The Sins of Noelle (War of Sins Book 4)

Veronica Lancet
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The Sins of Noelle
Veronica Lancet
Copyright © 2023 by Veronica Lancet

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and
retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
 Contents

Preface

1. Rafaelo
2. Rafaelo
3. Noelle
4. Noelle
5. Noelle
6. Noelle
7. Noelle
8. Noelle
9. Noelle
10. Noelle
11. Noelle
12. Noelle
13. Noelle
14. Noelle
15. Noelle
16. Rafaelo
17. Rafaelo
18. Rafaelo
19. Rafaelo
20. Noelle
21. Noelle
22. Noelle
23. Noelle
24. Noelle
25. Noelle
26. Noelle
 Preface

This is the fourth book in the War of Sins Series and it is not a standalone.
It ends on a cliffhanger and Rafaelo & Noelle will get their HEA in the fifth book, The Moral
Dilemma.
Please be mindful of the trigger warnings:
CONTENT WARNINGS: animal death, ableism, abuse, attempted rape, blood (gore), bullying,
blood play, death, derogatory terms, descriptive child abuse/child death, domestic abuse, drugs, guns,
extreme graphic violence, extreme graphic sexual situations, extreme depictions of torture, extreme
depictions of torture, forced marriage, gaslighting, kidnapping, knife play, murder, mental illness,
non-con/dubcon, necrophilia, ritualistic killing (gore), self-harm, substance abuse, suicide.
 1. Rafaelo

"Y ou can't continue like this, Raf," Carlos reproaches from the other end of the line.
"And what do you suppose I do?" I ask drily. "Try finding out your wife might be a
psychopath who birthed your child without you knowing. A child that is no longer alive," I add
pointedly, anguish lodging in my throat anew at the thought of that poor little soul who never got the
chance to live.
"That's what Lucero said. You forget it was Michele who brought her in to confess. I would take
everything she says with a grain of salt."
"Maybe I would have. If I didn't catch Noelle in Ortega's room, his blood would be all over her.
Maybe I would have, if she didn't confirm it with her own fucking mouth, Carlos. She admitted it to
my face. That it was my child who died. That…" I trail off as I take a deep gulp of air.
Already, I feel myself getting worked up as I remember the events from five days ago.
To think that I've been living with a stranger this whole time…
But that's the thing, isn't it? She fooled us all.
Even I, who I thought knew her best, knew her least.
God, but how could she have looked into my eyes and lie to me like that?
Every time we talked about her memories, she would give me one of her sweet smiles, assuring
me I would be the first to know when she remembered.
Joke's on me, isn't it?
While I was wishing her memory would never come back so she wouldn't suffer the repercussions
of it, she must have been laughing at me while remembering everything.
"But did you listen to her entire explanation? Did you hear the whole story?" He continues,
pushing me into a corner because…I hadn't.
I'd been so angry that I'd simply shut her out after I'd gotten her confession. And for almost a week
now, I've barely seen her.
Closed off in my office, I've slept and eaten here—anything so I don't come face to face with her.
How the hell could she have acted so innocent when I'd told her about my recent flashback about
a woman raping me? How could she have assured me it was all a dream when it had been her. All
along, it had been her.
Fuck… How the hell did she fool everyone?
Slowly, Cisco's little clues and ominous warnings come to mind, and I realize he'd known all
along. Maybe not all the details, but he'd known her.
 Suddenly, a lot of things are starting to make sense. Most of all the fact that Cisco may not have
been the tyrannical older brother I'd believed him to be.
"I'll talk to you later," I tell Carlos, closing before offering a reply to his previous question.
Hanging up, I toss my phone on my desk, and I bring my fingers to my temples, slowly massaging
them.
Do I want answers? Yes. Do I trust myself to be in the same room as Noelle without strangling
her? Debatable.
At some point, I know I'll have to confront her and have everything out in the open. But not now.
Not when my wounds are still raw and bleeding, reopened after so many years.
I'd thought the hacienda was the most dehumanizing experience there could be, and after suffering
Armand for a few months, that's saying something. But to hear that it had been even more than I
remembered? That not only had I been exploited physically through forced labor and drained
emotionally with those drug-induced comas, but that I'd also been assaulted by the woman I loved
most in the world?
And I'd loved her at that time too.
A sardonic smile pulls at my lips as I imagine how she must have done it. During the day she'd
come to me, pretending to be my friend and forbidden love, sharing her soul with me—if any of that
was even true—while at night she'd simply take advantage of me to fulfill some sick perversions.
Yet the questions abound.
Why?
Had it been a mere sexual perversion, or has she purposefully used me as her drug-addled
stallion?
Days of ruminating over this matter and I cannot make any sense of…anything. And it's all
because I don't know this, Noelle. I don't know this woman, who by all rights is my wife, yet is
nothing more than a stranger.
Where before I'd thought her sweet, innocent and kind, it couldn't be further from the truth, could
it? Yet, some of that sweetness still clings to her, to her expressions and the way her doe-like eyes
regard me with deeply entranced sorrow.
But it's all an act.
She's sweet, but only to lure me into her clutches.
Cisco had known that all along. And as that thought crosses my mind, I pick up my phone again,
dialing his number.
"DeVille," he answers promptly.
"Noelle. What did you mean before when you said I don't know her?"
There's a pause, a faint chuckle echoing on the line.
"So, you finally figured it out?"
"What did you mean by it?"
"Meet me," he says, clicking his teeth. "At the end of the week at my home. Four in the afternoon."
"Why not say it now?"
"Because I can't possibly summarize a lifetime, can I?" he drawls in a languid voice. "But if
you're calling, I'm guessing you've had some kind of epiphany about her. Who did she kill?"
My eyes widen in shock at his direct question.
"Ah, I see I'm right," he continues when I don't reply. "Noelle is…complicated."
 "She killed Ortega," I state, curious to see his reaction.
"I was wondering if she would. She got the address from me, you know. Broke into my house and
all that," he whistles.
"What? When?" I frown at that piece of news.
"When you were in the hospital," Cisco chuckles. "She's quite the chameleon, isn't she?"
"End of the week at four. I'll see you then."
Cisco continues to laugh.
"Be careful. You're safe since you're her weakness. But anyone else… You might want to put a
leash on her."
"Right. I'll take that under advisement," I add drily before ending the call.
My lip twitches in annoyance at Cisco's blasé attitude and his sick sense of humor. But of course,
he'd derive amusement from his sister being a psychotic killer. Aren't they cut from the same cloth?
At the same time, his words echo in my mind—that Noelle had broken into his home to get
Ortega's address. And then she'd gone and killed him herself.
Why, it's clear.
For me.
She'd killed him for me. Because he'd hurt me.
I bring my fist to my chest, banging lightly before rubbing at the spot over my heart.
Fuck, but I must be equally as sick to find that gesture sweet. Yet I can't deny that the thought that
she'd go to such lengths for me makes me…hard.
Shit.
"Shit, shit, shit," I curse as I hit the table, the loud noise resounding in my entire office.
I need to shove all my tender feelings towards her in a box until I can resolve the messy ones—the
confusion, hate, and disbelief I feel at knowing what she's done to me. And though thus far I've
avoided confronting the problem head on, to fully move on I need to do it.
Because I'd been out most of the time and I have very little recollection of my time at the
hacienda, I cannot conceptualize the fact that this could have happened to me. That Noelle would
have…drugged me and fucked me while I was barely conscious.
For fuck's sake, she had my child!
Of everything, that is the one thing that hurts the most, both in the fact that it had been conceived
without my knowledge or consent, and that he was gone before I could even meet him.
She'd said it had been a boy.
A son.
I had a son, and I didn't even know about it.
My lips twitch as a sad smile pulls at my features.
And now that I know about him, I can't do anything.
He's already gone.
God, but how do I come to grips with that? I can barely understand my own feelings—if what I
feel is anger at what she's done, or grief at knowing I had a child…who died.
How does one deal with that?
So lost in my own thoughts I am that I barely notice the door as it creeps open.
My head whips up, my eyes narrowing on the small form tentatively walking inside.
Closing the door behind her, she fits herself to the wooden frame, her hands behind her back, her
eyes big and fearful.
She's looking at me as if I might kill her any moment when it's her that killed my goddamn heart.
"What are you doing here, Noelle?" I snap at her.
She visibly flinches, her features paling as she swallows hard.
My eyes trace the column of her neck, sliding lower as I realize what she's wearing.
A flimsy dark violet satin nightgown that leaves little to the imagination as the material clings to
her curves, hugging her breasts until her nipples are poking through.
"Can we…talk?" she asks uncertainly.
I raise a bored eyebrow at her, leaning back in my chair and giving her my attention—yet it's not
in the way she wants.
Going by the way she's dressed, she doesn't have any discussion in mind. Rather, she's here to try
her wiles on me—use her body to seduce me where her words no longer have any effect.
I can immediately tell that is her goal, just as I know that she's convinced she will succeed.
Ah, my little liar. I have bad news for you.
My cock might get hard for you, but my heart is already made of stone.
"About?"
"Us. This situation… Will you let me tell you what happened? You can judge me after. But first,
please…" she wets her lips as she starts towards me.
Every single goddamn movement she makes is the epitome of sensuality. She might fear my
rejection, but she's banking on using her sexuality to ensnare me—as she's done from the beginning.
A twitch in my cheek alerts me to my mounting anger and the fact that I'm no longer doing anything
to disguise it.
Who the hell does she think she is?
She sashays her hips as she walks towards me, stopping right by my desk as she places one hand
to support herself on the surface of the table. She leans ever so slightly towards me, pushing her tits in
my face.
I pretend to not notice the triumphant smile that tips at her lips as I purposefully glide my eyes
down her chest, zoning in on the valley of her breasts before admiring the way her nipples pebble
even further against her dress.
She thinks she has me, doesn't she?
For fuck's sake, does she think I'm such a mindless fool that I'll forget everything she's done just
because she's flashing her tits in front of me? That I'm so weak I'll let myself be led by my dick
despite everything that happened between us?
If she thinks that strategy is going to work, she's sorely mistaken. How could it ever work when it
reminds me further of her crimes? By using her sexuality to get a reaction out of me, she's showing me
that it's the only thing she has going for her.
God, but how could I have ever thought her innocent? How the hell could I have thought her naïve
and pure when she's the furthest thing from it?
I don't answer, merely leaning back in my chair, my eyes narrowed at her as I wait for her to make
her move.
Though I can't believe the gall of her, I can't help but feel a little curious as to what she has to say.
"I know I'm likely the last person you want to see now," she starts again, her voice trembling.
"And I tried to give you time. I swear to God I tried… But I can't go on like this, Raf. I can't bear the
thought that you might hate me… Forever…" she trails off, her eyes glossy with unshed tears.
"Whose fault is it, Noelle?" I finally speak, my voice coming out harsh and unyielding.
She blinks, swallowing hard.
"Mine," she whispers as she averts her gaze.
"At least you admit that," I scoff mockingly.
"Will you let me explain, please? Yes, I admit that I behaved badly—that I did bad things. But
there's always a context isn't there?" she asks with half a smile, no doubt trying to elicit some
sympathy from me. "You can judge me all you want after I tell you what happened, and I will accept
whatever you decide. Just…" she licks her lips, her eyes wide and fearful—enough that it makes me
wonder if this is all an act or not.
"And do you really think I would believe a word you say, Noelle?"
She flinches at my question.
"Do you think I'd trust you again when all you've told me so far have been lies?"
"I didn't lie…" she's quick to protest before her eyes go wide with realization.
"You didn't lie?" I raise a brow at her, tilting my head and studying her.
She looks so small and frail in that flimsy dress of hers. She might have wanted to come across as
sexy and seductive, but the more I look at her, the more I see only one thing—fear.
She's only trying to put on a strong front, but deep down, she's petrified.
My gaze dips to her fingers and the way she fidgets with her nails, digging them in her skin until
droplets of blood pool to the surface. It's one of her habits when she finds herself in an uncomfortable
situation. That's when I realize that she might be a veritable actress, but she's still human.
The signs of her deceit had been there all along. I'd just been too fucking wrapped up in her to
realize—too goddamn blind to anything but my love for her.
"I may have omitted some things, but I didn't lie to you, Raf. I didn't lie to your face," she shakes
her head vehemently.
Before I can stop myself, my fingers close around the delicate skin of her neck, gripping tightly as
I bring her face close to mine.
"You didn't lie?" I repeat, my tone biting.
She blinks repeatedly, surprised to see the change in me.
"Raf…" she yelps, her arms flailing by her side before her hands come to rest on my wrist, trying
to escape my grip.
My lip twitches in disgust. At her. At myself. At this whole fucking situation.
