It felt like Antonio was stepping on ice each time he was around Melissa.
Not the kind that glittered beautifully beneath winter sun—but the fragile kind that threatened to crack with the slightest mistake.
Every glance toward her felt dangerous. Every silence between them felt louder than words.
He had tried to erase her. The last time he'd slept with someone else, he had convinced himself it would wipe away the memory of the kiss they had shared—the one that had lingered far too long, the one that had shifted something inside him he could not undo.
But it hadn't worked. The memory only grew sharper, more persistent.
The worst part was not that he remembered it.
The worst part was that he wanted to do it again and he didn't know how or whether he was even allowed to want it.
Frederick and Carmen invited them for dinner with all the grace of people who had never known loss.
Antonio arrived beside Chloe—his fiancee, Carmen's daughter—his place at her side unquestioned and unquestionable.
Chloe was radiant, confident, and fully aware of the power she held in every room she entered.
She made sure Antonio felt it.
Her hand lingered on his arm. Her laughter followed him like perfume.
Her eyes held promises she assumed he was still willing to accept.
Antonio responded politely, distantly. His body remained present, but his mind kept drifting across the table.
To Melissa.
Melissa, who sat quietly, shoulders relaxed, smile carefully practiced.
Melissa, who was their daughter and none of them knew.
Not Frederick, not Carmen not even Antonio.
Melissa's discomfort grew with every passing minute.
She listened as her parents spoke of family honor, of loyalty, of legacy. Their words were smooth, polished, and merciless.
She kept her eyes lowered, afraid that if she looked at them too long, they might somehow recognize her.
Then Carmen's voice softened.
"We once had a daughter," she said quietly. "She betrayed us."
Melissa felt something inside her collapse.
Her chest tightened violently. Air refused to fill her lungs.
The world narrowed into sound and pressure and pain.
"She chose a life we could not accept," Carmen continued.
She never spoke of the truth. She never spoke of how she had sold her for a couple of bucks and a pack of cigarettes.
Melissa's vision blurred.
"I never did," she whispered silently.
She stood suddenly, murmuring an excuse that no one truly heard, and walked quickly toward the bathroom before she could break in front of them.
The door locked behind her.
Melissa slid down beside the bathtub, curling into herself like a child who had nowhere left to hide.
Her breathing came in broken gasps, her chest burning as though it might split apart.
"I never betrayed you," she whispered through shaking lips. "You gave me no choice…"
Her hands trembled. Her body refused to calm. The past pressed against her ribs like a second heart.
Minutes passed. Antonio noticed her absence.
Something unsettled him immediately. He excused himself quietly and followed the direction she had gone.
When he reached the bathroom and heard her uneven breathing, his chest tightened.
He opened the door. Melissa was curled beside the bathtub, small, fragile, and shaking.
His heart cracked open.
He knelt beside her instantly, forgetting everything else—Chloe, the dinner, the room full of people who had no idea what they had done to her.
"Melissa…" he whispered.
She lifted her eyes, filled with tears and exhaustion.
Antonio gathered her into his arms without thinking. His hold was careful, protective. His voice was low, steady, close to her ear.
"You're okay," he murmured.
"I've got you. You're safe. You're not alone."
Her hands clutched his shirt as her body trembled against him.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ruin your dinner," she whispered.
"It's fine....," he said immediately. "You're more important."
He brushed her hair back gently, resting his forehead against hers.
His words fell into her like soft rain—promises of belief, of protection, of staying.
For the first time that night, Melissa could breathe again.
Antonio held her there, realizing with painful clarity that the ice he feared so much beneath his feet… Had already shattered.
Melissa's Past
(Natasha, before she became Melissa)
When Natasha was little, she was loved. Truly loved.
Her grandfather adored her with a devotion so pure it felt unbreakable.
He called her his little Gumdrop, spoiled her with stories, with warm meals, with gentle laughter.
He made sure she lacked nothing—not toys, not education, not affection.
In his eyes, she was not just a child. She was his legacy.
And that was exactly why Frederick hated her.
When Frederick learned that his father intended to leave his entire fortune to Natasha, rage poisoned his heart. Not to him. Not to Carmen. Not to their ambition.
To a child. To the girl they barely tolerated.
That night, Frederick and Carmen stopped being parents. They became executioners.
Rain poured from the sky when they handed Natasha a gun.
Her hands were too small to hold it properly. Too young to understand its weight. Too innocent to deserve its purpose.
