Chapter 9 The Turning Point

Marisol POV

What the hell was I even doing?

The question burned in my mind as I held the crumpled letter, the words blurring through the tears threatening to spill. My father's handwriting was so familiar, so painfully intimate, it was like a ghost reaching out to me. But it wasn't the comfort I craved. It was a revelation that ripped the ground from beneath my feet.

"You were never supposed to find this," Rafael's voice cut through the silence like a blade.

I froze. How long had he been standing there? How much had he seen? My fingers tightened around the letter as if I could somehow shield its contents from him.

"What is this?" I demanded, my voice trembling but defiant. "Why does my father write about you like you're the devil himself?"

Rafael's jaw tightened, his usual air of control slipping just enough to show the cracks. "Because your father wasn't the man you think he was."

What the fuck did that mean?

Before I could press him, Rafael closed the distance between us, his hand reaching for the letter. "Give it to me, Marisol. Now."

"No." I stepped back, my heart hammering. "You don't get to demand answers when you've been hiding the truth from me all along."

His eyes darkened, and for a moment, I thought he might lash out. Instead, he did something worse. He smiled a cold, dangerous smile that sent a shiver down my spine.

"You think you're ready for the truth?" he said softly. "You have no idea what you've stumbled into."

I didn't trust him. Not anymore.

The moment Rafael left the room, I tucked the letter into my waistband and slipped out of his office. My pulse raced as I navigated the club's labyrinthine hallways, searching for the one person who might have answers Elena.

When I found her, she was in the VIP lounge, her face pale and drawn. "We need to talk," I whispered, grabbing her arm.

She flinched, her eyes darting around. "Not here."

We ended up in the staff locker room, the hum of the club muffled behind closed doors. "What the hell is going on, Elena?" I demanded. "What aren't you telling me?"

She hesitated, biting her lip. "You're digging into things you don't understand, Marisol. Rafael's world... it's not what you think."

"Then explain it to me!" I snapped. "Because right now, it feels like I'm drowning in secrets."

Before she could respond, the door slammed open, and there he was Rafael, his expression a storm of fury.

"You're making a mistake," he growled, his gaze locked on me.

"Fuck you, Rafael," I shot back, stepping in front of Elena. "You don't own me."

His lips curled into a snarl, and for a moment, I thought he might lose control. Instead, he grabbed my wrist, pulling me close enough that I could feel the heat of his anger.

"You want to play games, Marisol?" he hissed. "Fine. But don't forget who holds the cards."

Rafael's threat hung over me like a shadow as I moved through the club, my senses on high alert. If I was going to find out the truth, I needed to get closer to his inner circle closer to the people who whispered his secrets in dark corners.

It wasn't long before I found my target: Mateo, Rafael's right-hand man. He was nursing a drink at the bar, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd.

I slid onto the stool beside him, my movements deliberate. "Rough night?" I asked, my voice laced with just enough charm to catch his attention.

Mateo glanced at me, his expression guarded. "You could say that."

"Rafael seems... tense lately," I continued, swirling my own drink. "Any idea why?"

He hesitated, and for a moment, I thought he might brush me off. But then he leaned in, his voice low. "There's trouble brewing. People asking questions they shouldn't be asking."

Was that a warning?

Before I could press him further, the sound of a commotion drew our attention. I turned to see Rafael standing in the middle of the club, his expression a mask of cold fury as he barked orders at his men.

"Looks like the boss isn't in the mood for small talk," Mateo muttered, finishing his drink.

As he walked away, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was running out of time.

The letter burned against my skin as I made my way back to my room. Once inside, I locked the door and unfolded the paper, reading my father's words again.

"Rafael will come for me. When he does, you mustn't trust him, Marisol. He's not the man he pretends to be."

My breath hitched as I noticed something I hadn't before a faint watermark on the paper. Holding it up to the light, I saw an address scrawled in my father's handwriting.

What the hell?

The address led me to a decrepit warehouse on the outskirts of town. Inside, I found a box filled with photographs, documents, and a single cassette tape.

I played the tape, my father's voice crackling through the static. "If you're hearing this, Marisol, it means I didn't make it. Rafael... he's the reason our family was destroyed. But he's not the only one. There's more at play than you realize."

Before I could process his words, the sound of footsteps echoed behind me. I spun around, my heart leaping into my throat.

It was Rafael.

"You just couldn't leave it alone, could you?" he said, his voice cold.

"What the fuck is this?" I demanded, holding up the tape. "What aren't you telling me?"

Rafael's expression darkened, and for the first time, I saw something in his eyes that looked like regret. "This changes nothing," he said. "You're mine, Marisol. And you're not going anywhere."

His words sent a chill down my spine, but I couldn't ignore the spark of defiance that flared within me. "We'll see about that," I whispered.

As I left the warehouse, the weight of the revelations threatened to crush me. My father's voice, Rafael's threats, and the tangled web of lies all swirled in my mind.

But one thing was clear: I wasn't just fighting for the truth anymore. I was fighting for my life.