With a push, I fling her from me. She stumbles back, her expression shocked.
"Leave," I rasp.
She looks at me for a moment before she steps back.
My chest rises and falls with every breath as I try to control myself. Yet as she reaches the door,
it's not to open it and leave me the fuck alone.
Her fingers on the lock, she turns it to the side, effectively locking the door.
Swiveling to face me, she straightens her spine before she reaches for the thin straps of her dress,
pulling them down her shoulders and letting the garment pool at her feet.
Stepping out of the dress, she tentatively walks towards me.
I grind my jaw in displeasure as I realize I'd been right about her strategy from the beginning. She
didn't come to have a genuine conversation—regardless of whether I may, or may not have been
inclined to listen to her. She's only here to get some fucked up ego boost, isn't she?
"Raf," she says my name in that throaty voice of hers, knowing it will get a reaction out of me.
And oh, but it does.
I take deep, even breaths as I try to keep my anger at bay—so that I won't fucking strangle her on
the spot.
"I missed you," she whispers as she approaches, undulating her body so every curve is
emphasized.
My treacherous eyes don't seem to get the memo that I should be indifferent to her as my gaze dips
from her face to her torso, admiring the way her full tits bounce with every step. Going lower, I gulp
down as I scan her trim waist and flared hips that give way to long, shapely legs.
Noelle might be small, but her body is the stuff of wet dreams.
But then there's the triangle of dark hair at the apex of her thighs, taunting me with every little
movement as I spot the glistening evidence of her arousal clinging to her pussy lips.
Fuck. Me.
My whole body tenses as she stops in front of me, sliding between me and the table.
"What do you think you're doing, Noelle?" I ask in an unbothered tone.
Yet it takes everything in me to pretend to be unaffected when I'm everything but.
I might be mad at her. I might hate all the deceit and despise her for what she's done.
But even the most horrible news doesn't erase the fact that I still love her, or that she's the only
woman to ever have such a devastating effect on my body.
Her villainy doesn't decrease her physical appeal—not one bit.
"Didn't you come here to talk?" I raise a brow at her. "So talk. But you can do that clothed, too," I
remark drily, sneering as I look her up and down.
She's so fucking close, I can smell her. And as my nostrils flare with the combination of her body
wash and her natural musky scent, I find myself worse than before. I'm teetering on the edge, and if
she poked me with one finger right now, I'd fall.
Fuck.
Since my days at the hacienda and knowing what it's truly like to lose control of my body, I've
done everything in my power to maintain it in all aspects of my life. And having her like this, so close
—so fucking close—doesn't help one bit.
I'm one second away from blowing, and she can sense it, too. She's banking on it.
"I didn't rape you," she suddenly says, bringing her eyes to me. "Technically," she adds after a
brief pause.
My lips quirk up in amusement.
"Technically?" I repeat, doing my best not to succumb to laughter at her flimsy excuse.
Her nose scrunches up as she purses her lips.
"Yes, you were drugged and that blurs the lines," she eventually admits, still fidgeting with her
hands. "But even drugged you were conscious enough to give your consent. The drug at the hacienda
was different from the one you're taking now. You, yourself told me that. Then it stands to reason that
it would work differently, too. And it did. It was never meant to intoxicate you. The goal was always
to alter memory. And that means while you were on it, you were still you—still conscious. It's just
that…"
Damn, but what a sight!
 My wife, standing naked before me and trying to argue what constitutes rape and what technically
doesn't.
"It's just what?" I raise my eyebrows.
She takes a deep breath.
"It made you freer."
I frown.
"Explain."
Her eyes flash at my tone. She rakes her teeth over her lower lip as she brings her hands to my
chest, trailing her fingers down my body. Her touch is light, but distracting altogether.
"You were uninhibited. No longer concerned with right, or wrong. You were you, but untethered
to anything that held you back before," she finally says.
"And you think that made it ok for you to fuck me while I'd have no memory of it afterwards?" I
demand harshly.
Her hands suddenly still over my chest.
"No," she whispers, shaking her head. "It doesn't make it ok. I know this now, and I knew it back
then."
"And you still did it."
A nod.
"I still did it."
"Why?"
"Because it was the only way I could have you," she confesses with a sad smile.
I'm stunned into silence as I can only stare at her, unable to believe the woman I'd fallen in love
with and the one before me are one and the same.
I'd always felt there was a side of Noelle that hid beneath her sunny disposition and gentle nature,
but I would have never believed it to be something like this.
"You were married," I point out the obvious, curious to see how she would justify that.
She shakes her head, her mouth curling at the corners.
"I didn't see myself as married," she replies with a careless roll of her shoulders. "I never saw
myself married to anyone but you," she continues.
Despite the moral dilemma of the question, her answer pleases me.
"And you see nothing wrong with anything you did," I state.
I'm not yet ready to question her about Mali. Not when I'm hanging by a thread and any mention of
his name could be my trigger. But that doesn't mean I don't hold that piece of information close to my
heart—the fact that not only had she technically raped me, but she'd also secretly had my child.
"No," she says as she tips her chin up, confidence oozing from her voice. "I don't. I would do it
again. And again. And again."
That surprises me.
"Is that why you came here?" I give a sarcastic laugh. "How did you think any of this would help
your narrative when you know it was wrong and you'd do it again?"
"I don't want it to help my narrative," she suddenly mentions, her voice serious. "I'm not going to
skew the facts and give you reason to doubt me again. I just…" she trails off as she takes a deep
breath. "I want you to know me. The me I didn't have the courage to show you before."
I quickly mask my surprise at her words, especially since I don't detect any trace of deceit. She
really believes this, doesn't she?"
"Is that so…" I muse. "What about the you until now? Who was that?"
Her lips spread into a tremulous smile.
"That? It was part me and part…who I wanted to be. Alas, we don't always get what we want, do
we?"
I narrow my eyes at her.
"Then it seems we're at a standstill, are we not? Because the woman I fell in love with, by your
own admission, does not exist. That makes our entire relationship invalid."
"No," she quickly says, coming closer.
She grabs my shirt, her fingers scrunching the material, her face inches away from mine.
"No," she repeats with a shake of her head. "Everything we shared was real, Raf. If there is one
person in the world I can be vulnerable with, it's you—only you. It's just that there is another side of
me outside of us. One that doesn't need protection, or to be taken care of. One that can take care of
herself and her problems. It's just that…if I'm with you, I don't want to be that person. I just want to be
yours," she takes a deep breath, her words uttered with such passion, I feel them in my fucking bones.
Yet no matter how pretty her words are, or how much they affect me because they are what I've
always wanted to hear, I can't deny the truth of the situation.
"You should leave," I add quietly, not trusting myself to say more.
Disentangling her hands from my shirt, I push her aside.
She continues to shake her head at me.
"No. No, Raf. I can't leave," she says, her words becoming frantic. "Five days. One hundred
twenty-one hours and five minutes. That's how long it's been since we've last been together. And I.
Can't. Bear. It," she breathes heavily as she bangs her small fists against my chest. "Please don't send
me away. I'll answer all your questions. I'll tell you everything you need to know. Just please…"
"Noelle," I sigh as I push her from me. "I don't want you here and I don't want to hear what you
have to say."
"But…Raf…"
"As you said, I have no memory of those times I was under the influence. That means I don't know
whether I gave consent or not. I don't know what you did to me. You or God knows who else…"
"No," she interrupts me. "I swear to you that no one else touched you," she adds anxiously. "I
would have never let anyone harm you. You must believe me."
"But that's just the thing, Noelle. You could tell me the earth revolves around the sun and I would
still doubt it. Please leave before we make this worse."
"No… Raf… Where does that leave us?"
The last question is barely audible as she stares at me with wide, teary eyes.
I don't answer her. The slight downturn of my lips is enough to convey what I think the future will
bring—and enough to put more terror into her features.
"Raf… It's still me. I'm still the same Noelle, please."
"You need to leave, Noelle. I want to be alone," I tell her once more.
When she doesn't move, I do it myself.
I get to my feet and by-pass her to leave the room.
Despite my rather calm disposition until now, I know I won't be able to maintain the ruse for much
longer. Not as her words churn in my mind and make me want to explode with anger—at her, at my
brother, at everyone who had a hand in what happened to me.
Suddenly, the past is no longer the past. I've worked far too hard these last two years to move on
just for one moment to make everything unravel and the very foundation I built crumble.
But that's what it's about to happen.
Her presence. Her excuses. Her blatant indifference and her ambivalence towards right and
wrong. Every single word that comes out of her mouth is slowly making me lose what little control I
have left.
I only get to the middle of the room before she jumps in front of me, placing her slight body in my
way to stop my advance.
"You can't leave me," she declares, her eyes searching mine.
I give nothing away as I blank my features.
Tension runs high as my body tenses at her touch. Yet I don't give her the pleasure of seeing how
much she affects me. I simply continue to show her my emotionless expression and the way nothing
she can say or do will change my mind.
"I told you I wanted to be alone, Noelle. Do me the decency to respect at least that boundary, even
if you don't see it as such," I add sarcastically.
"No," she shakes her head. "We need to solve this, Raf. Now. Before it festers. Before…" she
closes her eyes. "I can't bear it that you're upset with me. That you…"
"Have you even thought about how I feel?"
She blinks in confusion at my question.
"This is all about you and the effect the separation has on you. But have you thought about what
your actions did to me? The hurt I feel?"
"Yes," she whispers. "Not only have I thought about it, I knew from the beginning that if…"
"And there it goes," I cut her off. "You say you didn't lie to me, but if you knew how I'd react to
the truth, you sure went out of your way so I wouldn't find out. How is that not a lie?"
She stares at me for a moment, and for the first time, it seems I shut her up.
Shaking my head at the situation, I move towards the door.
"No," she repeats, placing herself in front of me again. "Please don't leave. Please," she begs.
And fuck me if her words don't manage to get a reaction out of me.
"I don't want to see you, Noelle. I don't want to hear from you. I sure as fuck don't want to spend
another moment in your presence. What's so fucking hard to understand?" I grit out.
Before I realize what she means to do, she drops to her knees in front of me.
Her hands are on my belt as she quickly unbuckles it.
"What are you doing?" I enunciate each word carefully, but I don't stop her. Not when I'm curious
what she's going to do—how far she's going to take this. It seems that if talking won't work to her
advantage, then…
"You're not indifferent to me," she says, looking up at me with a hesitant smile on her lips as she
traces the hard ridge of my dick with her fingers.
I steel myself against the shudder that goes down my spine at her light touch, simply giving her a
bored look.
"You're naked. I'm a man," I shrug. "We both know I find you attractive, Noelle. That's never been
the problem."
"Then fuck me," she suddenly says. "If words don't work, then let our bodies do the talking. Your
body knows me, Raf. It recognizes me, and only me, and it knows that I would never do anything bad
to it."
I blink in shock, unable to muster a reply.
She doesn't get it. She simply…doesn't get it.
Mistaking my silence for agreement, she slides my zipper down, reaching inside and wrapping her
fingers around my hard cock. And I am hard—have been since the moment she walked in and flaunted
her too fucking perfect body in front of me.
She nuzzles her face against my shaft, bringing it to her lips and laying a quick kiss to the head
before sucking me deep in her mouth.
I bite back a moan at the onslaught of sensations as I struggle to keep my head about me.
She's smart. I'll give her that. She knows that our physical chemistry is one of a kind, and that her
effect on my senses can have an intoxicating effect—ironically, almost as potent as drugs. She's aware
that I'm weak as fuck where it comes to my desire for her so she's trying to use it against me.
My fists clench by my side as it dawns on me just how much of a stranger the woman in front of
me is. At the same time, though, I realize that the only way to beat her at this game is to truly show her
she cannot control me—not with her body, nor with these petty tactics.
So I don't move.
I push back against the treacherous sensations she elicits off my body as I concentrate all my
willpower towards not coming. Even if her mouth is a hot, wet heaven; even if it's been almost a
week since I've last been inside of her, I won't give her that satisfaction.
She brings her gaze to mine, her lips wrapped around the head of my cock as she flutters her
lashes seductively. Her tongue swirls around the underside, making it increasingly harder to maintain
my composure.
"Are you done?" I ask in a bored tone.
Her brows furrow at my question and she draws back, my cock falling from her mouth and leaving
a trail of saliva behind.
"Raf…"
I don't let her continue as I grab her chin between my fingers, jolting her towards me.
"Do you think this is going to magically solve anything?" I ask as I look her straight in the eye, my
gaze as unyielding as my tone.
Her eyes are so damn clear and beautiful, reminding me once more of the ruse she'd played on me,
pretending to be some goddamn pure little angel when all along she'd been the devil in disguise.