"Kill him," Carmen said coldly.
"Or we'll kill both of you," Frederick added.
Natasha shook violently. Her tears mixed with the rain as she walked through the garden toward her grandfather, who was bending over his vegetables.
"I'm making your favorite," he said warmly, not turning around. "Cabbage soup."
Her hand trembled. He finally turned and saw the gun.
He sighed, not in fear—but in disappointment.
"Ah," he said calmly. "So they sent a child to do their dirty work. Bunch of cowards."
Natasha sobbed.
"I don't want to lose you, Grandpa," she cried. "They're making me do it…"
He stepped toward her. She stepped back still pointing the gun.
"It's okay, sweetheart," he said softly.
He knelt in front of her, rain soaking his clothes, his eyes full of nothing but love.
"Gumdrop, listen to me," he whispered. "After I'm gone, go to my room. Under my bed, you'll find a key. It opens my safe."
Natasha shook her head, crying harder.
"I dropped my will in that safe," he continued.
"Without that key, they will never touch my fortune. No matter what happens, never let them find it. Do you understand?"
She nodded, barely able to breathe.
He cupped her face gently.
"I will always love you."
"I don't want you to go," she whispered.
"I'm tired, my dear," he said softly. "I want to reunite with my love."
Then he held the gun.
"No matter what happens, Gumdrop," he said quietly, "never stop fighting for survival."
And he pulled the trigger.
Natasha screamed.
She fell to the ground, clutching his body beneath the rain, her cries breaking into the storm.
She held him for hours, shaking, whispering apologies into his lifeless chest.
Frederick eventually came outside.
"Quit your whining," he muttered. "Finally the old dirt bag is gone."
He looked at her with nothing but disgust.
"Go to your room."
Natasha obeyed.
She went to her grandfather's room. Crawled beneath the bed.
Found the loose board. Opened the hidden box. Inside was the key.
She placed it inside her shoe and she said nothing.
Hours later, Carmen and Frederick entered.
"Get up. We're leaving," Carmen ordered.
"Where are we going?" Natasha asked softly.
"Don't ask questions," Frederick snapped. "Just move."
They shoved her into the car.
They drove to a dark, broken place. Natasha saw children crying, starving, clinging to strangers.
She watched as a man handed Frederick a pack of cigarettes and ten dollars.
Ten dollars and cigarettes that's how much she's worth.
"What's happening?" Natasha asked Carmen.
"You're useless now," Carmen replied. "These are your new family."
Frederick bent down to her level.
"I hope you die," he said calmly. "And if you don't, don't bother coming back. We'll be rich without you."
"Okay," Natasha replied quietly.
She didn't scream, she didn't fight, she went with the traffickers but inside her, something was born.
A promise.
I will survive and I will make you pay.
She lost her grandfather but she gained sisters.
Sunny, Ariana, Willow, Audrey.
She met people who shaped her. Broke her. Strengthened her.
She became Melissa.
Now her mother sat before her, speaking of a lost daughter who had betrayed the family.
Speaking of stupidity, speaking of shame.
Forgetting that they adopted Chloe the moment they realized they could not touch the inheritance without Natasha.
Forgetting that their plan now was Antonio.
Antonio—the man meant to marry Natasha.
Now meant to marry her replacement.
Because in their world, daughters were disposable but Melissa was no longer disposable.
She was dangerous, she was alive and her story was far from over.
Melissa inquired quietly about Carmen's lost daughter.
Antonio's jaw tightened, as though the name alone carried a wound that never healed.
"Natasha," he said at last.
"She murdered her grandfather when she was seven."
Melissa froze. The words sounded too cruel to belong to a child.
"How are you sure she did it?" she asked softly.
Antonio exhaled through his nose. "Her fingerprints were found on the gun."
Silence fell between them, thick and uneasy.
"Where is she now?" Melissa whispered.
"No one knows. People say she died a long time ago."
Melissa lifted her eyes to him. "Do you think she's still alive?"
Antonio met her gaze, his eyes dark with something between regret and longing.
"Yes," he said slowly. "I do."
Her heart skipped. "Why are you so certain?"
Because the dead do not haunt you like this, he almost said.
Instead, he spoke the truth he had buried for years.
"I was supposed to marry her," he admitted. "Not Chloe. But… things happened."
Melissa felt something tighten painfully in her chest. "Things always happen," she murmured.
Antonio gave a bitter smile. "And they always change the ending."