Chapter 4

• By the time he stepped out, wrapped in a thick towel, his mind was quieter but not empty. Outside, dawn had broken, painting the sky with soft gold and gentle pinks. He dressed swiftly in his usual impeccable style, the ritual of it grounding him.
• Downstairs, the dining table was set lavishly, as always. Silver cutlery gleamed against crisp white linen. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and buttered toast filled the air, but Alejandro barely registered it. He sat down, absently running a hand through his damp hair, and looked up at the butler who had just entered.
• “Has Dad had breakfast yet?” he asked in a voice that was too casual, masking the dread pooling in his stomach.
• The butler, a loyal man with tired eyes, hesitated for a moment before shaking his head. “No, sir.”
• That single, silent nod told Alejandro everything he needed to know. His father hadn’t eaten because he was waiting—waiting to summon Alejandro, waiting to rehash the same, tired arguments. Alejandro could already feel the weight of it settling on his shoulders.
• He sighed, a long, resigned exhale, and pushed back his chair. “Fine. I’ll go see him,” he muttered, barely tasting the food he left untouched.
• With slow, deliberate steps, Alejandro made his way down the hall to his father’s quarters. The air seemed colder here, heavier. The grand door creaked as he pushed it open, revealing his father sitting propped up against the headboard of his massive bed, a leather-bound book open in his lap.
• The old man looked up the moment he sensed Alejandro’s presence. His face, once so commanding and proud, now bore deep lines of anger and bitterness. His eyes—those same eyes Alejandro had inherited—narrowed sharply.
• “What are you here for?” his father snapped, his voice cold and biting. “To check if I’m dead yet?”
• The words, sharp as knives, pierced the morning quiet. But Alejandro didn’t flinch. He stood there, framed in the doorway, his face a careful mask of calm. Inside, though, he felt the familiar swirl of love and hate, pity and frustration, loyalty and defiance.
• He didn’t speak right away, just met his father’s glare with a quiet strength of his own. He wasn’t here to argue, not today. But he also wasn’t going to pretend that their relationship—strained and bruised—was anything close to normal.
• After a long, charged silence, Alejandro finally spoke, his voice soft but firm. “I’m here because we need to talk.”
• The old man snorted, slamming the book shut with a sharp thud. “Talk? Or listen to you make excuses for why you’ll never be the son I wanted?”
• Alejandro’s jaw tightened, but he kept his tone steady, knowing that if he let the conversation spiral into shouting, nothing would be accomplished. “I’m here because, whether you believe it or not, I still respect you. But we can’t keep going in circles. Not about her. Not about the past. Not about curses or sacrifices or superstitions.”
• His father’s lips pressed into a thin line, his knuckles white where they gripped the book’s spine. The silence between them grew heavier, thick with years of unsaid words, regrets, and stubborn pride.
• Alejandro stood tall, waiting, his heart heavy with the weight of family, love, and quiet rebellion.
• His father slammed his fist on the armrest of the chair, his voice rising with rage.
• “Love? Don’t talk to me about love! Love my foot! If you had even a shred of love left for your father, you would have understood by now that everything I’m asking you to do is for your own good—for this family’s good!”
• His eyes blazed as he pointed a trembling finger at Alejandro.
• “Go find that girl and finish her. She’s a threat! Eliminate her—and marry Lilith like I told you. Settle down. Give me some peace. Give me grandchildren. Give me a proper heir for this goddamn empire before I die!”
• Alejandro stood still, his hands clenched by his side, his jaw tight. He took a deep breath, and when he spoke, his voice was low and calm, but each word felt heavy, deliberate—like thunder hidden behind a calm sky.
• “Dad,” he began slowly, his eyes meeting his father’s without flinching.
• “First of all, I am not going to waste my time looking for a girl I don’t even know. I don’t know her name. I don’t know what she looks like. I don’t even know if she exists or if this is just one of your twisted games.”
• He paused for a moment, holding back the storm rising inside him.
• “And second,” he continued, his tone now firm, almost exhausted, “I’ve told you this more times than I can count—I don’t want to get married. Not now. Not to Lilith. Not to anyone.”
• He shook his head, a tired smile playing on his lips—not one of amusement, but one that hid years of suffocation.
• “And just because she’s your best friend’s daughter doesn’t magically make her the right woman for me.”
• Without waiting for a reply, he turned toward the door.
• “And Dad…” he said over his shoulder, his voice soft but sharp, like the edge of a blade wrapped in silk, “not eating meals to guilt-trip me into submission—won’t change my decision.”
• And with that, he walked out, leaving the room filled with silence and a father fuming in helpless fury.
• As Alejandro passed by the grand living room, his eyes landed on Matías, who was just settling down at the breakfast table. The aroma of fresh coffee and warm toast filled the air, and for once, Matías looked like he was ready to enjoy a peaceful morning.
• But that peace didn’t last long.
• Without even pausing, Alejandro said coldly, his voice clipped and distant, “Matías, leave that plate and follow me. We have more important things to do.”
• Matías, who had just picked up his fork, blinked in disbelief. His stomach growled in protest. He looked up, clearly annoyed, and muttered with a groan, “Dude, let me at least have my breakfast.”
• There was no response. Not even a glance.
• Alejandro kept walking, his broad shoulders stiff, his jaw tight. The silence screamed louder than any words. And in that moment, Matías understood—his best friend was once again drowning in the foul aftertaste of another conversation with his father.