CHAPTER 3

Viola stood in front of the small mirror in her bedroom, her fingers gently touching her jaw.

Yesterday, right after her mother’s hand had cracked across her face, Viola had run to the bathroom and desperately covered the angry red mark with cheap foundation. Now, with the makeup washed off, a faint, yellowish-blue bruise stained her pale skin.

A quiet, sad laugh left her lips. Her mother was a religious person. She went to church every single day, praying to God to keep sinners and filth away from their family, yet she never hesitated to strike her youngest daughter.

Viola had never worn a short dress in her entire life. But the exact second Vanessa told their mother she found that cheap red dress in Viola’s closet, Octavia believed her blindly. She didn’t even give Viola a chance to speak. Vanessa could parade around the house in short, tight dresses all day and be called flawless, but Viola was always the filthy sinner.

Octavia never listened to Viola’s side. It was always like that. Rafael was exactly the same. So Viola had just learned to avoid them all at every possibility.

She dropped her hand and pulled the collar of her oversized grey sweater up a little higher.

Her tiny room was freezing in the early morning, but the chill on her skin wasn't just from the temperature. Every time her mind drifted back to the terrace last night, a fresh wave of goosebumps prickled along her arms.

Her stepbrother.

Just thinking the word sent a quiet shiver down her spine. When her mother first married Rafael, bringing a twelve-year-old Viola to this massive estate, a small, naive part of her had hoped. She had thought that maybe having an older stepbrother meant having someone who would protect her from her family. But she quickly realized that was just a stupid childhood fantasy. Maybe he hated her too.

Since the wedding, Sebastian had never visited the estate. Or maybe he had, and she just never knew. Vanessa had met him before, but Viola had never seen him in person until yesterday.

Viola only knew him through the hushed, terrified whispers of the estate staff. They whispered that he was a monster. A ruthless cartel king who ruled the dark with an iron fist. She remembered Rafael yelling in his office once, furious because Sebastian didn't care about inheriting the traditional Spanish Mafia title. Sebastian did whatever he wanted. He had built his own cartel, his own kingdom, and he answered to no one.

But hearing about him was nothing compared to standing in front of him.

She couldn't stop thinking about his eyes. Striking amber. She had never seen eyes like that in her life. The way he had watched her in the dark... it didn't feel human. It felt like being studied by something dangerous.

Viola shook her head, trying to clear the thought. She grabbed a worn paperback book from her nightstand and slipped out of her room.

She kept her head down, navigating the massive, quiet corridors. She just wanted to find somewhere to hide before Vanessa woke up and the daily torment began.

She slipped into the library.

It was a massive, two-story room filled with the smell of old paper and dark wood. Viola found a large, high-backed leather chair tucked away in the farthest corner, curled her legs up underneath her, and opened her book.

For a little while, it was peaceful.

Then, the heavy oak doors clicked open.

Viola froze. Her fingers gripped the edges of her book.

Heavy, unhurried footsteps moved across the hardwood floor. Not the sharp click of Vanessa’s heels.

"Tell Mateo to handle it," a rough voice commanded.

Sebastian.

Viola stopped breathing. She sank deeper into the leather chair, praying the high back completely hid her from view.

"No," Sebastian continued, his voice cold and flat as he spoke into his phone. "I don't care what excuse they gave. Have Enoch pay them a visit tonight. Make sure they don't make the same mistake twice."

Viola swallowed hard. The absolute deadness in his tone made her chest tight. He sounded exactly like the rumors said—casual, ruthless, and terrifying.

The phone clicked shut.

Silence fell over the library. Viola didn't move a muscle. She waited for the sound of his footsteps to leave the room. Instead, she heard the soft clink of glass against crystal. He was pouring a drink.

"If you're going to hide in my house, dulzura," his rough voice drifted through the quiet room, sounding completely bored. "You need to learn how to breathe quieter."

Viola’s heart dropped into her stomach.

She squeezed her eyes shut, her hands shaking slightly, before she slowly lowered her legs and stood up from the chair.

Sebastian was standing by a dark wooden cart across the room. He wasn't wearing a suit jacket today. He had on a black button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing thick veins. He held a glass of amber liquid in one hand.

He didn't look surprised to see her. He just took a slow sip of his drink, his sharp eyes pinning her in place.

"I'm... I'm sorry," Viola stammered, clutching her book to her chest. "I didn't mean to intrude. I was just—"

"Leaving," he finished for her.

"Y-yes." She kept her eyes on the floor, her face heating up. "I'll go."

She hurried out from behind the chair, keeping her distance as she walked toward the doors. She practically hugged the bookshelves, desperate to escape the heavy, suffocating weight of his presence.

"Stop."

Viola halted instantly. Her sneakers squeaked slightly against the wood. She didn't turn around.

She heard the soft clink of his glass being set down. Then, the slow, heavy sound of his footsteps approaching. He walked around her until he was standing directly in her line of sight, blocking the exit.

Viola kept her chin tucked down, staring nervously at the middle button of his dark shirt.

Sebastian didn't say anything at first. He just stood there, tall and imposing, invading her personal space without even touching her. Then, he tilted his head, his gaze dragging over her face in the morning light.

His eyes stopped on her left cheek.

"Look up."

Viola’s breath hitched. Her hands tightened around her book. "I really should—"

"I won't say it twice."

The quiet command left no room for arguing. Trembling, she slowly raised her head, her violet eyes meeting his amber ones.

Sebastian stared at the faint, yellowish bruise on her pale skin. His expression didn't change. There was no pity in his eyes, no soft concern. He just looked at the mark with cold, clinical precision.

"Who hit you?" he asked, his voice completely flat.

Viola’s stomach twisted. She quickly reached up, pulling a thick section of her dark hair forward to hide her jaw. "No one. I... I hit my face on a door."

Sebastian let out a short, humorless scoff. He shoved one hand into his pocket, looking down at her like she was the worst liar he had ever met.

"A door," he repeated dryly. "Right. Because doors leave finger marks."

Viola flushed, dropping her gaze back to his chest. Her throat felt tight with embarrassment. She hated that he saw it. She hated that he knew.

"It's fine," she whispered, her voice barely working. "It doesn't hurt."

"I didn't ask if it hurt," he replied carelessly. "I asked who did it."

Viola shifted her weight, nervously picking at the cover of her book. "It doesn't matter."

"Was it the mother?" he guessed, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Or the sister?"

"Please," she stuttered, taking a small step back. "Just... leave it alone. I'm used to it."

Sebastian stared at her for a long time. The silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable. He didn't reach out to comfort her. He didn't offer to protect her. He just watched her shake.

"You let them treat you like a stray dog," he finally said, his voice dropping into a rough, cruel murmur. "No wonder you flinch at your own shadow."

The words stung, hitting her right in the chest.

Viola didn't have a response to that. She knew she was weak. She knew she didn't know how to fight back. She just squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could disappear right into the floorboards.

Sebastian stepped aside, clearing the path to the door.

"Run along," he dismissed her, his tone dropping back into a cold drawl.

Viola didn't look at him again. She hurried past him, practically running out of the library.

But even as she fled down the hallway, she could feel his heavy stare following her. And it made her shiver all over again.