Chapter 2
Chapter 2: Ghosts of the Past
Eight years ago, Javier had known what true love felt like.
It was before his powerful family had cornered him into a strategic, empire-building marriage with Laura Rivas, the heiress to a massive corporate conglomerate. Before he was trapped in a gilded cage of million-dollar contracts, pretentious dinner parties, and the suffocating artificiality of high society. Back then, he was just a young man trying to prove his worth to a domineering father, and he had purchased a small art gallery downtown.
That was where he met Elena.
She was an art restorer. Far removed from the haughty socialites draped in designer labels he was used to, Elena possessed a quiet, gentle, and utterly genuine beauty. She spoke calmly, her eyes always direct and understanding. For six beautiful months, they hid from the world, belonging only to each other in a small apartment that smelled of oil paint and melted candle wax.
But deep down, Javier was a coward. When the Salvatierra family arranged the union with Laura Rivas, he didn't have the courage to fight back. He lied to himself, swearing he just needed a little more time to figure things out. But time became an excuse, and that excuse curdled into cruelty.
One pouring rainy night, Elena had shown up at the door of his luxury penthouse. Her eyes were red, her clothes soaked.
"Javier, I need to talk to you. It's incredibly important."
He had been tying his silk cravat, preparing to attend an engagement dinner with the Rivas family. Her sudden appearance sent him into a panic. Just then, Laura had stepped out of the living room, a white fur coat draped over her shoulders, offering a sharp, knowing smile.
"Is something wrong, darling?"
Javier had felt trapped in a vice between two lives. And he had chosen the path of least resistance.
"Elena... we will talk tomorrow. Please, go home."
She had looked at him—a deep, devastating look that seemed to pierce right through to the cowardice in his soul.
"No, Javier. There isn't going to be a tomorrow."
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She had turned and walked out into the rain. The next morning, he received a cold text message: "Do not look for me. What we had was a mistake." When he finally tried to call her, the number was disconnected. The bruised pride of a wealthy heir stopped him from searching further. He convinced himself she had simply moved on.
And now, the naked truth was standing right in front of him, wearing a white t-shirt, crying silently, and looking at the world with his very own eyes.
