𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

Marcos POV

As I step into my room, a glint of gold catches my eye, nestled innocuously on the floor. My curiosity piqued, I approach cautiously, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling with an uneasy sense of foreboding. With trembling fingers, I reach down to pick up the note, the metallic surface cool against my skin.

The weight of its words hits me like a physical blow as I read the ominous message scrawled across its surface. "Don't trust her, she killed your father." The words hang in the air, heavy with accusation and veiled threats, sending a shiver down my spine.

I scrutinize the note, my heart pounding in my chest as I search for any clue to its origin. The paper is pristine, its edges crisp and untouched, as if it materialized out of thin air. There are no fingerprints, no traces of ink smudges-just the chilling message staring back at me, taunting me with its sinister implications.

Confusion clouds my thoughts as I try to make sense of it all. Who would send such a message, and why? And more importantly, how did they come to possess such damning information about Ruth? Fear gnaws at the pit of my stomach, a cold knot of dread as I realize that someone has uncovered her darkest secret.

Despite the chill that creeps into my bones, I can't shake the nagging concern for Ruth's safety. If someone is willing to go to such lengths to expose her, what other dangers lurk in the shadows, waiting to strike? As the weight of uncertainty bears down on me, I can only hope that Ruth is prepared for the problem that is about to engulf us both.

The realization sinks in like a lead weight in my chest- if I stumbled upon this revelation that she killed Antonio, who's to say others won't follow suit? The mere thought sends a chill down my spine. Why would anyone delve into Ruth's past with such intent? I toss the note onto my bed, the words "Blossom" glaring up at me accusingly.

My mind reels as I recall Ruth's previous panic attack, triggered by my ill-advised words to that random woman, "my sweet blossom." Could this be more than mere coincidence? The pieces of the puzzle begin to fall into place, painting a picture of a far more sinister game being played.

I refuse to succumb to fear, though the tendrils of apprehension cling to me like a suffocating fog. I could easily confide in Dante, enlist his resources to uncover the identity of the mysterious sender. But what then? What would they want from me? The warning not to trust Ruth gnaws at me, planting seeds of doubt that I struggle to shake off.

As I grapple with the implications, a pang of empathy tugs at my conscience. What could Ruth have possibly done to incur such animosity? Despite the storm brewing within me, I resolve to tread carefully, to navigate the murky waters of deception and betrayal with caution and humanity intact.

The possibility gnaws at me like a persistent ache-what if the note wasn't meant for Ruth at all? What if the sender believed someone else had a hand in my father's demise, and they're reaching out to me for justice? It's a far-fetched notion, but one I can't entirely dismiss. After all, why would they warn me against trusting a stranger?

As I mull over the cryptic message, a strange sense of reassurance washes over me. Despite the charade of our faux relationship, there's a flicker of authenticity in our interactions that seems to have convinced even the most skeptical observers. It's a small comfort in the midst of uncertainty.

Yet, as I weigh the decision to divulge the note to Ruth, a pang of guilt tugs at my conscience. Would burdening her with this revelation only add to her mounting stress? I can only imagine the turmoil raging within her, the weight of her secrets pressing down on her shoulders. She's stronger than she knows, and it pains me to see her struggling under the weight of her own demons.