She licks her lips as she looks at me, not daring to reply.
"You're pathetic if you think a pity fuck would solve anything," I shake my head at her.
"Pity…Pity fuck?" she repeats incredulously.
"What else could it be when I can barely stand the sight of you?"
She blinks, pain entering her gaze, and fuck if that doesn't affect me.
Why the hell do I have to be so weak when it comes to her? Even knowing all that she's done and
it still cuts me on the inside to see her hurt.
"I'll take it," she whispers. "Pity fuck or not, I'll take it. I'll be as pathetic as you want me to be.
I'll beg on my knees. I'll do anything… Just don't send me away. Don't…" her breath hitches as she
tries her best to keep her tears at bay.
"Fucking hell! Do you have no pride, woman?" I ask in disgust as her words sink in.
 "No," she states confidently. "When it comes to you, I don't."
Her statement takes me by surprise. Then it angers me.
So this is how she thinks she'll solve everything? By offering to be my fucktoy?
Bitter laugh bubbles inside of me.
She doesn't realize what she did wrong because she doesn't see it as wrong. By her own
admission, she'd do it all over again. And now she thinks that if she prostrates herself at my feet I'll
forget all about it and resume our relationship as it was before.
Yet, the biggest question is… What did we even have before? If everything was based on lies,
was it even real?
My anger mounts at the situation, regret and despair mingling inside of me at realizing the most
beautiful thing in my life had been nothing more than a lie.
A fucking shameless lie.
And as if I were back to the moment I found out about everything, I feel as though the rug's been
swept from beneath my feet, confusion swirling in my mind as well as a deep regret.
After I escaped the hacienda, I had one purpose—get revenge on those who wronged me. More
than anything, I wanted to avenge what I believed to be the death of my beloved. Once that goal
disappeared, I focused on Noelle as my entire reason for being, her happiness my happiness, her mere
presence the only impetus I needed to live. When you remove all that…
I'm left with nothing. Fucking nothing.
And it's my fault as well as hers because I should have never made her the entire reason for my
existence. I should have never fucking put her on a pedestal, worshipping her rather than loving her.
As I stare down at her face, one I'd previously thought perfect, I'm suddenly struck by all the flaws
reflecting back.
She's…human. She's not perfect—she never was. But the realization leaves a gaping hole in my
heart—one that's bleeding as it's breathing out in relief. And for the pain it's causing me with each
deflated breath, I want her to suffer too, not only for the past, but for the present, too. For taking away
the only crutch I had, the only stable thing in my life.
For making me feel so fucking aimless when just days ago I thought I had it all.
She. Needs. To. Fucking. Suffer.
"Pity fuck," I shake my head, a dark laugh escaping me. "Fine. If that's what you want, that's what
you'll get," I tell her in the most indifferent tone I can muster. "Go to the desk. On your belly. Ass to
me."
Her lashes flutter in surprise, and I expect her to finally snap out of it, curse me and maybe get out
of the room and leave me the fuck alone.
But she surprises me when she does neither.
She simply rises to her feet, unabashed by her nakedness as she moves fluidly to the desk. Leaning
onto the surface of the table, she tips her ass up, her feet slowly coming apart as she wiggles her hips.
I swallow hard as I get an unobstructed view of her perfect pussy.
But no matter how fucking hard the sight of it makes me, I can't let this cloud my mind.
Pity fuck…sure. This is the only way to prove to her and myself that my dick doesn't dictate the
show.
Stopping behind her, I bring one finger to her folds, arousal immediately coating my digit.
"You're a horny little bitch, aren't you?" I mutter, amused when I feel her body tremble at my
touch.
"I can be anything for you," she replies in a subdued voice, forcing herself not to move.
"We've clearly ascertained that," I give a dry laugh.
She stiffens against me, but she doesn't reply.
I have to wonder how long she'll keep this up.
"Tell me, Noelle," I start as I circle her entrance with my finger. "How did I fuck you back then?
Or did you have to do all the work because I was too out of it?"
"No," she shakes her head against the desk. "You were conscious. I told you…"
"How come I remember differently then?" I snap.
"It was one time…" she whispers.
Her words kick me in the chest with the power of a thousand bullets. Without even thinking, I dig
my fingers into her ass, holding her still as I align my cock to her entrance and push inside her in a
punishing thrust.
Her body tenses at the invasion, but she's so fucking wet, I know it's not pain she's feeling.
"Enlighten me then, how did I fuck you?"
She's breathing heavily as she grips the sides of the table to keep herself still.
"Tell me," I repeat as I hold onto her hips, retreating before surging forth once more.
She releases a sweet moan as she pushes her ass further into me, encouraging me to plunge
deeper, fuck her harder. The sensations are heavenly, but when are they not when I'm fucking her? Yet
I can't let myself be hypnotized by that. I can't let myself be sidetracked.
"Speak," I demand harshly as I grab her neck, squeezing lightly.
"Like this," she utters in a low voice. "Like an animal," she continues. "You fucked me like an
animal."
I can't help the mocking laughter that escapes me.
"And that's how you want it, don't you? You want to be taken on all fours like a fucking bitch in
heat, isn't that right?" I ask as I thrust into her, this time harsher than before—so much so she has a
hard time muffling her moans.
"Yes," she pants.
"There we go," I chuckle. "Finally shedding that innocent act you had going on. God, but you had
me," I grit my teeth as the memories of our time together assail me. "You fucking had me, Noelle."
"No," she shakes her head, her neck still in my hold. "None of it was fake. That's how I am with
you—only with you," she says in a breathless moan.
"Does that mean you were different with other men?" The question slips past my lips before I can
help myself, and the realization that not only is my wife not who she says she is, but she might have a
whole different past, makes me want to fucking explode.
I still inside of her, my hand tightening over her neck as scenarios pile up in my head, the thought
of her with anyone else tearing me up on the inside.
"No, no," she denies vehemently. "I swear to you, Raf."
"Funny," I scoff. "As if I believed anything you said at this point."
"I'll do anything for you to believe me, Raf. You're my Blue, you know that. My Blue that I love
more than anything else in the entire world. How could I let anyone else touch me when you've been
the love of my life since I was fifteen? When you're the only man I've ever looked at?" The words
pour out of her as she struggles to turn to me and convince me with her beguiling eyes.
 And fuck if she's not halfway there. Because I'm a goddamn fucking fool whose only weakness
seems to be this one woman.
But that's the issue. I'm too fucking weak for her and everything she means to me.
"Anything," I sneer. "What about this?" I ask as I bring my hand to her ass, trailing one finger from
her tight hole to her pussy that's currently stuffed with my cock. "Did I fuck you here, too?"
She stills for a moment before shaking her head.
"Did anyone else?" My jaw twitches as I utter the question.
"No," she cries out. "No one."
"So you'll give it to me?" I ask innocently. "You said anything."
She nods effusively.
"Anything," she confirms.
I don't know what comes over me to ask for this, except that I'm seething with jealousy.
I fucking hate her for what she's done and for her all lies but I can't help but be cut to my core at
thinking she might have been with someone else—that she might have let another man put his hands on
her. So much so that I want to put my fucking claim on every little part of her body, take her in every
way possible until I'm the only one she can remember—the only one to imprint on her.
How fucked up is that?
How fucked up is the fact that I hate her but I still want her—so much so that I'd fucking kill
anyone who ever put a hand on her?
Goddamn, but if she's insane—and all evidence points to it—then I'm just as much as a lunatic for
craving her worse than any drug.
Yet at this point, everything has been set in motion, and I find that I don't want to stop.
She's mine.
She's my fucking wife.
I may hate her, but she's fucking mine.
Grabbing her ass with both hands, I spit between her cheeks. Sliding out of her pussy, I swirl my
finger around her asshole, massaging in the combination of her arousal and my spit.
"Raf…" she whimpers as I bring my cock to her little hole, testing the tightness of her muscles.
"You said this is mine, Noelle. Isn't that so? That I'm the only one to touch you here," I murmur in
a caustic tone.
She squeezes her eyes shut as she gives me a brisk nod.
"Say it. Ask me to fuck you in the ass," I smirk.
She licks her lips, a shudder going down her back as I continue to stroke her ring of muscles with
the head of my cock.
"Please," she whispers.
"Beg me," I echo her words from before.
"Please, Raf. You can do anything to me. Anything," she pleads, her glossy eyes making contact
with mine.
I don't know what it is that I see in her gaze, but it makes me fucking livid. One moment I'm
playing with her, the next I grab her hips as I thrust into her.
Her muscles are tight and unused to such an invasion, seeking to keep me out at every turn. She
thrashes against the desk, her small hands clenched into fists as she breathes harshly in and out.
In another life, I would have been more gentle. I would have asked her if she was alright, going
slow to let her accommodate to the sensation.
Now? I want her to feel every single thing. I want her to know who's fucking her and to remember
it long after I'm gone from her body—long after I'm gone from her life.
"Ah," she yelps, holding tight to the desk as I bury my cock inside of her in a way I'd never done
before.
"Fuck," I mutter in a low tone.
I take a deep, stabilizing breath in an effort to keep myself in check. She's so fucking tight, she's
squeezing the life out of me. And as I surge forth until I'm buried to the hilt inside her ass, I can't help
the loud groan that escapes me.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
She's breathing equally harshly, her cheek fitted to the cold table as sweat beads on her forehead
before she turns away from me.
Gripping her hips, I withdraw almost all the way before thrusting again, establishing a rhythm for
the both of us.
Noelle is quiet, holding on to the table as she keeps herself utterly still—letting me have my way
with her completely.
Yet the more I fuck her, the more I realize something is wrong.
Despite her verbal confirmation that I can do anything to her, she's not in the least an active
participant.
I slow down as I watch for her cues, something clutching at my heart.
Releasing my bruising hold on her hips, I move my hands higher, caressing her skin and feeling
her flinch.
"Noelle…" I whisper.
"Don't stop," she murmurs in a dead voice. "Don't you dare stop, Raf," she grits out.
I frown at her vehemence just as she pushes herself back onto my cock.
"Fuck me," she demands.
I hesitate for a second, something niggling at my conscience. But as I see her renewed attempts to
get me to move, I give her what she wants, pushing into her again and fucking her harder, faster and so
fucking deep my entire cock is enveloped by her warmth and tightness.
The sensation is entirely foreign but it feels so good I can no longer delay my release—not when
every clench of her muscles has me fighting for my sanity.
Biting back a moan, I hold her tighter to me as I shoot my load into her ass, my breathing too
erratic just like my mind flies for me in the face of this euphoria.
Yet it's when the haze clears off my mind that I finally see the truth.
A low sound penetrates the air, and as I turn her to face me, I see the truth.
Tears course down her cheeks as she looks at me, her features desolate and echoing the emptiness
I feel in my heart.
Why Noelle? Why did you have to do this? Why the hell did you have to kill my heart like this?
The questions are on the tip of my tongue, but I don't utter them out loud.
What's the point? What's the fucking point to anything? To this situation or my attempt to humiliate
her with sex? What's the point of anything?
Disgusted at myself and at her, I release her, pulling out of her and stepping back.
She can barely stand on two feet as she slides to the floor, her body glistening with sweat.
Drawing her knees to her chest, she regards me through misted lashes, her eyes red and brimming
with tears.
My heart breaks as I take her in, and my first instinct is to go to her, hug her to my chest and tell
her everything will be alright. That I didn't want to hurt her; that I will never hurt her again.
But that would be a lie.
"I'm done," I tell her, zipping myself back up.
I don't wait for her reply as I back out of the room, closing the door behind me for good.
 2. Rafaelo

"Y ou need to have a proper conversation with her, Raf," Sisi says thoughtfully as she brings the cup
of tea to her lips.
"What she said," Vlad shrugs, pointing to his wife. "She's the expert in her sex."
Sisi rolls her eyes.
"You don't have to be an expert in anything to have common sense, Vlad. And in this case, I think
they both need to calm down and have an honest conversation."
"Maybe. If I could be calm enough to do it…" I sigh.
A day after what had happened in the office, I couldn't bear it anymore.
The guilt. The anger. The fucking love and hate that constantly warred in my mind. I couldn't bear
any of it anymore. So I'd asked Sisi to meet me, thinking I could get another perspective—this time a
feminine one. Of course, where Sisi goes, Vlad follows, so he'd included himself in our little meeting.
I'd told her as much as I could without giving more intimate details. Why I'm still protecting
Noelle's privacy when she's the fucking guilty party in this scenario, I don't know. Yet for some reason
I can't bring myself to tell anyone details about the past aside from the general situation.
Sisi and Vlad are smart enough to read between the lines, especially as I'd told them about the
baby situation and the fact that I'm still trying to wrap my head around it—that I'd been a father
once…and now I'm not.
