Chapter 2

• Even after the woman and her husband were dead, his father had ordered his men to search the entire forest for the little girl. They combed every inch of the woods, checked every hollow, every shadow, but she was nowhere to be found. His father’s frustration had been obvious—his voice sharp, his fists clenched. They had finally given up and returned to Mexico, empty-handed and furious.
• But Alejandro… Alejandro had felt a different emotion. Something he never dared to speak aloud. Relief. Deep, secret, guilty relief.
• He was the heir to a ruthless mafia empire, yes. Born and raised in blood and power. But even as a child, he had felt it in his bones—he could never hurt an innocent. He hadn’t understood much back then, but he knew enough to see the cruelty in what was being done. A marriage that was nothing but a curse. A sacrifice disguised as a ritual. A tiny, innocent girl, robbed of her life before it even began.
• And the woman—her mother. God, he could still see her, her calm smile as she asked to feed her daughter one last time. Her quick mind, her sharp courage, her soft, desperate hands guiding her little girl to safety. And then the way she fought like a wildcat, how she killed two of his father’s trained guards with nothing but a kitchen knife and a mother’s love. How she had whispered her last defiance with a gunshot.
• He had never even seen the face of the girl—the bride he was forced to marry that night. She was hidden behind veils, too young to even understand what was happening. But Alejandro knew one thing for certain. He had been so, so happy that she had escaped.
• He didn’t care if his father’s men failed. He didn’t care that they returned to Mexico in shame. Deep in his heart, he was grateful—grateful that she was alive, that somewhere in the world, she had been given a chance to live.
• Eighteen years later, her face was still a mystery to him. But her story—the story of a girl who was supposed to die but lived—was etched in his heart forever.
• He sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. Even if he wanted to forget, he couldn’t. The woman’s eyes haunted him. The ghost of that girl’s escape whispered to him in his dreams. And though he was a Mafia King now, cold and powerful, nothing—not time, not power, not even his own father’s commands—could ever make him wish harm on that innocent soul.
• Somewhere deep inside, Alejandro wondered, Where was she now? Did she know the truth? Did she remember the night she was meant to die? Did she ever think of the boy who was supposed to be her groom?
• He leaned back against the bed, the weight of those thoughts pressing down on him. His chest ached with guilt, regret, and a strange, nameless yearning.
• Yes, she had escaped. But her escape had not freed him.
• Alejandro’s thoughts tangled like the storm clouds that often rolled over the mansion’s rooftop in Mexico City. The guilt was a wound that refused to heal, festering beneath his cold exterior, a reminder that even a king of shadows could be haunted by light. He rubbed his tired eyes again, but the shadows behind his lids didn’t lift.
• For eighteen years, he had built walls around his heart—walls of power, of ruthless decisions, of blood-stained loyalty to a family legacy he’d never chosen. But she… the girl with the veiled face, the girl who disappeared into the night like a wisp of hope… she was the crack in those walls.
• “She is probably happy,” he whispered bitterly into the silence, though the words felt hollow. He couldn’t imagine her life, not really. Had she grown up in a quiet corner of the world, safe and untouched by the blood his family spilled? Had she found love? Peace? Or did she carry the same nightmares that clawed at him, whispers of a past neither of them could fully escape?
• The irony stung him. He, a man feared across two continents, was powerless against the memory of a girl he’d known for a few stolen hours—a girl he hadn’t even seen clearly. His fingers traced the scars on his knuckles, his jaw tightening. How was it possible that she, the girl who should have been his first victim, was the only one he’d never forgotten?
• In a moment of rare vulnerability, he let his head fall back against the headboard. He could almost feel her presence, like a ghost brushing against his skin. Was it guilt that made him imagine her touch? Or was it something else—something more dangerous, something like longing?
• And then, as if summoned by the storm brewing outside, a memory sharper than the rest cut through him. The woman—her mother—her voice soft but edged with steel: “Kill me as you wish, but you will never know where my little princess is.”
• A chill coursed down his spine. Her little princess. She had spoken those words with a love so fierce it had defied death itself. Alejandro clenched his fists. She had died to protect her child. Could he really bear to let that sacrifice fade into nothing?
• Suddenly, the air in the room felt suffocating. He stood, pacing to the window. Beyond the glass, the city sprawled beneath him, glittering like a thousand broken promises. His reflection wavered in the glass, and for a fleeting moment, he thought he saw a pair of wide, innocent eyes staring back at him. Her eyes.
• “Enough,” he growled, his voice raw with emotion. “Enough of this.”
• But he couldn’t silence the echo of her escape, couldn’t erase the faint scent of jasmine and fear that seemed to linger in the shadows. He couldn’t stop wondering—where was she now? And did she remember the boy she’d been married to, the boy who had been meant to be her executioner?