For a moment, I hesitated. This was the man I should hate, but seeing him like this, trembling and lost, something inside me softened.
Maybe it's empathy.
I stepped closer, unsure if he would lash out or push me away, but he didn't. Instead, he seemed trapped in his own torment. Gently, I sat beside him and placed a hand on his arm. "Sergio," I whispered, my voice barely audible.
His eyes shot open, wild and unfocused, but when they locked onto mine, the storm in them quieted just a little. "It's okay," I murmured, pulling him into a hug. At first, he resisted, but then his body slumped against mine as if surrendering to the comfort.
I didn't know what had caused his pain. Maybe it was a memory he couldn't escape, or perhaps something deeper. Whatever it was, in that moment, I forgot about fear and anger. All I saw was a man in need, and I held him until his breathing steadied.
"Sergio," I whispered again, my voice soft but insistent this time. "What's wrong? Why were you screaming?"
He stiffened in my arms, pulling back slightly to look at me. His dark eyes, still clouded. Then he straightened, brushing me off as if the moment of vulnerability hadn't just happened.
"It's nothing," he muttered, his voice low and guarded. "Go back to bed."
I frowned, searching his face for any cracks in the mask he wore so well. "Nothing?" I repeated, my tone disbelieving. "Sergio, you were screaming like you were being torn apart. That's not nothing."
His jaw clenched, the hard lines of his face sharpening as he looked away. "I said it's nothing," he bit out, the words like a warning.
But I didn't move. Something about the way his hands gripped the edge of the bed told me there was more to this than he wanted to admit. And then all I could see was hidden pain in his eyes.
"You don't have to tell me," I said softly, "but I can tell it's not just tonight. Is it... something that happens often?"
He didn't answer, but the tightening of his shoulders told me enough.
"I get nightmares," he admitted finally, the words so quiet I almost didn't catch them. "Almost every night."
I stayed silent, waiting for him to continue.
"They started after my sister died," he said, his voice hollow now, as if he were speaking to himself rather than me.
I didn't know what to say, so I did the only thing I could, I reached for his hand, my fingers curling around his.
"Sergio…I know it's my father's fault…. but…"
"Don't," he said, his voice sharp again, though it lacked the force it usually carried. "It doesn't matter. She's gone, and nothing can change that."
"But you can't keep fighting this alone," I said gently. "It's eating you up inside."
His lips twisted into a bitter smile, one that didn't reach his eyes. "Alone is all I've ever known."
I squeezed his hand, refusing to let go even when he tried to pull away. "Not anymore," I said firmly. "You're not alone tonight."
He giggled like a baby.
He didn't say another word, but he also didn't push me away. We sat like that until his breathing grew even, his head leaning slightly against mine. I stayed until I was sure he had fallen asleep, his features finally softening from the torment I'd seen earlier.
When I slipped back to my room, my mind was a whirlwind of emotions. I had seen something raw, something deeply human in him.
But it didn't erase what he had done to me. Still, I couldn't forget the broken man I had comforted in the darkness.
By morning, the warmth of the night had vanished like a fleeting dream.
I was startled awake by the sharp clang of my door swinging open. Sergio stood in the doorway, his usual commanding presence filling the room. His dark eyes were cold, a stark contrast to the vulnerability I had witnessed few hours ago.
"Get up," he barked, his tone curt and devoid of the softness I had heard last night.
I blinked at him, still groggy. "What?"
"You heard me," he snapped. "This isn't a vacation. You're not here to lounge around."
The tenderness I had felt for him in the quiet of the night dissolved into irritation. "You could at least knock," I muttered, throwing the blanket off me.
He didn't even flinch. "This is my house. I'll do as I please."
I bit back a retort, glaring at him as I got up. "What's your problem?" I asked, unable to help myself. "Last night, you…."
"Last night was nothing," he interrupted, his voice like steel. "Don't make the mistake of thinking it meant anything."
His words cut, even though I had expected them. "You're unbelievable," I muttered, brushing past him.
He grabbed my arm, his grip firm but not painful. "Don't test me," he said, his tone low and dangerous.
I wrenched my arm free, meeting his gaze with all the defiance I could muster. "And don't think I've forgotten who you are," I shot back. "Better pray I don't get out of this place alive."
"Breakfast is downstairs," he said flatly before turning and walking away, leaving me standing there, torn between anger and the memory of the man I had held in my arms just hours ago.
I wonder if his sharpness this morning was just another mask to cover the cracks I had glimpsed last night.
With a frustrated sigh, I headed to the wash room to get a quick bath before going downstairs. The smell of coffee and freshly baked bread wafted through the air, but the tension in the room hit me before I even stepped inside.
Sergio sat at the head of the dining table, his back straight, exuding authority. He didn't look up when I entered, his attention fixed on a newspaper in his hands.
"Good morning," I said cautiously, testing the waters.
His eyes moved to me briefly, cold and detached, before returning to the paper. "You're late," he said bluntly.
"For what? I didn't realize you had a schedule for prisoners," I shot back.
He finally lowered the newspaper, his jaw tightening as his sharp gaze locked onto mine. "Watch your mouth," he said, his voice low and menacing. "You're here because I allow it. Don't push your luck."
I crossed my arms. "Funny, I don't recall asking to be here. Do you think I'm not loved at home?"
The corner of his mouth twitched, almost like he was fighting a smirk, but his eyes gave nothing away. "Sit down and eat," he ordered, dismissing me as though the conversation was over.
"If you were loved, Don Parker would have made a move." I heard him mutter to himself. I felt ashamed.
Reluctantly, I took a seat at the far end of the table, as far from him as possible. A plate of food was set in front of me by a silent servant. I didn't feel hungry, but I picked at the food anyway, more out of defiance than appetite.
I could feel his gaze on me, but I refused to look up. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore.
"Why do you do it?" I asked, my voice quiet but steady.
"Do what?" he replied without looking at me.
"Push people away," I said. "Last night…."
He slammed the newspaper onto the table, making me jump. "Last night didn't happen," he growled. "Whatever you think you saw, forget it. Understand?"
The coldness in his voice sent a chill through me, but I wasn't about to let him shut me out completely. "You can pretend all you want, Sergio, but you can't hide from it forever,"
"And I'll have your father thanked for that." He growled loudly.
It was then that I remembered my place.
He stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor as he pushed it back. "You should be grateful that I'm keeping you alive. If it hadn't been for Parker I would have been leading a great life, don't you get it?"
"And you think I am happy with him?" I shot back out of anger.
"If you aren't happy just as you claim then I'll make sure I bring him here and I'll make you pull the trigger at him."
I thought I heard him wrong, but his facial expression says I heard him right. I was speechless, how can I pull a trigger at a human, not just anyone but my father.
Without another word, Sergio stormed out of the room, leaving me sitting there with my unfinished breakfast and a knot in my chest.