To my greatest surprise, it's Vlad who decides to comfort me—though the word comfort might be
a little too much for Vlad. He shares his own perspective for when he'd heard about Sisi's pregnancy
and then her miscarriage, and that despite never in his life entertaining the thought of having children,
the news had broken something inside of him.
"The pain won't go away, Raf. It's been years for us and…" She turns towards Vlad. "He's still not
over it either."
I expect Vlad to be his usual defensive self, especially since this is a serious conversation and he
never does serious. Instead, he surprises me as he takes a seat by Sisi's side, facing me and giving me
a tight nod.
"You just take it one day at a time," he shrugs. "You don't have to pretend it didn't happen. But not
discussing it with Noelle won't help you either."
"Raf, look," Sisi intervenes. "I may not have known Noelle for a long time, but I know she loves
you and I am sure she would have loved your child just as much. By your own admission, you don't
know exactly what went down. But I can tell you that Noelle doesn't seem like the person who
wouldn't care about her child. If anything, I don't want to imagine what she must be living with if she
remembers…that. If she actually remembers the death of her child," Sisi visibly shudders.
"Noelle isn't Bianca, Raf. Of that I can assure you," Vlad interjects.
"Right, as if that makes everything better," I reply drily.
"It should. At least she has some emotions. From what you explained, it seems that you're the
common denominator in every case."
I frown.
"She's a lovely girl. Normal, until it comes to you. Then, all bets are off," Vlad notes. "She's not a
sociopath like Bianca who doesn't understand empathy. Noelle sounds as though she merely chooses
not to let that rule her."
"You mean she's capable of switching it on and off at will."
Vlad nods.
"But isn't that even more dangerous? At least Bianca can be excused for not understanding right or
wrong. Noelle does, and still decides to act as she wants. What do you call that?"
"Smart," he shrugs, his tone holding a certain type of admiration. "Morality holds us back. It's the
chain that holds us from truly flying."
"And without morality, we'd have hell on earth," I note drily.
"Maybe. Or, maybe, it would truly be the survival of the fittest," he muses. "When everyone acts
in their own best interests without minding others' sensibilities. Maybe at that point it will truly be
about abilities instead of politeness," he gives us a wicked smile. "It would certainly be interesting to
watch."
"You're getting ahead of yourself," Sisi elbows Vlad. "He's not here to hear your views on
morality, Vlad. He's here for advice."
"And this isn't advice?" Vlad's brows go up. "I think it's wonderful advice. Get to know your
wife, Raf—really know her limits and what she's willing to do. Only then you will be able to know
how to proceed. Although if I were you…" he trails off.
"What?" I roll my eyes.
"If she's capable of all that for you, then I'd ask myself what she's capable of to keep you."
I narrow my eyes at him. He's not…wrong.
"Just…talk to her," Sisi releases a harsh breath. "We can all theorize here all day, but you will
only get the information you need out of her."
"But how can I trust her?" I sigh. "I'd like nothing more than to hear everything, listen to her side
of the story and try to understand the situation. But how can I trust her? How can I…" I groan at my
conundrum.
That is exactly what I am afraid—what I've been afraid of from the beginning. That I would hear
the entire story and I wouldn't believe her; or, that I would listen and believe a lie. Neither situation
bodes well for the future, for my peace of mind or my goddamn heart. Yet in this case, not knowing
might be the least suffering of all.
"I'll ask some of my contacts," Vlad suddenly says. "Maybe we can get more information to
corroborate her side. That way you'll know whether she's lying or not."
"Thank you."
"You could also try with her brother. You said he already warned you so he must have more
information. If you don't trust her, then try to get more perspectives to see what aligns and what
doesn't," Sisi suggests.
"You're right. It's just that…" I take a deep breath. "I have a hard time even being in the same
room as her. Knowing what she did…how she lied to me… I can't reconcile it with the Noelle I
knew."
"Well, you'll need to eventually," Vlad shrugs. "And the more you put it off the harder it's going to
be."
I nod, knowing they are both right but still dreading the confrontation. If what happened yesterday
is any indication, then I know for sure it's going to be messy.
But more than anything… I don't know if I trust myself.
I love her. Despite everything, I still love her. So what I'm most scared of isn't what she's going to
tell me. It's that I'll forgive her in spite of anything she might say.
"Thanks a lot for the advice," I strain a smile as I get up to leave. "I really needed someone to talk
to."
"You're always welcome here, Raf. You know it," Sisi assures me. "Even Vlad can be a good
sport about it," she adds jokingly.
Vlad rolls his eyes at her playfully, his arm over her shoulder as he brings her closer to his side.
"You're growing on me," he makes an ultimate concession as I head for the exit. "Now go back to
your own wife," he shoos me out.
A smile tips at my lips as I shake my head at him.
"I'll see you soon," I wave as I head to my car.
I steer my car out of their driveway and onto the main motorway to head back to the city. After I
plug in the coordinates for Cisco's house in my GPS, I play some relaxing music, leaning back in my
seat and trying my best to clear my mind.
The visit was a good opportunity for me to talk to someone other than Carlos and get another
perspective—regardless of the fact that everyone will tell me the same thing.
I know I need to have a conversation with Noelle at some point—one that won't end like the one
yesterday. But in order to do that, I need to get myself in check, too.
I'll be the first to admit that lately I've been too volatile, about to blow from the smallest thing.
And it's all because my reality has all but shattered.
Can this be fixed?
That's the most important question.
Yes, I'll talk to her. I will listen to her side. But can anything be saved? Can our marriage survive
this?
Last week, if you had asked me, I would have told you that we could survive anything. But I
would have never banked on Noelle being an entirely different person than the one I thought her to be.
She's…
What is she even?
A psychotic murderer? A rapist? A villainous mastermind?
There's no way to label her correctly because there is simply no way to put her in just one box. At
this point, I can only admit that everything I'd known about her at the hacienda was real.
La diabla.
She wasn't nicknamed the she-devil for nothing.
If what she did to Ortega is any indication, she's not just some deranged killer.
 She's cold, calculated, organized.
While she is led by emotions, she doesn't let them rule her.
Yet more than anything, there's a lack of remorse.
I don't know if it's a general trend, but she'd never once been sorry about what she's done. Just
about being caught. And to top it all, she admitted she'd do it again. What does that say about her?
Yet things don't fit.
She's not some emotionless killer. She's not Bianca.
She's just…a brilliant strategist and an even better opportunist.
As I muse over my current situation, it takes me a moment to realize there's a car following me.
My first thought is to roll my eyes in a not again manner. But I soon realize who is following me.
"What the fuck," I mutter as I swerve to the right, stopping the car and slamming the door on my
way out.
She exits her car, too, coming towards me with a fierce expression on her face.
"What the fuck are you doing, Noelle?" I demand as I come toe to toe with her.
She's wearing high heels, and with the added height, her head reaches my chin. Still, it's quite
interesting to see her wear such high heels.
"What the hell were you doing there?" she jabs her finger in my chest.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I frown.
"Sisi," she spits the name.
"What?"
"What the hell were you doing at her house?"
I frown at her outburst. Tension radiates from her as she keeps hitting me in the chest to emphasize
her displeasure. Yet it's soon evident why.
She's…jealous.
"She's my friend, Noelle. I can go visit my friend as I like," I raise a brow at her, omitting the fact
that Vlad was there the entire time.
Her eyes widen just as her lip twitches in displeasure.
"I'll kill her," she mutters. "I'll fucking kill her if you touch her in any way," she declares.
"What?"
If it was any other circumstance, I'm sure I would laugh. As it stands, Noelle doesn't seem to find
this amusing.
"See her again and I'll kill her. I'm not kidding, Raf. See any other woman and I'll kill her," she
continues.
"So let me get this straight. You're now following me around and I'm not allowed to meet anyone
because you're going to kill them?" I ask mockingly.
"Uh-uh," she nods, her expression serious.
"And what makes you think you have any claim on me after the shit you pulled?" I suddenly ask,
just to rile her up.
Fuck, but why does she need to be so hot while being assertive?
It makes my blood boil to watch her like this, knowing I won't be able to have her—that I
shouldn't have her.
"You're my husband," she grits out. "You're mine!"
I tilt my head, studying her for a moment before I burst out laughing.
 She looks confused as she watches me bend over and laugh, her brows furrowing as she doesn't
understand what my source of amusement is.
Before she realizes what I'm about, I grab her hand, pulling on the ring I'd given her and taking it
off her finger.
"Not for much longer," I retort, fisting the ring.
"W-what are you talking about?" she stammers, her eyes wide.
"I'm sure you can figure it out by yourself. Goodbye, Noelle," I say, turning around and heading
back to my car.
As I slide inside the driver's seat, I sneak a glance in the mirror, seeing that she hasn't moved an
inch from her location.
She's looking at my car, a haunted expression on her face.
Shaking my head, I get ready to start the car and leave—after all, nothing else will come out of
this confrontation. Not when she is too hot this time to see reason.
I'd always known Noelle was a jealous woman, but I never realized just how much. And this is
when she knows Sisi is married and would never look at anyone but Vlad.
Signaling my return to the motorway, I'm about to hit the gas pedal when I see something glinting
in the mirror. Frowning, I hit the brakes just in time to see my foolish wife do something I'd never
thought her capable of.
She fucking takes a knife and cuts her own wrist.
In front of me.
My eyes widen in shock before fear overrides everything. I'm out of the car before I can even
rationalize what's happening, already dialing 911.
"Noelle!" I yell at her, reaching her side in time to slap the knife from her hand before she does
damage to her other wrist too.
Her left hand is bleeding profusely, and I have no way of knowing how deeply she cut herself. So
I act quickly, taking my shirt off and tearing a strip of material to tie to her hand until I take her to the
emergency room.
"You're not divorcing me," she slowly lifts her head to look at me. There's no trace of pain on her
face, no fear—nothing. There's only a slight smirk that tips at the corner of her mouth. One that tells
me she's never going to let me go.
Dead, or alive, she's never going to let me go.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Noelle?" I demand sharply as I tighten the material over
her wrist. It's in vain, though, as blood quickly seeps through, telling me that she made a very deep
cut.
"You're not divorcing me, Raf," she repeats, coming closer to me.
Going on the tips of her toes, she brings her mouth close to my ear.
"You wouldn't want to have my death on your conscience, now, would you?" she whispers.
"You'd do that? Kill yourself?" I force the words out, my entire body tensing at the mere thought.
Fear and anger are mingling inside of me as I'd like nothing better than to take her over my knee for
the stunt she pulled while also peppering her with kisses so she'll never try it again.
Damn you, Noelle. You're a wicked, wicked girl.
"Not before I killed you," she answers readily. "That way we'll always be together, Blue. In life,
or in death," she smirks as she draws back.
 I shake my head at her, an amused smile playing on my lips.
"You're a wicked girl, aren't you, Noelle?"
"For you? I'll be anything you want me to be," she replies, her eyes on mine.
The 911 sirens echo in the distance, but I can't take my eyes away from her.
Who are you?
Yet it's not a question of who she is anymore, as it is of who we are together.
The ambulance takes us to the nearest hospital where a doctor tends to her, stitching her wrist and
telling me I was lucky I acted fast because she'd cut so deep into her flesh she'd almost torn her
tendons.
"She could have lost her range of mobility," he takes me aside to tell me. "If she'd cut just a little
bit deeper, she could have damaged her tendons."
"She's a pianist," I add grimly.
"She would have never played again."
The implication is clear.
Noelle cares nothing about her playing ability if she doesn't have me.
"As you know, since this was a self-harm injury, we have a protocol to follow."
I nod.
"She… She has a history."
"The psychiatrist on call will come to pay her a visit."
After the doctor leaves, I give Cisco a brief call, informing him of what happened and asking him
to meet me at the hospital.
At this point… I have a feeling I will need all the help I can get.
"So, what did he say? Am I going to be under medical supervision again?" Noelle asks when I go
inside her salon, a knowing smile on her face.
"Why would you do this if you know what's going to happen? Especially with your history. They
won't turn a blind eye."
"Hmm," she murmurs. "You won't turn a blind eye, either," she smiles.
"So this is all for me?" I chuckle at her resourcefulness.
"Everything is for you," she says, coming to the edge of the bed and reaching out to touch me. Her
uninjured hand goes to my chest, fisting the material of the new shirt I'd donned on.
"Where are you going with this, Noelle?"
"Soon, you will see my side, too," she says, her voice back to her usual calm one. "Once you
know the past, you will understand everything I had to do—all the sacrifices I had to make. Am I a
bad person? I don't see myself as one. Am I capable of bad things? Yes. And I did what I had to do in
order to survive. I did what I had to do in order to protect you."
