Chapter 43: Chapter 43

ANGELIC...

When you wake up and fall asleep with literally everyone's attention, it's hard to have a personality. Smile, be kind and reserved, don't talk, don't walk away... the rules become the only sure thing. Having friends, an ordinary teenage life or a free childhood are not on the priority list. Nothing but the protocols between.

There is a golden cage and everything outside is forbidden fruit. You wonder what's out there and want to live as much as you can, but there's a clear limit. This limit, for me, is my father.

The president of the country, and one of the richest men in it. The kind of person who loves his social status, and possibly his only daughter. There are those who say that he would have preferred to have a son, but he was content to have a daughter and be able to mold her according to his will.

- How's the perimeter? – Marcos, my personal security, asks pressing the tip of his ear. He hears the answer – We'll be there in a minute.

We're in the White House's second floor elevator, almost ready to enter the ballroom. Although there is meticulous care before entering any place, Marcos always reinforces it.

- Ready? He looks at his wristwatch, then at me. nod.

Marcos presses the button on the elevator to open the doors, then we exit.

At first, the lights blur my vision. This type of event is always very pompous. There are photographers at the ends of the site, ensuring a good photo of each of the politicians on the front page of their blogs.

We are at a diplomatic dinner, formal enough to invite the best politicians in the country, informal enough to invite their families as well.

The White House is generally not a party environment. My dad hates making his candidacy look like a mess. But today, especially, there are only a few weeks left before the elections, and the campaigns are in full swing. He wants to be social.

I spot my dad in the middle of the room, just below the chandelier, and we head over there. Our steps are slow like the classical music played by violinists. And as I walk behind Marcos, I feel the attention of people chasing me. I am not a celebrity, but when I appear in public, I arouse curiosity. People always expect something extraordinary from me.

The place breathes money. All the people look golden, some more powerful than the other. The glasses in graceful hands, the million-dollar heels, the tailored suits, the jewelry on display.

- Angelica! – I hear my name being called and I stop, turning to the voice.

I can't see it, but I can bet Marcos purses his lips. The rule is simple: enter the hall, take me to my father and stay close, no change of plan.

- Angelica! – repeats Governor Tom Saint. He catches up to me and reaches out to shake my hand.

- Hello Mr. Saint – I accept your outstretched hand.

"It's a pity that Vicenzo couldn't come," he murmurs.

- Too bad.

Although I agree, I am not bothered by the absence of Vicenzo Mares. Every time we're in the same room, people smother us with their comments about the couple we're not even. It's as if, when I'm alone, I'm nothing, and then I become something next to him.

Once, at a charity lunch, I was asked to wear the least colorful outfit possible, so as not to attract more attention than Vicenzo. In this world, it seems that women like me never survived the 15th century.

"You know, I always thought you guys…" The Governor keeps talking, but I stop listening when I realize he's just using me to get at my dad and maybe get a shot. hand for his campaign.

I smile at him, as if listening to a comma of what he says, and casually look around. Now my father is in conversation with another man.

- Do not you think so? - Saint asks, and I nod my head in affirmation.

I turn back to my father and my heart races when I realize the man he was talking to is looking at me. Watch my movements. His eyes roam my body, but not in a malicious way. It captures everything about me and imprints it in my mind.

Instinctively, I look down to make sure there isn't a stain on the dress that has caught my eye. There's no. I'm wearing a long strapless red dress and red satin gloves. There are better women here, but I'm not bad.

- And so I thought that this year would be different, because the election will be tight – continues the Governor.

I feel the side of my face burning because this man's eyes are still on me. I look at him, then feel empowered to analyze his body too.

I don't want to stare at him, seem attracted, but something about him makes me shiver, and not in a good way. It's like a snake, fascinating and just as venomous.

He's very tall, his shoulders are broad, and his arms are probably muscular, judging by the cut of his jacket. His suit is dark gray, but not nearly black. The shirt is black and there is no tie. However, an exquisite handkerchief is in his pocket, and it is sparkling white.

I don't see much from where I am. The only thing I can sense from here is exaggerated self-confidence, just by the way he carries himself around the room with more presence than the president himself.

- Have you heard of them? - Saint asks, forcing me to stop facing the unknown.

- Probably not – I answer – If that's not rude of me, I apologize – before I hear an answer, I grab the hem of the dress and start to walk away, oblivious to Tom or Marcos.

As I approach my father, and therefore the man, his eyes follow me. And like everyone else in the room, I can't stop staring at him. Maybe it's the nerve to stand next to the president and let him do the talking, or the way he doesn't care.

As I approach, I begin to notice its details. The body is sturdy, but the face is damn subtle. The wrinkled nose, the marked jaw, the sculpted lips. Beautiful, but just as intimidating. And the way he's spent the last two minutes staring at me, I'd say is terrifying.

- Angelique, my darling - another politician calls me, and before I can recognize him, he hugs me.

- Oh hi.

It's only when he releases me that I see it's Pablo Santiago. I don't know exactly what he means for the country, but I smile politely.

- My father is waiting for me. I'll be right back - I said, already walking away.

I turn back to the stranger, and this time I'm closer. I avoid people, ignore a greeting or two, and then when I finally get close to them, the man says something to my dad, waves, and walks away. Damn it!

Oh good? He took a few minutes to stare at me, make me come here and run away?

He walks across the room, as far as he can. The man walks unassumingly, as if he doesn't want to be the center of attention, but he is anyway.

The women look at each other with a small smile “if only my husband looked like that… ”, because most politicians only have gray hair and a big belly.

His gaze remains straight ahead, fixed, and he never turns back to mere mortals. But despite all the greatness he exudes, he is not the arrogant type. He's the guy who doesn't need to show others who he really is.

