Oh, dear Moon Goddess... Rosa doesn’t just deserve hell—she deserves to rot in a place even hell wouldn’t touch.
But still... as I stood there staring at the photograph of her and her lover who had his arm around her like he was proud to burn for her, I felt sothing ugly twist inside .
It wasn’t anger or jealousy. This was colder. Regret, maybe, or pity. Because in another world, if we hadn’t been raised like dogs in Don Diego’s bloody kingdom... maybe she could’ve had him. Maybe she wouldn’t have had to lie or trap Axel or turn her womb into a battleground just to survive.
Her lover was... beautiful. I hate saying it, but he was. Young, maybe a little older than Rosa, with thick black hair that curled at the ends like he couldn’t be bothered to ta it. High cheekbones. Golden brown skin. A scar just under his left eye, like sothing out of a romantic war story. And his eyes—gods, his eyes were soft. Gentle. Like he only knew how to love things, not destroy them.
He didn’t look like soone from our world. He looked like soone we weren’t allowed to have. I blinked, swallowing a lump I didn’t rember forming in my throat.
Rosa, despite how bad and evil it was, found love. The depths she had gone for her love made a little jealous. It made question my own efforts. What have I endured for Axel?
How have I proved my love to him?
"You feel bad for them," the imposter said behind , and I flinched.
I didn’t hear him move. Didn’t feel his footsteps. Just his voice, slithering into my thoughts like it belonged there.
"I didn’t say that," I replied, quieter than I wanted to be.
"You didn’t have to. You’re wearing it all over your face. That sa soft pity that makes you dangerous."
"I’m not dangerous."
"Not yet."
I turned, ready to snap sothing sharp back—but he was crouching in front of a small wooden chest at the foot of the bed, ignoring completely. His fingers brushed over the iron latch like it was familiar, like he knew exactly what he was looking for.
A dreadful feeling coiled in my stomach. "What is that?"
He didn’t answer. Just flipped it open with a click and slowly lifted the lid. And that was when I saw it.
I didn’t an to gasp. I tried not to. But the sound tore out of before I could strangle it. Inside the chest were nails. Not iron ones. Not wooden. Fingernails.
Dozens of them. So were still caked in dry blood. So cracked. So curled like they’d been ripped out while screaming. All of them rested on a velvet cloth like they were precious stones.
I staggered back, a hand clamped over my mouth. My lungs refused to work. My brain scread at my feet to run, but they refused to move.
"What... what is this?" My voice could barely be heard. "Whose are they?"
He didn’t flinch or even blink.
"According to Rosa’s journal," he said, tapping the edge of the chest like he was pointing out wedding rings in a catalogue, "this was a ritual. A tradition, really. Each fingernail belonged to soone they had to silence. Anyone who got too close to the truth. Anyone who suspected them."
I tasted bile. "Silenced how?"
He smiled. "What do you think?"
Oh, no, no, no. That was way too many nails to belong to victims of murder. Was theirs in there too? Ruben, Gonzalo, and Pedro’s?
I turned away before I vomited. My head buzzed. I couldn’t tell if it was from rage or horror or so feral mix of both.
He went on like he was narrating a bedti story.
"Apparently, her witch lover believed pain purified secrets. Said that real love had to be built on sothing stronger than lies. Had to be tested. Broken. Reforged. So every ti soone threatened their truth... they made a vow." He gestured to the chest. "And a sacrifice."
My knees buckled and I dropped onto the edge of the bed. The mattress groaned beneath like it was tired of holding things, too.
"They’re insane," I whispered.
"They’re in love," he corrected. "A kind of love that bends reality and snaps necks. Romantic, isn’t it?"
"No. It’s sick."
"They’d agree with you," he said with a chuckle. "They thought everyone else was too weak for love. That the world would never understand theirs. So they stopped explaining."
The silence crawled between us right after. I was damn speechless. I lived with that monster for years. Called her my sister, looked up to her, even though all she had ever felt for was unadulterated hatred.
I stared at the picture again. Oh, look how radiant she was. I had never seen such a glow on her face before. Not in the eighteen years of living under the sa roof.
Her lover was smiling like he’d found sothing worth dying for. They looked happy. They looked like a dream. And yet, here was a box full of mutilated truths sitting just inches from that photograph like a cursed offering.
"What did you bring here for?" I finally asked the burning question in my throat.
Maybe because I didn’t trust him to do this out of the Goodness of his heart. He had said this was because he cared about my happiness, but don’t bla if I no longer trust people who pretended to be sothing they weren’t
"Why show all this?"
He stood and faced , brushing dust from his palms.
"To help you see things clearly and provide evidence to stop the wedding in two days."
I narrowed my eyes. As much as I wanted to venture into why he wanted the wedding to be stopped, his words about helping see things clearly piqued my interest.
"What things?" I inquired, already dreading the answer.
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