"Protect me?" I scoff.
"You don't understand," she shakes her head, a sad smile playing at her lips. "From the beginning,
all I've ever done has been to protect you. Maybe I got a little selfish along the way…" she trails off.
Taking a deep breath, she leans in, placing her head over my chest right on top of my heart and
listening for my heartbeats.
"Ask my brother, Raf. If you don't trust me… Ask Cisco how everything began. He'll tell you."
Her doctor interrupts before she can say anything else. Heading outside, I come face to face with
Cisco—almost as if he'd been summoned by Noelle's words.
 "How is she?" he asks, a grim expression on his face.
"She's fine. For now," I reply, taking a deep breath. "I need you to tell me everything you know
about her, Cisco. Everything. I need to know who Noelle DeVille is."
Cisco looks at me for a moment before giving me a brisk nod.
"Then we should probably start with the beginning…"
3. Noelle
AGE NINE,
"S he worries me, son," Elena, his mother, sighed as she took a seat next to him.
The room was quickly filling as they waited for the piano recital to start.
Noelle, Cisco's sister, was expected to take the stage second to last. Though it was only a school
event, Elena had insisted Cisco accompany her to make Noelle feel more confident. Deep down,
Cisco suspected his mother wanted the opportunity to talk about his sister and suggest—not for the
first time—an intervention.
"She's odd—asocial. All the kids are too scared to approach her or play with her," Elena
continued, pursing her lips.
Cisco didn't reply, simply regarding Noelle as she stood far apart from the other kids, seemingly
minding her own business. He didn't understand why that was frowned upon. Maybe she wasn't like
the other kids, but she had her own—some harder to spot—charms.
She was a piano prodigy, having such an exquisite talent anyone who listened to her, be it laymen
or experts, were touched by the sound of her music. So what if she wasn't exactly…social?
Genius rarely fit into a mold.
"Of course, you wouldn't see it," she chuckled when she noted his confused expression. "You
were the same when you were her age. With your nose buried in those books of yours, always looking
for answers even when there are none."
"I always find the answers," he answered curtly. "I have yet to encounter a question without an
answer."
Except he had. Something that had stumped and shook him to his core. But that was not for anyone
else to know. It was his secret shame—his everlasting delirium. One he never wanted to wake up
from. To divulge that would be akin to revealing its mysticism to the world, and he was too greedy to
do that. No, that was for him and him alone—for his ever-revolving thoughts and no one else's.
"The same goes for your sister," she shook her head. "There is one thing that characterizes the
both of you."
Cisco frowned.
His sister was sixteen years younger than him. He didn't see how his mother could compare the
two of them when there was almost a generational gap between them.
Elena turned to him.
"Obsession," she stated, unblinking. "Just like you, your sister has…obsessive tendencies."
"I prefer to call it consistency," he muttered, hating that she was putting him on the spot. Yet he
would never dare say a bad word to his mother. He loved and respected her, that affection only
growing as he'd seen her care for his invalid father, wholly dedicating herself to his well-being.
His mother smiled.
"Of course you would," she chuckled, patting him lightly on the shoulder. "But I worry about her
more than I ever worried about you."
His eyebrows shot up.
"I didn't know you worried about me."
"It took me a while to get used to your…peculiarities. I'm not saying this as a bad thing. You know
exactly what I mean."
Cisco frowned.
It had taken a long time for his mother and father to get used to him and his patterns. As the eldest,
it was his duty to continue the family legacy and take on the business. He'd never shied away from his
responsibilities, but he'd also let everyone know that he was going to do things his way—which
always meant an unorthodox way.
Maybe he was obsessive—though he would only ever call himself consistent—about seeing
things to the end. He liked to see the beginning, the middle and the end of a task, and he never strayed
from course. Once decided, the plan would be enacted minutely.
Any deviation could prove fatal. To his carefully crafted plans, and to his extremely organized
mind.
Yes, he was obsessive about that.
Point A had to lead to point B and then to point C. If it ever happened that point A led to point C,
mayhem would be unleashed and everyone knew to not be anywhere within Cisco's destructive path.
Fine, so he had some peculiarities. But he didn't see what was so worrisome about his sister. So
she had her own peculiarities. He had to admit he sometimes saw himself in her and pitied her for it.
As a male, he could make people accept his eccentricities. As a woman, she would be castigated for
them.
"Her peculiarities aren't greater than mine," he told her evenly.
"She has no friends, Cisco. She doesn't want to make any friends. Why, last time I was told she
embarrassed her teacher in front of the entire class for suggesting she join her classmates for a
project. She embarrassed an adult!" his mother exclaimed uneasily. "All day she's just…there. She
loses herself in her music and sometimes I wonder if there's anything to her aside from that," she
paused, pursing her lips. "She scares me sometimes," she whispered. "And I think she scares
everyone else too."
"She's only nine, mamma. She's a child."
"You were nine once, too. And though you were a loner as well, people loved you. You had that
little clique at school that always looked up to you," Elena laughed. "I can still remember them
following you around everywhere and trying to be like you."
"You're remembering wrong, mamma. I didn't want anything to do with them. I just wanted to read
my Descartes," he added dryly.
He could still picture those days. He'd always been more attracted by metaphysics, by principles
of knowledge and scrutinizing an issue until he got to the root of it. He preferred abstract principles to
the dreary reality he lived in.
From the moment he learned how to read, he eschewed the normal texts for kids his age, going for
more difficult ones—so difficult, in fact, that everyone around him had reacted with equal awe and
mockery. His peers, in particular, thought him condescending because he didn't want to engage in
what he thought were inane, childish games. But there had also been those that had seen him as cool—
those that tried to emulate him.
He'd never made an effort to be friends with them, but they'd followed him for so long that at
some point he'd decided to allow them in his vicinity, sometimes even imparting some of his
knowledge.
Yes, one might say he'd had a posse. But it had never been of his making. It had simply…
happened.
Yet Cisco could understand the parallel his mother was drawing.
Noelle went out of her way to keep her distance from people.
Cisco might not have been a regular kid, playing or engaging in the same activities as others. But
he had, on occasion, pretended to be normal.
He'd always known he was different from the rest, but he'd also sought to assimilate because he'd
realized early on that different—other—made him stand out more than he wanted to. And if there was
one thing he despised more than the slightest deviation in his schedule, it was having to explain
himself.
Noelle was the opposite.
She didn't mind being different—she reveled in it. She didn't mind standing out like a sore thumb
in a crowd. She just wanted to be alone.
Alone with her music.
So she did everything in her power to drive people away.
Elena had always encouraged her to play and be like other kids. As the only girl in the family,
their mother had been awfully excited at pampering her and teaching her how to be a lady.
But Noelle wasn't receptive to any of that.
She didn't like to play. She hated other kids. Sometimes she came across like an adult in a child's
body—jaded about every aspect of life.
Even her clothes exemplified that.
Elena had always tried to get her to wear girly clothes in light, cheerful colors, but Noelle had
been entirely adverse to the idea. Though she was just nine, she would not let anyone dictate how she
dressed.
At first, Elena had taken it as a sign of a strong personality, allowing her to have an input into her
wardrobe. But when she'd seen all Noelle wanted to wear were gray and black clothes, she'd put her
foot down.
Easier said than done, because that was exactly when Noelle's strong personality had poked its
head to the surface.
When Elena had forced her to wear a pink dress to school, Noelle had simply used the school's
art supplies to paint it black.
Elena had been incensed when she'd been told by the principal what Noelle had done. She'd been
even more taken aback when she'd seen her daughter smeared with black paint from head to toe. And
though she'd chastised her, threatening her with all types of punishments, Noelle had simply looked
into her eyes with a blank expression. Slowly, the corners of her mouth had tipped up in a you can do
whatever you want, I'll still find a way around it.
And that was the core of Noelle's personality. She was tenacious and too clever for her own
good, circumventing any and all restrictions placed on her.
Ultimately, Elena had simply stopped trying. If she couldn't change her daughter, then she could
bemoan about her to anyone listening—and that happened to be Cisco at the moment.
"I don't know what to do about her anymore," Elena released a dramatic sigh.
"Why don't you just leave her alone?" he muttered dryly.
That was what everyone had done with him, giving him a wide berth. He supposed it was another
advantage of being born a male. He was celebrated as ruthless and intelligent in the business world,
and though Noelle showed the same promise, she was chastised and put down for it.
"Cisco," Elena gasped. "She's my daughter. A DeVille," she mentioned in a scandalized tone. "She
needs to uphold our family's standards. Just thinking what others must be saying about her and I'm
getting a headache," his mother muttered, bringing two fingers to her temple.
Cisco gave her a side glance but refused to respond. He usually refrained from commenting when
said comment would likely offend his mother. He might love her, but that didn't mean he agreed with
her.
She'd never been so unyielding with him, or his brothers. As the first born, she'd attempted to fuss
over him until she'd realized it was all in vain. Cisco lived in a completely different world, and it
was impossible to change his ways. She'd mellowed a little for Thadeo before going in full force
over Amo, coddling him to the point that when he'd broken off, he'd gone off the rails—still was off
the rails. When Noelle had been born—a surprise to everyone—Elena had seen it as her last chance
to fulfill her parenting dreams. Even better that she was a girl, since he knew his mother had wished
for one all along. Too bad that Noelle wasn't a team player.
Cisco's lips curled up at that thought. He couldn't blame his sister. Not when their mother had very
rigid ideas of what being a DeVille girl meant, and Noelle didn't fit any.
Elena might have wanted her little princess. Instead she'd gotten a little devil.
"There's this school I've been reading up on," his mother suddenly said. Cisco lifted a brow in
question. "It's structured like a camp, so the kids live on the premises. The school promises to teach
the kids discipline and manners…"
"Mamma, don't," he shook his head. "Those schools are nothing more than prisons. And with
Noelle's personality, you would just be doing her a disservice. You know how stubborn she can get. If
you send her away to have some discipline nonsense drilled into her she is more likely to rebel than
turn into the perfect lady."
Elena pressed her lips into a thin line. She was about to say more when the recital began. In the
order announced, the kids played their pieces one by one. When it was Noelle's turn, the difference in
the audience was visible.
No one moved, not even one inch, their attention riveted on the stage as her hands glided over the
piano keys, each note richer than the previous.
"She's so talented, isn't she?" Elena whispered, her eyes moist with tears.
"She is," Cisco grunted.
He refrained from adding that by interfering with who Noelle was at her core, Elena would also
be interfering with the way she played. The two were irreversibly linked, and Cisco had noted from
the beginning that music was an extension of her. What Noelle couldn't express with words or actions,
she did so through music.
She may be aloof and seemingly unfeeling. Not her music.
There was something almost palpable in the way she played. And by God, she was just nine. He
knew that with age and maturity, her talent would only develop more.
She could very well be the musician of her generation.
Besides her skillful handling of the piano keys, there was also the added fact that she personalized
her pieces.
While every other kid of her age played faithfully by the score, to a trained ear it was obvious that
slight modifications had been made to certain notes, giving the overall piece a new and fresh
approach.
And that was where her true talent lay—innovation. Noelle loved to compose just as much as she
liked to play, and despite continuous admonishments from her teachers that she was altering the
classical pieces, she never stopped.
Cisco couldn't help but smile as he spotted her piano instructor in the corner, her mouth set in a
grim line, her brows furrowed with frustration at Noelle's blatant disregard of rules.
"She did it again, didn't she?" his mother asked in a hushed tone, her gaze on the teacher.
Though Elena wasn't as versed in classical music, she knew her daughter well enough to realize
she would never play by the rules—not even ones as simple as a piano score.
"She did," Cisco nodded appreciatively. "And she did it marvelously."
The recital came to an end, and Noelle reluctantly came to their side.
She was dressed in a pair of black trousers and a black button-up shirt. Her hair was plaited in
one braid at her back, her face fresh and…blank.
His mother was right that she resembled him—both in appearance and in her demeanor.
She had the same olive complexion as he did, her eyes a light hazel color that wavered between
brown and green depending on the lighting. His own eyes were similar with the exception that one
was perpetually green and the other brown.
Yet it was her personality that reminded him so much of his own.
He'd never been a people person either, preferring the company of books or other nonverbal
creatures. His deep dislike of the verbal variety had started early in his childhood when he'd realized
his way of thinking was so different from anyone else's that he could never get his point across. It was
almost like talking in a foreign language, of which he was the last known speaker. In the beginning,
he'd tried to explain himself and his train of thought. But soon he'd realized it was futile as people
preferred to jump to conclusions rather than try to understand him. So he'd stopped trying to
communicate altogether.
He could see the seeds of that in Noelle, too.