"Honey," my dad says, and it's only then that I realize I'm standing next to him, staring at the stranger's back.

" Father. I take a deep breath and sit up.

- Did Tom Saint harass you?

- A little – I turn completely towards him – Who was this man?

- Bruce Campbell. His family owns one of the largest vineyards in Europe.

- You say that thinking about your campaign?

- You know how politics is. We need these rich people on our side.

I stare at the people in the room, each trapped in their own world. None look like this man, Bruce Campbell. He looked bad, and I say that because I know some bad people. One of them I call mother-in-law.

- I go to the toilet - I inform.

After a nod from my father, I walk away. I'm sure Marcos is following me, probably angry that I'm walking around like I don't know protocol.

The right thing is to forget about this man. The truth is that I lead a very boring and monotonous life, and when I can feel a drop of adrenaline, I throw myself.

I turn right in the hallway and I arrive in the empty bathroom. I take off my gloves, wash and dry my hands, adjust my hair tied in a high bun, then put my gloves back on. I am ready to return to the golden cage.

When I leave the bathroom, I confess that I am calmer. This exchange of glances was obvious. Of course he was looking at me, my dad was probably telling him that I'm his best investment.

As I walk down the hall, I feel two big hands grab me from behind. One is above my mouth, stopping me from screaming, the other circles around my middle, trapping my arms. I can't even kick, because the very fabric of the dress restricts my legs.

I look desperately around me. Marcos wasn't on my trail?

Shit!

I try to scream, but his hand is firmly on my face. Little by little, the person, whom I assume to be a man, makes me back down. He doesn't try very hard, even though I try to pull away.

I see the end of the hall move further and further away, blurred by the tears of despair that are beginning to form in my eyes.

"Silence," he whispers against the side of my face. I freeze, I don't know if it's out of fear or surprise – It's an attack. Came after you - that's all it says.

My once restless body stills as his words seep into my head. An attack. Is he trying to...save me?

- Everyone down! - a male voice shouts in the hall, and is followed by two shots.

People start screaming. My body becomes more and more tense and heavy. If that man didn't pull me, I couldn't run.

- On the fucking floor! - the same voice repeats.

The man behind me only lets go of one hand to open the closet door at the end of the hall and steps inside, taking me with him. He closes the door when we're settled in the darkness of the closet, but he doesn't let go of me.

Another shot is heard, followed by more screams. I shiver, and involuntarily a tear runs down the man's hand. I can only think of my father.

All my senses are heightened. I can smell the dust in the closet, I can see the light coming in through the cracks in the door, I hear every noise coming from the hallway, I can taste the blood on my tongue and I can feel the rigid body behind mine .

- Upstairs ! Or she dies! – another blow.

It is over there ? Who?

My legs give out, shake. So this is the danger that Marcos tried to avoid for years, and here I am, helpless. The man hugs me tighter, and suddenly I feel like he's trying to calm me down.

"Fear doesn't exist if you ignore it," he whispers.

My heart rumbles in my chest in a way I'm sure he can hear. I close my eyes and repeat his words. Fear does not exist...

I focus on everything except the overwhelming feeling that fear brings. I try not to think about what might be going on in the room, ignoring people's enduring moans. Fear does not exist.

The first thing I notice around me is the smell of the man behind me. It fills the entire closet space with the fragrance.

My back is against his body and I feel him on my skin as if emanating from fire. I look at his hands holding me in the middle, notice the protruding veins under the skin. He has two platinum rings on his right hand; one on the ring finger and one on the middle finger.

Who is he?

I'm totally focused on him, so I'm not freaking out about everything else. It's strong, because it grabbed me effortlessly. He's tall because his pecs are against the back of my head. It smells of cleanliness, silver and wood – if such a thing exists. Taxation is a word that sums it up well. His every move screamed meticulous control, focused enough to decide and command, the likes of which I had never seen.

His breath beats against the strands of my hair. It is silent, unlike mine. What emanates from him is unattainable and inaccessible. It seems far away, even if it's nearby.

I know who he is.

The man lets go of me and I immediately turn to face him. Lights from closet slots allow me to see Bruce Campbell's face. Her face is even more ruined up close, and I find myself almost hypnotized. Almost.

I feel another shiver. My intuition is screaming at me to get away from him. There is a part of my brain indicating that the people responsible for the attack are more reliable and less dangerous than this man.

We hear footsteps outside the closet in the hallway. His jaw clenches. Bruce looks at the crack in the door, then at me, then he puts his index finger to his lips, indicating that I should shut up.

I have my back to the door now, so I can't see it, and I won't dare move. My hands are clapping and shaking, feeling a little awkward now that Bruce has let them go.

Adrenaline. I realize. All the feelings that overwhelm me. Desperation and surprise when Bruce caught me in the hallway. Fear when entering the closet. Curiosity and admiration when I saw it up close.

- NYPD. Drop the guns! - I hear the voice coming from the hall. It's far away, so it's probably coming from the entrance.

There is another shot, which startles me, followed by some screams. The person outside the closet runs in the opposite direction down the hall.

- Drop your weapons and get down! This is the final warning - another cry. Two shots in a row - Down!

I hold my breath, afraid she's blocking my hearing of what's going on in the hall. I look at Bruce, but he doesn't look scared. He is stoic as a rock.

"Turn your hands over," orders the policeman, I guess.

In a totally unexpected move, Bruce grabs my waist with both hands and pulls me behind him, wedged between him and the back of the closet. Blocked. Like a hunt. That's what I felt from our first exchange of looks, as if at some point I was going to become his victim.

He slowly opens the closet door, looking outside as he leaves. His right hand is on his waist, exactly where Marcos hides a gun. Is he armed?

- Come on - Bruce looks at me.

I take a long breath, the thousandth of the night, and I leave.