PART 2You do not cry in the black SUV. Not because it does not hurt. Your cheek burns where Andrés’s hand landed, your palm is wrapped in a white towel already spotted with blood, and your chest feels as if someone has poured ice inside it. But tears would belong to the woman who still hoped he might run after you. That woman is gone. The driver keeps his eyes forward as the gates of the mansion disappear behind you. In the rearview mirror, you see two security guards standing stiffly near the entrance, pretending they did not just hear...
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