Everyone around her misunderstood her—or, more appropriately, they never tried to understand
her in the first place. They branded her a troublemaker simply because she didn't fit into a known
mold and preferred to ostracize her than accept her as she was.
She had all the reasons to not want to interact if all interactions were a way for her to be
chastised, reproached, and told all the ways in which she failed to be a good child.
Maybe because he'd had similar experiences he could understand that. Yet his mother didn't seem
to. She continued on in her crusade to turn Noelle into the perfect girl.
"Well done, Noelle," Cisco spoke first, breaking the awkward silence.
Noelle raised her head to look at him, nodding with the hint of a smile. Yet before he could coax
her from her quiet shell, her piano instructor was suddenly by their side.
"You went off the score, Noelle," she said in a stern voice, the reproach clear. "This was a
collective recital not your private show. Your job was to follow the piece, note by note, not to add
those pesky alterations."
Noelle didn't turn, nor did she deign to reply, simply staring up ahead.
"Your teacher is talking to you, Noelle," Elena intervened, taking a step closer to her. "It's the
polite thing to answer her."
Still, nothing. Noelle ignored both women as she redirected her attention to the floor, studying her
shoes.
"Noelle," Elena burst out, her hand on Noelle's arm. "Your teacher just told you what you did
wrong."
Noelle blinked.
"I didn't do anything wrong," she stated in an even voice.
Both Elena and the instructor were shocked at her reply.
"What do you mean you didn't do anything wrong? I just told you what you did wrong, young
lady," the instructor grit out.
Cisco observed the interaction from the sidelines, noting that the woman was getting incredibly
worked up for what were only a few alterations. He was sure that no one in the audience even
realized it. After all, this was a recital for parents and staff who were likely not very acquainted with
the intricacies of classical music.
Noelle slowly turned her head towards the instructor. Blinking innocently, she smiled.
"You should ask the audience if they think I did anything wrong," she said in a sweet tone—too
sweet for her. "Some even cried. And I don't think it was from my mistakes."
"W—what?" the instructor sputtered at the same time as Elena's eyes widened in disbelief.
Cisco merely smiled, amused.
Who said nine-year-olds were easy targets?
"Noelle, that's impertinent. Apologize to your instructor," Elena suddenly demanded.
Noelle's expression didn't change, though Cisco could detect a small twitch under her eye. Instead
of arguing with her mother, though, Noelle did apologize. In the same sweet tone, she addressed the
teacher.
"I'm sorry, Miss Rawlins," she said softly. "I apologize for showing your shortcomings as a
teacher. I also apologize for being a better player than you can ever aspire to be."
She said it all with the sweetest smile on her face.
Cisco brought his hand to his mouth to muffle his laughter while Elena and Miss Rawlins were
rendered so speechless, they just stared at Noelle for moments on end.
"You…"
"Noelle…"
"Noelle, why don't you go get your stuff and we can head home," Cisco intervened, realizing that a
scandal would arise if she spent another moment in the presence of the two women.
Noelle nodded respectfully, excusing herself like the dutiful child she decidedly was not. Yet to
anyone else watching from the outside, she was the model of decorum.
It was only Miss Rawlins and her mother that had yet to recover from the set-down of a nine-year-
old. And recover they did. After Noelle was already out of sight.
"I hope you can understand why I can no longer welcome Noelle in my class, Mrs. DeVille," Miss
Rawlins noted, her face red mottled with anger.
"Of course. I'm so sorry for my daughter's behavior. She's not always like that…"
As usual, Elena continued to make excuses for Noelle, doing her best to save face.
Only when Miss Rawlins left did she turn to Cisco, her hands in the air as she huffed out loud.
"At this point she needs a prison," she said, hinting again at that school of manners.
"Mother, calm down."
"How can I calm down? Didn't you hear what she said to her teacher? My God, how could I have
raised someone like that…"
Shaking his head, Cisco couldn't help but chuckle at his mother's outburst.
"And now you're laughing at me, too. I've become a laughing stock for my own children."
"You're exaggerating, mamma. I'm not laughing at you. Just at the situation."
"Of course you would. You're not the one embarrassed every single time she does one of her little
scenes."
"No offense, mamma, but from where I was sitting I'd say the scene was well deserved. Instead of
focusing all your frustrations on Noelle, you could also look at the people around her. The teacher's
tone wasn't proper either."
"What? Frustration?" Elena's eyes widened in shock.
Taking a deep breath, Cisco set his eyes on his mother.
"Yes. Frustration," he nodded. "Noelle may not be like other kids, I agree. And because of that
you shouldn't behave like a normal mother, either."
"I don't understand," she frowned.
"You keep trying to put her in a box and tell her how to behave when that's not who she is. You
never did that to me, did you?"
"But you weren't this rude to people," she weakly made the excuse.
"No, I was worse. But because I'm a man, it was excused," he pointed out, raising his eyebrow at
her and waiting for another excuse.
"But…"
"My tutors lasted each a couple of weeks maximum. Or do you not recall that either?"
Elena blinked, taken aback by his sudden change in demeanor.
Cisco suspected it was because he rarely disagreed with her—and it was all because he knew it
was a waste of time to do so. She had her views, he had his and they rarely overlapped.
But he couldn't not intervene when he observed the way everyone was banding up against Noelle.
He may have been a loner growing up, but he'd been just as blunt as outspoken as his sister
currently was. He'd never shied away from giving his opinion if asked. The only difference was that
he'd quickly learned most people weren't worth his effort. Why argue when he could just ignore them?
But he couldn't ignore this.
"But it's different. You were…"
"A boy. Yes, I think we've established that," he muttered dryly.
Elena regarded him warily, taken aback by his sudden attitude.
"I'll be completely honest with you, mamma, because I think it's high time someone did that.
You're spilling your frustrations onto Noelle because she didn't fit your expectations. You wanted a
girly girl to parade around but instead you got an independent child who cared more about Mozart and
Handel than she did about Barbies and pink dresses."
"But…"
"You know it's true," he didn't let her protest for he knew she would just come up with more
excuses. In her delusion about Noelle, she'd convinced herself there was something seriously wrong
with her when she was just that. Different. And no one wanted to accept it.
"But she's embarrassing us," she added weakly.
"Someone can embarrass you only if you let them," he rolled his eyes. "You're adding too much
weight to what other people are saying instead of paying more attention to your child."
 "Cisco… How can you say that?" She asked in a hurt tone.
He felt bad for doing so, but he suspected it was high time someone gave his mother a dose of
reality.
"Instead of criticizing her all the time, maybe cut her some slack. I'm sure you'll be surprised by
the results."
"The results? She'll become even worse. God, you saw how impertinent she was and you want me
to leave her alone? Continue to be so rude?" Elena asked, horrified.
"So you'd rather she let herself be a pushover instead of standing up for herself?" he fired back.
"How was that standing up for herself?"
Cisco realized that no matter what he told his mother it was unlikely to change her opinion. The
teacher's tone alone had been a cause for alarm, for it suggested a history of animosity. But his mother
decided to overlook that and just focus on Noelle's replies.
Belatedly, he regretted not looking into Noelle more closely as he'd never had cause to worry
before. With his father's poor health, he'd had to take over the family business and he'd been swamped
with work for years. He'd had to give up his dreams of a formal university education in favor of
devoting himself to the family business.
Noelle soon reappeared with her bag and Cisco gave his mother a harsh stare which promptly
shut her up. He may be her son, but he was also the head of the family, and his mother respected his
authority.
As they went outside, Cisco turned to Elena.
"You should go home with your guards, mother. I'll take Noelle with me," he said before he
steered Noelle towards his car, not waiting for his mother's reply.
Noelle looked curiously at him, but she didn't speak either, simply falling into step with him. As
they neared the parking lot, Cisco's bodyguard, Yu, was already by the car, nodding dutifully at him
and handing him a cup of coffee. Cisco took it, surprised to see Yu remove a lollipop from his pocket
and hand it to Noelle.
He expected his sister to refuse the offering, but she accepted it with a shy smile.
Yu opened the door for her, closing it after she got inside and taking his place by Cisco's side. He
was around a head shorter than Cisco, and though most thought it odd that he'd chosen Yu as his
bodyguard, he would have never trusted anyone else.
"Didn't go well?"
He shook his head. Taking a cigarette from his pack, he brought it to his lips, lighting it up and
inhaling deeply.
"You were right," Cisco grimly admitted.
But then, when was Yu not right?
"I take it she didn't react well."
"No. Good thing you weren't there, too. Otherwise it might have been worse," he chuckled.
His mother couldn't stand Yu, and would often go out of her way to insult him.
"Me and Mrs. Elena in the same room? Heaven forbid," Yu shuddered.
Cisco smiled, yet he had to give it to Yu. He'd been the one to point out to him that something
might be going on with his sister and had advised him to make time for the recital. Cisco valued Yu's
insight as much as he did his own, so he'd agreed to do so, though initially a little skeptical about the
situation.
 Yet now he was convinced he had to do something about it before his mother sunk her claws into
Noelle and destroyed what made her unique.
 4. Noelle

N oelle opened her notebook, turning to a blank page at the end and scribbling random figures in
an attempt to ignore the noise around her.
After the debacle at the recital, she'd thought her mother would take her out of school,
settling for private tutors as her brothers had before her. But Elena hadn't budged. She'd expressed her
disappointment in hundreds of ways, but she'd been clear that Noelle was to finish the year at her
school. Even her oldest brother, Cisco, had argued to her defense, saying that it was unlikely to be a
conducive environment to any studying if the relationship between teacher and student was strained.
Elena, though, hadn't wanted to hear any of it. Instead, she'd merely acquiesced that Noelle would
change music teachers.
Though Cisco was Elena's favorite, she'd shut him out this time, stubbornly maintaining her idea.
According to her, Noelle needed to learn how to behave herself in society. It was either that or the
camp school option, which Cisco had been vehemently against.
And so she found herself back to school—her personal hell. Worst of all, her mother had once
more forced her to wear a pink shirt. She could already feel all the eyes on her. No doubt, everyone
was laughing at her and at her dignity, currently wasting away on the floor.
Bringing her eyes down to her front she couldn't help the shiver of revulsion that enveloped her. It
wasn't just pink. It was bright pink. So bright she wagered it could act as a traffic light.
Even worse, since her last stunt with the black paint, the art supply closet had been locked, only
to be opened during art class.
Noelle had caught her mother's knowing smile as she'd watched her pitiful pink self trudge her
way towards school in the morning. Elena had waved enthusiastically, ushering Noelle away and
sending her flying kisses. As if she didn't know it was all an attempt to undermine her and make her
quit her antics.
Alas, color torture was not going to work.
Noelle refused to let it work.
So what if the art supplies had been locked away? She would find another way.
"Noelle DeVille, are you listening?"
Slowly lifting her head up, it was to come face to face with her English teacher, Miss Lawson,
who was currently glaring at her.
Of course she was.
Noelle didn't think there was one teacher in the entire school who didn't dislike her. She'd come
into conflict with all at one point or another. Of course, everything had been made more potent by the
allegations of nepotism circulating about her family—the reason why the principal hadn't expelled her
so far.
Noelle grimly admitted that there had to be some favoritism involved since she'd done more than
her fair share of trouble to ensure she'd be expelled. The result? Nothing.
No matter how many times her mother got called at the school, she still insisted Noelle continue
to attend her classes.
"Yes," she replied politely.
For the moment she didn't want more trouble. She was already getting a headache as it was from
all the pink that had bled into her field of view.
"Can you tell me what we were discussing?"
"Yes," Noelle nodded, but didn't comment further.
All eyes were on her and she could detect the little sneers and mocking smiles.
"Well? Please share with the class," Miss Lawson added drily, clearly not appreciating having to
repeat herself.
Noelle licked her lips, her hands tightening over her notebook.
Why now? Why was she asking her a question when she was wearing pink?
She could have answered it much better if she'd worn black.
Taking a deep breath, she struggled to compose herself, moisture accumulating on her forehead.
She raised her gaze to her teacher, her head held high.
Pink might have rattled her. But she wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing her flounder.
"We were discussing the nineteenth chapter of The Little Prince," she replied in an even,
confident tone.
"Go on," Miss Lawson urged, the corner of her mouth twitching while her eyes crinkled—almost
in frustration. "Please continue the discussion."
Noelle noted the disparity in facial cues. The teacher was annoyed she'd gotten the topic right, but
was still waiting for her to fail, ready to smile in satisfaction.
Everyone underestimated Noelle, and they mistook her lack of interest for a lack of intelligence.
In the past, she'd done her best to answer questions accordingly and had even put effort in her
homework. But no matter how much she'd tried, her words had always been misconstrued, and her
enthusiasm at getting something right would often turn into bitterness. At some point, seeing that all
her effort was in vain, she'd stopped trying.
