a silent ghost, creeping in through the gauzy curtains of the Lorenzo estate. Tessa awoke to the soft sound of the birds tweeting and the distant clinking of dishes being prepared downstairs.

The sun had barely broken through the Monterrey haze, but she was already wide awake, lying motionless, staring at the ornate ceiling that seemed to mock her sense of captivity.

Days had blurred together since her return from Seychelles.

No more laughing with Jamie over breakfast.

No more impulsive outings with Camila or gentle evening walks along the beach.

Instead, there were daily check-ins with Mariana, perfunctory meals with Pedro, the shabby sex he would force on her and a quiet ache that lodged itself in her throat every time she remembered the life she had tasted—if only briefly had so quickly turned into memories she craved to relive again.

She sat up slowly, brushing a hand over her abdomen. Her bump was still subtle, a gentle swell, but it felt enormous to her—bec