Hellena
I woke up remarkably well-rested this morning, despite dreaming of Victor all night. Surprisingly, my mood is overly cheerful. The dream felt incredibly vivid, almost as if I could smell his scent lingering when I awoke. Although I should have felt irritated by his intrusion into my subconscious, I feel quite the opposite.
Day by day, I find myself increasingly fond of this place.
It's peaceful, and I don't have to deal with the constant arguments with my father or the strict rules imposed by Mrs. Diaz. Frankly, I don't even miss her cooking.
It feels like I'm living a whole different life. One I'm not scared of.
I can do whatever I want, whenever I want. I'm not forced to wake up early or attend classes if I don't feel like it.
Who would be here to punish me anyway? Certainly not my father.
And let's not forget the swimming pool, always accessible. The huge garden, around the property, the quietness, the peace. It's like staying in a luxury hotel all by myself.
As I reach the final step, I stop.
Victor's blue eyes scan me from head to toe, piercingly, as if he's waiting for me to slip up. I'm dressed modestly in black sweatpants and a black T-shirt, and this time, I've even remembered to wear a bra.
I don't understand why he's looking at me like that, as if I'm walking through a minefield and he's waiting for me to make a wrong move.
With a heavy heart, I approach him, noticing again that it's just the two of us at breakfast. It's as if everyone else I've ever known has vanished into thin air. The table is already set, and this absence of Fernández, who usually serves us, piques my curiosity.
"Good morning," I greet with a smile as I settle into my seat at the table.
"How do you feel?" His question catches me off guard.
I pause, my eyes widening as I contemplate his words. He busies himself with slicing his bacon while I divert my gaze to the croissant basket, selecting one with apricot jam.
"How did you sleep?" he persists, noticing my avoidance.
"Good," I respond, struggling to swallow the piece of croissant.
He gives a curt nod and turns his attention to his plate, ignoring me completely for the remainder of the morning.
His behavior has been peculiar lately, and although I shouldn't dwell on it, I can't shake off the significance of his occasional interactions with me. It leaves me with the impression that he cares, though I know how absurd that notion is.
I'm here against my will, and his motives are far from benevolent. I serve as bait for my father, a fact I'm painfully aware of, yet I find myself unable to remain indifferent to him.
I find comfort in the attention he directs my way and enjoy our conversations, wishing they occurred more frequently and extended beyond our shared meals.
It's curious, though—why are we the only ones here? I haven't seen Rafael in quite some time either. Just when it seemed we were creating a connection after spending time together the other days, he vanished.
After finishing my meal in silence, I rise from the table without a word. The room is filled with a deafening silence, but my host seems too engrossed in his phone and the news to notice that I am leaving.
Hurrying back to my room, I see a red bag resting on the bed. Glancing around, I find no one else in sight. Even the hallway outside appears deserted, leaving me to wonder who left it there.
My heart races with a mix of fear and excitement as I approach the bag. With trembling fingers, I unzip it and reach inside, feeling the material tangle around my hand.
It takes me a moment to realize that there are bathing suits nestled inside. Heat rushes to my cheeks, a sensation I'm not accustomed to.
I'm not one to blush or feel intimidated, yet the thought that Victor likely left this bag for me stirs a powerful wave of heat inside me.
Inside the bag, I discover three bathing suits, each in a different color. Opting for the white one, I consider it the most modest choice. I hadn't planned on heading to the pool so early, but now I feel motivated.
Tying my hair up in a bun, I grab another towel and head towards the door. My intention was to go straight to the pool, but an uncontrollable impulse suddenly sends me in a different direction.
Instead of heading towards the pool, I consider if it's better to head to the main hallway, the same one that leads to the dining room where I left Victor. I'm aware I'm only doing this in the hope of sparking his interest. I'm not going to lie, I want his attention, like any woman desires the attention of an attractive man.
And for me, Victor is undeniably attractive, his style far from the stereotypical image of a mafia boss. In fact, he could pass for the most innocent young man in Colombia. His slightly wavy, often tousled brown hair and captivating clear blue eyes add to his charm.
However, it's strange where he got those features from. They don't resemble the typical Colombian type. Even though his skin is slightly tanned and his face is not so sharp, his eyes—his sky-blue eyes—are unusual. But I think this makes him more intriguing.
I can't pinpoint his exact age, though I'm convinced he's older than me. Yet, his appearance doesn't suggest more than twenty-five years. He's always donning loose T-shirts and cargo or sports pants.
As I exit the room, prepared to follow through with my plan, I'm abruptly halted by a massive body. My face collides with his chest, and I lose my balance, feeling his palm grasp my waist.
"Watch where you're going!" he snarls through his teeth, his eyes fixed on me.
As I meet his gaze, I forget my intended words. His once clear eyes now appear clouded and incredibly menacing. I'm beginning to regret my decision to seek his attention; it seems he's not in the mood for it.
"I wanted to thank you for the swimsuits," I manage to say, stepping back to free myself from his arm.
He withdraws it quickly. His gaze sweeps over my body with intensity, and I sense him struggling to suppress a smile.
Lost in his eyes once more, I struggle to tear myself away. It's as if he allows me to peer into them so effortlessly, revealing a vulnerability I can't fathom. Despite this openness, I'm not adept at reading people. That's my flaw—I struggle to understand feelings.
He steps away, disappointment flooding over me.
What did I expect? What outcome was I hoping for when he saw me in this bathing suit?
Maybe I should have chosen the boldest one, the yellow.
What's wrong with me? I need to stop this nonsense! There's no need to get close to him. He's my father's worst enemy, and thus, mine too. I shouldn't let my hormones dictate these moments.
With each step he takes, my breath hitches. I should feel relieved that he's ignoring me, but I can't shake the unease. Why do I feel so unhappy with myself?
"Want me to share a secret?" His voice interrupts my thoughts.
I turn to him. He stands a few meters away, hand on the doorknob near my bedroom door. My eyes widen, waiting for him to speak. I don't answer, but he sees my curiosity.
I anticipated an unpleasant secret, yet I anxiously waited to hear it.
"I'd rather you swim naked!" he says with a wink before disappearing into the room, leaving me puzzled.
My mouth half-opens, but before I can collect my thoughts, the door closes behind him.
That's one honest secret. And it's the last thing I would have expected.