Smoothing her hands over her bright pink shirt, Noelle returned the smile.
"Inflexibility," she stated, watching a frown descend upon her teacher's face.
"Inflexibility?"
There was a low choir of voices repeating the same word, the other students as confused as the
teacher.
"The little prince was in a new place but applied the same rules as in the old one. Instead of
trying to understand the new planet, he judged it by the rules of his old one."
Miss Lawson tilted her head, frowning at Noelle.
"The little prince shows his lack of awareness of his surroundings. If he had observed more, he
would have known that the echo was his own voice," Noelle continued, pinning the teacher with her
gaze.
 "That is enough, Noelle. You've already shown us that you weren't paying attention," Miss
Lawson dismissed her with a wave of a hand, her lip twitching again in amusement.
Noelle narrowed her eyes.
She'd been at the receiving end of that type of behavior since the school year had started. She
would be asked a question and then be put down because her answer wasn't the right one. It had
happened one too many times that Noelle had become suspicious.
Why was she always the target?
And so she'd put her mind to do some research into the eminent figures of the respected
establishment they called a school. What made Miss Lawson so special to emphatically declare her
answers as wrong every time, especially since literature was supposed to have no wrong answer?
"You might learn a thing or two from the little prince, Miss Lawson," Noelle continued sweetly
—too sweetly, which indicated something decidedly not sweet was not coming. "You're not an
English instructor, are you?"
"W—what?"
Maybe if it had been any other day, Noelle wouldn't have gone as hard on the instructor. But
because it was a bright pink day, she couldn't help but feel her body tense up, little intruders
marching inside her brain and causing a deadly itch—one that wouldn't be satisfied unless she did
something. Unless she brought the class to an end faster. Unless she got out of the stupidly pink shirt
she was wearing.
"Your resume said you finished a Masters degree in English literature from Pepperdine
University, but you did not, did you?"
It was becoming increasingly harder to control herself, but she would do this. If she was correct,
Miss Lawson would send her to the principal's office, who would in turn call her mother and then she
would be taken home to remove the dreaded pink shirt from her body—hopefully she might even get
some days of suspension, and she could sleep in.
"You're being impertinent, Noelle," the teacher gritted. "Max, why don't you continue reading," the
teacher instructed another student in an attempt to shift focus from her, but Noelle was not deterred.
"You failed to mention that you did not graduate," she continued, her voice louder than the boy
who started reading from the book.
"Noelle, I don't know where you're going with this but I will ask you to stop."
"You wanted me to speak a moment ago."
"And now I'm telling you to stop," she emphasized the word, causing Noelle to smile.
"Does the school know?"
"Stop."
"I don't think they do, do they?"
"Stop."
"My brother has a copy of your transcript and it shows…"
"STOP!" Miss Lawson screamed so loud, everyone froze in their seats.
Not a moment later the door burst open, one of the security guards dashing inside and looking
around in confusion.
"What happened? Is everyone ok?"
Miss Lawson looked shell-shocked. Tears coated her lashes, her limbs trembling.
"Are you a policeman?" Noelle turned to the guard to ask.
 "No, I just work security," he answered, blinking.
"Then maybe you should call the police. I think Miss Lawson has been lying about her credentials.
And if she lied about that, who knows what else she might have lied about?" Noelle's tone went down
a notch as she made herself look fearful.
"That right…" The guard sounded skeptical as he looked between Noelle and Miss Lawson.
Though it was his duty to report any disturbance, there was something about the little girl speaking
that stumped him. Did elementary kids speak like that? To his ears, it sounded awfully advanced and
assertive and for a moment he thought it might be a prank, or maybe a scene from a school play. But
then there was the teacher and she looked…not amused.
Bringing his radio station to his mouth, he announced the disturbance to the principal's office. But
before he could finish his report, the teacher did something wholly unexpected.
She grabbed a book from the desk and flung it at the student, hitting her in the chest.
"I hope you're satisfied now, you little devil," she spat at the kid before she dashed through the
door, bumping into him on her way out.
But as he turned to check on the kid, he noted a smile of satisfaction on her face—one that simply
baffled him.
Unfortunately for Noelle, her little game ended up not as she had planned, but as her mother had
planned. Elena had talked to the school about her daughter's persistent misbehavior and if something
happened, instead of sending her home, the school was to punish Noelle by having her attend extra
classes, extending her time at school until late afternoon.
A few hours later, instead of going home, she found herself attending another class. Thankfully, it
was not taught by Miss Lawson, since Noelle could imagine how that would implode.
Odd though that for all the principal's reproach of Noelle's behavior, no one had said anything
about Miss Lawson throwing a book at her. Yet another example that things were permissible for
everyone but her.
Yet there was one bright side to this entire debacle. During the lunch break, Noelle had snuck to
the bathroom and she'd mixed the ink from her pen with water before submerging her shirt in it,
ensuring that the bright pink became a dark purple. It wasn't perfect, but she wagered she could live
better with purple than with pink.
Releasing a weary sigh, Noelle focused on her notebook, doodling some figures to pass the time.
Though she'd been instructed to do her homework during the extra time, she couldn't stomach thinking
about anything school related after the day she'd had.
There were a few other kids in the class with her, including a group of girls she knew well and
did not like to mix with.
Noelle knew well that it wasn't just the teachers that didn't like her. The other kids were the same.
She didn't know if it was via example, following the cue of the teachers, or because she just liked to
keep to herself.
She'd never had a friend in school, and though she'd been classmates with the same kids for a few
years, she'd never exchanged more than a few words with anyone—and those words had never been
of a positive nature.
Even now, as she turned her head slightly, she could hear the snickers, and the whispers. She
could also note the harsh stares and the scrutiny.
In the best cases, they called her a witch. In the worst, they said she was the devil's minion—
though Noelle doubted they knew the meaning of it. They just repeated what they heard.
So was the case when Susie, a girl from that group stood up and approached her. She had a
pleasant enough smile on her face, but Noelle had come to distrust even the most benign intentions.
"Hi," she said as she stopped by her desk.
Noelle had chosen the desk in the back of the classroom, all to avoid being too close with other
kids. Yet even that didn't seem that far away as she slowly lifted her head to watch Susie through
narrowed eyes.
The other girls were staring at them, no doubt anticipating the interaction.
Noelle wondered if this was a dare, or if they'd made a bet.
"Go away," she said gruffly before she returned her attention to her notebook.
"Yeah, Susie, go away. You'll catch the nasty from her," a boy hollered.
Noelle ignored the extra noise, bringing the tip of her pencil to the white sheet of paper, trailing it
around and drawing a random shape—anything to look busy enough so she would be left alone.
Her mother had intuited well that this would be the worst punishment for Noelle. What she hated
more than school, and more than her hateful teachers, was to be surrounded by other people—other
kids. It was even worse that these kids knew her—or at least, knew of her—and would likely use that
to yap incessantly and bother her for hours on end.
The girl didn't move though. She fidgeted with her hands for a bit before she spoke again.
"Why are you so weird?"
Noelle's hand froze mid-drawing.
Why are you so weird?
Why indeed. How many times had she heard the exact thing, and not only from her classmates?
Gritting her teeth, she continued to ignore her. Nothing good would come out from her answering
the question.
But just as Noelle started moving the pencil again, it was taken from her hand.
"Why?" Susie repeated, blinking curiously at her.
"Define weird," Noelle mumbled, snatching the pencil back.
Why couldn't they just leave her alone? The clock on the wall was moving with unprecedented
slowness, and Noelle still had at least a couple hours until she could go home.
"You're being weird again," Susie continued and Noelle rolled her eyes.
"Leave her alone, Susie. Told you she's a witch," another said, causing everyone to erupt in
giggles.
"Yes, go away, Susie. Before I put a spell on you," Noelle muttered drily, lifting her head enough
to meet the girl's eyes. Letting her mouth tip in a menacing smile she used her pencil as a wand and
waved it towards Susie. Susie's eyes widened in shock before she gave a cry of alarm, running from
her side and joining the other girls.
More murmurs resounded as she undoubtedly confirmed Noelle was indeed a witch. And they
wondered why she didn't like talking to people.
It had all started when she was on her first day of school.
Since Noelle had always preferred to dress in dark colored clothes, she'd stuck out from the
beginning. But it had been her demeanor that had separated from the rest.
Simply put, she had no filter.
If she liked something, she said so. If she didn't, she mentioned why. It didn't matter if the
recipient was another kid or an adult. She always spoke her mind as if it was the most normal thing.
Her mother had tried to curb her habit since she'd been a baby, but Noelle hadn't changed regardless
of the punishments doled out. For her, speaking out was equal to breathing—it was simply who she
was.
She might have been perceived as precocious and somewhat of a troublemaker before she'd
started school, but Noelle had never seen herself as anything but normal. She couldn't understand why
she was always berated for speaking the truth, or for making honest observations.
But just because she'd thought herself normal didn't mean she fit everyone else's standard of
normality—a fact which she'd learned the moment she started school.
In a matter of days, everyone had taken a dislike to her, and the insults had started pouring. And
since kids at that age could be truly vicious, their words had been even more so.
Noelle might have entertained the idea of making friends at first if she hadn't been so totally and
utterly ostracized by everyone in her grade.
They laughed at her clothes. They mocked her manner of speech. They didn't hold back from
criticizing any part of her. It was even worse when they directed those insults towards her talent at
playing the piano.
It was a universally acknowledged fact that the moment Noelle's fingers touched the piano keys,
silence descended upon a room until there was nothing left but pure, divine musicality.
Soon, though, the praise had turned into sourness as she'd been accused of witchcraft; that she'd
made a deal with the devil for her ability to play the piano. A ludicrous thing to originate from an
elementary-grade kid, but the idea had been first put forward by one of her first teachers who'd
praised her talent as otherworldly and implied some less than orthodox forces might be at play. The
kids who'd eavesdropped had taken the rumor further, until Noelle's name was the equivalent of
witch, or little devil.
An outsider could very well see that the root of the issue had been a combination of her slightly
odd demeanor and the jealousy of the others at her musical talent.
But for a young child, the entire experience had been jarring. Made even more so by her mother's
response.
When Noelle had gone home crying about the bullying at school, her mother had told her to suck it
up and face it like a big girl. But when she'd detailed the horrible names people were calling her,
instead of taking her side, her mother had told her she must have done something to deserve being
called that.
Noelle had been stunned by her mother's reaction and the fact that Elena had emphatically told her
she would not get involved in any of the school matters.
In one last attempt at fitting in, Noelle had worn the ugly pink dress her mother had bought her. Yet
that had been even more of a disaster.
She'd barely been able to hold her head high. Everyone had laughed in her face. Including the
teachers. Why, Miss Lawson herself had asked Noelle if she'd decided to join the living.
A few hours was all she'd been able to survive, and ultimately she'd just doused herself in black
paint to stop people from staring and commenting about her pink dress.
Since then, she'd had a phobia of the color. Every time she wore it, she thought she was the butt of
all jokes.
But that had been the last straw, and Noelle's last attempt at being normal. And armed with her
mother's not so great advice, she'd decided to take matters into her own hands.
She might be blunt and she might make people uncomfortable, but why should she change for
them? Why should she compromise who she was for people who didn't like her anyway and only
sought the next thing they could criticize and laugh about?
As she'd honed on that mentality, she'd stopped minding what others thought about her or her odd
manner. Instead, she acted as she saw fit and she spoke as she thought necessary. She didn't sugar-coat
things, and she certainly didn't mind anyone's tender sensibilities.
She was already a witch in everyone's mind.
Elena might complain about Noelle that she was a loner. But it had never been truly of her own
making. It had been a by-product of society and the fact that people abhorred those who were
different. Instead of fostering those qualities that made Noelle different, people crucified her for them.
So why would Noelle try to get along with people who only sought to change her; who hated who
she was at her core?
No one listened to her anyway.
From the beginning, her thoughts had been received as incorrect, her opinions as worthless, and
her entire personality as wrong.
Besides her talent at the piano, which more often than not was attributed to outside influences,
there wasn't anything right about her.
And it wasn't just at school that she was met with that criticism.
It could be said that it was even worse at home.
Her mother was never satisfied with her, and she never missed a chance to tell her that she wasn't
the daughter she would have wished for.
Elena had wanted a ladylike daughter. She'd gotten a rude hoyden who didn't know when to keep
her mouth shut.
But if she'd gotten used to her mother's everlasting disappointment, it didn't help that everyone
else in the house echoed her opinions. Especially the staff, who'd taken to referring to Noelle as the
spoiled, impetuous child, sometimes going out of their way to snub her the way her mother usually
did. If the mistress of the house did it, why couldn't everyone else do it too?
