I stayed where I was, perfectly still, my face calm even as something inside me finally broke free.
Once the silence settled, I called my Aunt Lyra. After my parents moved overseas years ago to expand the family’s criminal empire, she’d been the one who raised me.
Lorenzo and I grew up together—neighbors, allies, something that hovered just short of commitment. When Lyra married and left the country, I stayed behind. What was meant to be temporary quietly stretched into eight long years of shared space and undefined loyalty.
When she answered, her voice was bright with surprise.
“You’re getting married? To Lorenzo? Finally. Eight years is long enough, Sofia.”
I paused before correcting her.
“No, Aunt Lyra. It’s an arranged marriage. I haven’t even met the man yet.”
Silence followed, heavy and cautious.
“Are you certain?” she asked gently. “Lorenzo cares for you. Maybe he just needs pressure. I could talk to him.”
A short, bitter laugh slipped out.
“If he cared, he wouldn’t have needed eight years to decide. I waited while he kept me suspended between hope and nothing. What we had wasn’t love—it was convenience. And I won’t waste another year waiting for him to choose me.”