Chapter 3
The next morning, feeling somewhat better, I arrived at Sarah's office. Sarah, my creative director, held my resignation letter. “My best jewelry designer leaves for marriage,” she sighed, laying a hand on the letter. “The studio won’t be the same without you.”
Words failed me, so I hugged her instead, grateful for her understanding. News of my departure spread quickly. My colleagues surprised me with a farewell dinner. I suggested Castro, an Italian restaurant we frequented—partly because I didn’t know many other options, mostly because their seafood risotto was exceptional.
During dinner, I excused myself to the restroom, only to find Oriana touching up her makeup. “What a coincidence,” she smiled warmly. “Castro first brought me here during our college days. We’ve had so many special moments here.”
I returned a polite smile and turned to leave, seeing no reason for small talk. But Oriana wasn’t finished. She called after me, “I noticed something the other night—Castro always rinses the spicy sauce off your shrimp. Are you sensitive to spice, too?”
That single word—“too”—made me freeze. The truth was, I loved spicy food. But Castro always insisted on rinsing my shrimp, claiming spicy food wasn’t ladylike. I’d believed he was being protective. Now I realized he was simply acting on habit; it was Oriana who couldn’t handle spice.
Seeing my silence, she tilted her head, studying my face with unsettling intensity. “You know, I’ve been meaning to say this since I first saw you. Don’t you think we look remarkably similar?”
I’d never felt more humiliated. Under her triumphant gaze, I fled the bathroom, the pieces finally falling into place—I hadn’t been his love; I’d been her replacement.
Back in the private dining room, my colleagues’ warmth slowly thawed my frozen state. Just as I was beginning to push aside the unpleasant encounter, the door swung open. Castro stood in the doorway, his Armani suit slightly disheveled, his eyes scanning the room before landing on me with laser focus. In that moment, I saw barely contained rage, though I couldn’t fathom why.
“Aveline,” his voice cut through the chatter, “a word?”
Following him into the marble-lined hallway, I was utterly unprepared for what happened next. His hand connected with my cheek in a sharp crack that echoed off the pristine walls. In seven years, he had never raised a hand to me.
“How dare you push Oriana?” Meeting my shocked gaze, he showed no remorse, only fury. “You knew her ankle was injured. I told you I’d explain everything later. Is this your way of getting revenge?”
My cheek burned where he’d struck me. Oriana limped toward us, her designer blouse rumpled and stained with water. Before I could defend myself, she collapsed dramatically to the floor. Castro shoved past me, rushing to gather her in his arms.
“Why did you follow us? I told you I’d bring her to apologize,” he said to Oriana, his harsh words belied by his tender tone.
Oriana shook her head, tears glistening. “It’s nothing serious. She probably didn’t mean it. Don’t be so hard on her.”
“If William finds out you struck his sister…” she added softly.
At the mention of my brother, something flickered in Castro’s eyes. But looking at Oriana, his resolve hardened. “William trusted me with her care,” he said firmly. “If she needs correction, that’s my responsibility.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “What exactly did I do? Even criminals get due process. You’re condemning and striking me without any evidence—doesn’t that seem unjust to you?”
Castro’s fists clenched as he glared at me. “You knew there were no cameras in the restroom. That’s why you chose to attack her there.”
The absurdity of it all made me want to laugh and cry simultaneously. “If there were no cameras, how can you be so sure it was me?”
“Because Oriana wouldn’t lie!” He took a step toward me, his cologne—the one she’d given him years ago, I now realized—overwhelming. “What possible reason would she have? I’ve known her for years. She’s not capable of that kind of deception.”
I met his gaze, unflinching. “So I must be the liar then?”