Corazón

⁰¹⁴ : 𝚄𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚀𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜

For years, Nazmin Azimi had been chasing shadows, endlessly searching for answers that seemed always just out of reach. Nothing-not a whisper, not a trace-had ever led her to where she longed to go, to uncover what she so desperately sought. There had been times in her earlier life when she was convinced there were hidden clues, fragments left behind in the aftermath of that haunting incident. She had believed, almost with a feverish certainty, that the truth was there, somewhere, just waiting to be uncovered.

Her confidence had been unshakable then. Nazmin had sent her most capable men, armed with her unwavering faith that they would find something-anything-within four months. But what had she received in return? Only silence. Disappointment gnawed at her, a cold and bitter companion. It was as though the past had been swallowed whole, leaving nothing but voids for her to navigate.

But now, as her eyes locked onto the document her assistant had placed before her, it felt as though reality was slipping away. She could hardly believe what she was seeing. The clue she had so relentlessly hunted, the piece of the puzzle she had clung to hope for-after all this time-had materialized before her.

Her gaze flickered over the photograph attached to the file, her heart remaining steady though her mind raced. It was not just any clue. It was a person-a face. The very thing she had longed for, yet had almost stopped believing would ever surface, was now staring back at her, its meaning heavy with possibility.

For a moment, it felt unreal, as if she were caught in a dream, suspended between disbelief and the cold, hard reality she had spent years mastering. But there it was-tangible, undeniable. The past she had spent so long unraveling was finally offering her something in return.

But then, in the next breath, her expression freezes, turning as icy as marble. It was as if something dark and buried had clawed its way back to the surface, dragging her mind to a place she had tried to keep buried. Slowly, deliberately, Nazmin lifts her gaze to the expensive mirror across the room. The glass reflects her image back at her, unflinching, almost daring her to acknowledge the truth it silently held.

There it was-that familiar beauty, the one that drew others in like moths to a flame, carrying the quiet allure of moonlit nights. Her features, delicate and striking, were bathed in the soft glow of the room, casting shadows across her high cheekbones. Waves of chestnut hair cascaded effortlessly over her shoulders, framing her face with an ethereal grace. The veil that had previously obscured half of her face was gone, revealing the full spectrum of her beauty.

But no one-no one except her-knew the truth.

This face, the one that captivated so many, was not her own. It belonged to someone else. She had been wearing it for years, living in the shadow of another, a mask so intricately crafted that no one had ever questioned it. A secret woven so tightly into her existence that it was now as much a part of her as the pulse in her veins.

Her fingers brushes lightly over her reflection, as if testing the reality of the woman staring back at her. The beauty was there, undeniable, but it wasn't hers. It was borrowed, stolen, claimed by necessity. And she would take that secret with her to the grave, should the time come when the world crumbled at her feet, brought down by the enemies that lingered in the darkness.

No one would ever know. No one could ever know.

For in this life she had built, there was no room for truth-only survival, at any cost.