After all, Noelle was odd, and deserving of all the scorn.
Her father was sick and bed-ridden, but on the few instances Noelle could meet with him, he
didn't shy away from telling her how disappointed he was and that he would have rather had another
son than a useless daughter.
Her brothers weren't any better. Cisco, the oldest, barely bothered with her, more often than not
absent for business reasons. Amo and Thadeo, twelve and fourteen years older than her, thought it
funny to ridicule her clothes and her incidents at school. They didn't realize that their good humor
was just another jab to Noelle's already battered front.
The insults stung. Especially at home, they created a hostile environment that had Noelle
suffocating under the weight of her failures. Though she kept her true self tight to her chest, protecting
it as best as she could, she was still human, with human feelings. And every little reproach eroded at
the little armor she'd surrounded herself with.
Yet it was all that rejection that had made Noelle grow wiser far beyond her years. She'd seen the
world not through idealistic, rose-colored glasses, but rather through the prism of grim experience.
And she'd learned that it simply wasn't worth it. Why should she try when her effort would never be
Another random document with
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opened, he had looked to see her enter, and had half-risen from his
chair; but the coming of the little hussar was like a blow to him, and
he sank back snarling upon the cushions.
“‘Christé,’ cried he, ‘so it is you, little boy! What the devil are you
doing here?’
“Zol ignored the insult, and drew a chair up to the stove, warming his
hands in the bright glow of the spreading heat.
“‘Blitzen,’ said he, ‘what a night to be abroad! You were not at the
Opera, sir?’
“Klun leant back in his chair and laughed—a drunken laugh, full of
self-conceit and impudence.
“‘I—at the Opera—to hear my wife squeal? Diavolo, I have
something better to do! But you——’
“‘I—oh, I was there.’
“‘Of course you would be. Where the devil else should I look for you?
She did well, you say?’
“‘She did more than well. It is a small part, of course, and her future
is not in the theatre. But it was good for her to have the prestige of it;
and she promises to become the first violinist in Austria. Few have
her dash. Her reception to-night was tremendous.’
“‘Bah!’ said the other, ‘that was her pretty face. It is hard not to
applaud a woman when her eyes are bright and her skin is clear,
little boy. There is yourself, now, maledetto—your hands were busy,
I’ll be bound. And now you come running back to her house at this
time of night. But I shall have something to say to that. Do you hear?
You have to reckon with me, my little master.’
“He raised himself upon his elbows, and his attempt to assume the
possession of heroic virtues which had been outraged was so
ridiculous to see that Zol laughed in spite of himself.
“‘Sit still, and don’t be a fool!’ said he; ‘You know well that I come
here often at this time. I shall come just when I please. If you have
anything to say about it, say it to my groom.’
“Klun sank back upon his cushions again, and helped himself to
more brandy.
“‘Macché, Lieutenant,’ said he, ‘I am not the one to quarrel with you
about little Christine. All said and done, you have been a good friend
to her. What if people talk—is it anything to me? I am a poor man,
and come here to serve her interests. She does not love me. I know
that. But she has a duty to perform towards me. It is right that I
should have money. I do not ask much. You will admit that I cannot
starve?’
“Zol regarded him with unutterable contempt.
“‘I admit nothing of the sort,’ said he; ‘a little fasting would do you
good. Begin with the brandy, for instance.’
“The Italian swore a heavy oath.
“‘Accidente!’ cried he, ‘say that again——’
“‘A hundred times if you wish it—begin with the brandy.’
“‘Cospetto, you have courage! It is lucky for you that I keep my
temper.’
“For a moment he appeared ready to strike the boy, who never
moved from his seat nor withdrew his hands from their place before
the stove. Presently, however, he remembered that the Lieutenant
was the son of Gerold, the banker.
“‘Why should we quarrel?’ he asked, swaying drunkenly in his chair;
‘why should we not understand one another? You are the friend of
my wife; very well, be my friend too. You think that I have eyes? Very
well. Do not forget at the same time that I can close them. I liked you
from the first. I said always, she will come to no harm with him. This
was my regard for you. There is no other man in Vienna I would so
trust. But I cannot forget that she is a wife to me; I cannot go naked,
Herr Lieutenant, because you put fine notions into her head. You
understand that. You will not ask me to sleep in the attic when she is
supping on the first floor? Oh, no; you are too wise for that. You
know well what things are. When a pretty woman laughs, as we say
in Italian, a purse complains. I want to see Christine laugh all day. Do
you hear that? She shall laugh and my purse shall not complain—
hein! Oh, I am an honest man. Per Baccho, Herr Gerold, I look
forward to the day when I shall have a nice little store to bank with
your father. You will help me to that? I may count upon you?’
“He bent forward with an effort, trying to assume the air of one who
has asked a question and means to be answered.
“‘I may count upon you, Herr Lieutenant?’
“Zol for the first time lost his temper.
“‘Oh!’ exclaimed he, ‘you may go to the devil as far as I am
concerned. If you would begin your journey now, I should be obliged
to you. Your wife will be here in a minute or two. It is a pity that you
should see her in that state. Go home now and sleep, and return
here to-morrow, if the police will let you.’
“At the word ‘police’ the Italian started up, sobered in a moment.
“‘Maledetto, little lieutenant, what should the police have to do with
me?’
“‘You can answer that question best yourself—you and the corporal
of Jajce. Should I tell you your own history, as I shall tell it presently
—unless you behave yourself—at the War Office here? That would
be a waste of time, Herr Klun.’
“Zol spoke without much thought. So little did he fear the Italian that
he did not even turn in his seat to watch him. But the sweat of terror
was upon the brow of the other, and the devil was at his heart.
Springing from his chair, with anger hissing upon his lips, he drew his
dagger from his girdle, and gripped the boy.
“‘Come, Herr Lieutenant, you shall tell nothing!’ he cried.
“Zol was up now, for the firelight had shown him the flash of the
steel. Turning deftly, he caught the Italian’s arm as it descended, but
the blade of the dagger ripped his coat at the shoulder, and he could
feel the point of the weapon running like a burning wire over his
flesh. In another moment the two men were reeling round the room
together, the one fighting with the strength of a madman to release
the arm which held his stiletto; the other hugging the Italian to him
with all the strong grip of young muscles.
“Zol has told me often, excellency, that his only thought in all the
fierce minutes of that terrible struggle was one of little Christine. ‘She
will return to find my body here,’ he thought. Quick as he was, sure-
footed, and with nerves of steel, he knew that he was no match for
the woodlander’s son. Ugo had muscles like ropes of iron; a life lived
in the mountains had broadened his chest and trained his limbs so
that few even in his own village could stand against him. Had it not
been for the months of debauchery which Christine’s money had
permitted to him, he would have killed the lad as we should crush a
nut beneath our feet. And the drink he had taken robbed his feet of
their sureness; there was a mist before his eyes when Zol gripped
him; he had a buzz of sounds in his ears and a tightness at the
throat as of one suffocating. Twice by a supreme effort he drew back
his arm, the knife passing through the lieutenant’s hand and cutting
the flesh to the bone; twice that arm was gripped again, and the two
men, bound together as by ropes of wire, rolled round the room,
knocking the vases from the cabinets, the glasses from the table—
even the lamps from their pedestals. Sweat was thick upon the
brows of both. They gasped for breath like runners; cries escaped
them—the cries of men upon the threshold of death. Round they
went, round yet again; now pausing for very truce of weakness; now
closing so firmly that their muscles cracked and their bones were
almost bending. And then the supreme moment came. God! what a
moment to live!
“Convinced that he could not strike the Lieutenant while he was
locked in his arms, the Italian bethought him of another plan.
Suddenly, and very dexterously, he relaxed his grip. Permitting his
muscles to go limp, he slipped to the floor, hacking at the other’s
legs as he did so. So surprising and so clever was the movement,
that Zol sprang away to avoid the cut of the blade, and in that
moment Klun was free. Determined that no false stroke should put
him in the clutch of his antagonist again, he stepped back, a great
oath upon his lips, and gathered himself together like a beast about
to spring.
“‘Holy Virgin, my lieutenant,’ he cried, ‘I am going to slit your throat!
You shall tell your tale then, if you have breath. What! you have no
fancy for it? Devil’s cub that you are——’
“He sprang forward with the words, and Zol, who had reeled
backward against the wall, thought, indeed, that then was the
moment when he was about to die. One instant, he said, and the
mystery of life would be a mystery to him no more. No longer had he
the strength to parry or to grip; he could but wait for the blow and
wonder if the agony of death were an agony hard to bear. But that
blow never fell, excellency. The Hand of God was over the boy. The
holy angels watched him. Even while he told himself—for so were
his nerves wrought upon—that Klun had struck him, the Italian lay
dead at his feet. A miracle, you say; aye, surely—yet what a miracle!
“For thus it befell: The men in their struggle had pulled up the great
mat in that corner of the room where the end came. As Klun sprang
upon the boy, he caught his foot in the edge of this mat, and lurched
forward heavily upon his face. The upturned knife—upturned
because his arm bent under him—was driven by the weight of his
body into his own throat. During one long minute the dying man
clutched frantically at the floor beneath him. Then, rising upon his
knees, and plucking at the dagger he, of a sudden, gave a gurgling
cry, and fell stone dead.
“In the same moment Christine stepped from her carriage and ran up
the stairs of the house to her room.”
 CHAPTER XXV
THE END OF THE STORY

“She had come out of the theatre with her victory fresh upon her.
The change from the glare of lights and the clamour of voices to the
darkness of the streets and her own solitude reminded her how little
that triumph meant to her. ‘He has forgotten,’ she said to herself
always. The purpose of her work, that she might be worthy of her
lover; the purpose of her suffering, that he might not suffer, guided
her no longer. She seemed to sink back to a world of misery and of
hopeless effort. The silence of the night reminded her that she was
without a friend in all the city. She had ever hungered for love; the
loveless childhood she had known had fed that hunger. Jézero had
been to her a garden of delight because love had built there arbours
for her, and she had rested in them. But now these were shut to her.
She recalled every word that Count Paul had spoken; his
callousness, his raillery, his restraint in avoiding any word of affection
for her. She knew instinctively that never more would she hear his
voice or touch his hand. She remembered that she must go back to
a home which was not a home; she thought of the man Klun, of his
brutalities and his persecutions. She asked herself to what end she
had succeeded in the theatre, had realised the visions of her
childhood. Life could give her nothing, since it did not give her love.
“These thoughts—the children of her melancholy—were hers until
the carriage set her down in the Wallner Strasse, and she ran up the
stairs to her apartments. She was a little surprised that Zol opened to
her knock; but surprise became fear when she saw his face and the
blood upon his hands. She had long looked upon the young hussar
as a real friend, though she was often ignorant of her own feeling in
the matter. But now when he stood before her, pale and bloody and
trembling with excitement, a great flood of affection for him rushed
upon her, and she seized both his hands.
“‘Zol,’ she cried, ‘tell me—what is it, Zol? You have hurt yourself! Oh,
my God! don’t look at me like that! Speak to me!’
“She said this, but her instinct—as the instinct of woman will in
moments of peril—told her something of the truth. She endeavoured
to pass into the boudoir, but he held her back, the blood from his
hands soiling her cloak.
“‘Christine,’ he exclaimed, ‘for God’s sake don’t—you must not go—I
will tell you——’
“But she had brushed past him, and a moment later her terrible cry
told him that she stood over the body of her husband. Excellency,
who may write of a moment like that?

“‘Zol,’ she said—ten minutes had been numbered then, and he had
given her the story—‘take me away from Vienna; oh, I can bear it no
longer! Zol, take me to Zlarin.’
“She said the words, and then lay almost inanimate in his arms,
while his lips were glued to hers and his limbs trembled against her
own.

“Excellency, this is the story of Christine of the Hills. You have seen
the pavilion which Zol has built for her upon the island she has learnt
to love. They say that he has married her, and has no thought but for
her happiness. For myself, Christine is very good to me. Eccoli, am I
not her father? Did I not give her bread when all the world cried upon
her? Surely it is right that she should remember me now when she
has money beyond her wishes, and is the mistress of houses and of
servants.
“And she has forgotten, you ask—ah, who shall tell us that? Who
shall read the whole heart of a woman who has loved one man and
has given herself to another? Let us remember only that affection is
about her path; that she has come back from her dreaming to the
island home where the visions were given to her.
“And from the new dream of content, excellency, it is my prayer that
she will never wake.”
THE END.
 TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been
standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.
The title of Chapter XIX, ANDREA GOES AN
ERRAND, appears to be missing a word, but has been
transcribed as printed.
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHRISTINE OF
THE HILLS ***

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