Three Means 1

Confessions

    Dulce and Pierre's eyes widened at Angelo's unnecessary comment. Her heart plummeted at this apparent reminder of his comprehensive awareness of their shared history. Surely, Angelo wouldn't impose a threat at revealing their secret. Contemplation lingered, and she envisioned the possibility of betraying him, revealing his own secrets to none other than Fleur. Did Angelo fully grasp the consequences of such a disclosure?

    Angelo's smirk endured but subtly faded as Arthur delivered his response.

    "What exactly are you insinuating?" he asked. Angelo, anticipating a casual brush-off to what he considered a shared joke, was taken aback by the unexpected gravity of Arthur's question; the subtlety he had intended transformed into an unintended and palpable implication.

    Dulce cast a discreet glance in Angelo's direction—a silent caution. Angelo, attuned to the unspoken, recognized the warning, though he had no intention of vocalizing his fleeting joke that had taken an unexpected turn.

    A subtle shake of Angelo's head was accompanied by a wry smile. "It's nothing, Arthur. I'm just joking," he reassured, but Arthur, perceiving beyond the surface, wasn't swayed.

    "No. There is substance in your words. Do enlighten me," Arthur insisted, redirecting his gaze towards Pierre. A pointed look was exchanged between Pierre and Dulce, who instinctively averted her gaze, unwilling to raise suspicions. Why did Pierre's gaze linger on her?

    In the ensuing quietude, Arthur broke the silence.

    "I thought my sister was talking nonsense when she told me you guys made a cute couple but, now, my eyes discern a different truth."

    No immediate response echoed within the room, leaving it desolate, compelling Arthur to persist in his questioning.

    "Is it true, then?" he asked, his gaze fixed intently upon her. Dulce, her eyes now shimmering with unshed tears, met his stare, and in that charged exchange, tears cascaded down.

    "Forgive me, Arthur. This was never my intention. To be completely honest, I find myself lost, unsure of my own actions," she confessed hastily, as if eager to untangle herself from the situation, evading the looming specter of embarrassment. Rarely, in her existence, had she experienced such a profound sense of shame.

    Arthur's eyes shimmered, mirroring the tearful shine that had enveloped Dulce's just moments prior. Swiftly, he rose from the dining table.

    He didn't utter a word, instead, he veiled the growing emotions within him. With a deliberate turn, he averted his gaze, unwilling to resist to the vulnerability that tears often unveiled.

    "Stop this ridiculous pretend relationship. You were not together," Pierre's words spat forth unexpectedly, the audacity of them widening Dulce's eyes, drowning her further in a sea of shame.

    Arthur immediately turned around, this time his once saddened expression was one of anger, but not quite rage.

    "You fucking pig. You fake fuck, Judas. The thought of Angelo betraying me about literally anything always crossed my mind, but you?" he shouted, punctuating his outcry with both fists pounding forcefully upon the dining table.

    Dulce, startled by the thunderous sound, grasped Pierre's thigh in silent reprimand. He, however, remained indifferent to her warning.

    "I'll be a pig if it means I get to keep her," Pierre uttered with a gentle softness, rising from his seat, prompting Arthur to stand in response. The tension in the air thickened and, in a surge of conflicting emotions, Arthur reached across the table with a fierce determination, tightly clutching Pierre's shirt before delivering an intense blow to his cheek, a sudden surge of red staining the pallor of Pierre's skin.

    "Stop it now!" Dulce commanded, a palpable fear in her voice as she rose to intervene, only to inadvertently catch an unintended strike from Arthur. A solemn quiet fell upon the room, shattered by the loud noises of shattered bottles and the macabre artistry of blood.

    In a corner, Dulce wept in horror, while Angelo, maintaining an air of composed detachment, indulged in his cigarette on the sofa. Despite her pleas, Angelo remained unmoved, desiring the brutal culmination of the altercation, even if it meant severe injury.

    "Trust me, he looks cute when he's injured," Angelo remarked coolly, alluding to his brother, a statement that sent a shiver down Dulce's spine. The response served as the catalyst for her departure, her mind swirling with countless thoughts, the violent clash merely the precursor to a decision that would lead her away from Paris's tangled web.

    Underneath the moonlit sky, she ventured into the chaotic night, leaving the tumultuous scene behind. The echoes of the fight lingered in her ears, but new noises awaited her as she stumbled upon a crowd of angry protesters. Their shouts and signs painted a vivid picture of discontent, and she navigated through the sea of emotions.

   Heart pounding, she maneuvered through the incessant crowd, desperately seeking solace. As the night grew darker, the shadows seemed to engulf her, and a fleeting moment of vulnerability gripped her soul. With each step, the tension in the air intensified, and she narrowly avoided any confrontation that threatened her safety.

    Finally, she returned to the quiet house late at night, the chaos of the outside world replaced by an eerie silence within. The aftermath of the earlier commotion lay heavy in the air, and the once-familiar surroundings seemed foreign. The dim glow of a solitary lamp illuminated the room where emotions had erupted like a windy storm.

    She moved cautiously through the hushed corridors, her mind haunted by the events of the evening. The echoes of passionate whispers and heated arguments reverberated in her memory, but as she entered the now-deserted rooms, a profound sense of isolation enveloped her.

    In the stillness of the night, she took the opportunity to pen a letter, the nib of her pen dancing across the paper as she poured her tumultuous thoughts onto the page. The lamplight flickered, casting shadows on the handwritten lines that bore the weight of her conflicted emotions.

"My Dearest Eliza,

As the echoes of chaos dissipate around me, I find myself compelled to share the painful truth that has woven its way into the fabric of my existence. The allure of Paris, like a charming illusion, led me away from the right path, and I now confront the consequences of a journey gone awry.

Tonight's events have unraveled the delicate threads of my life, exposing the cracks in the foundation of my choices. The love I sought in these cobbled streets escaped from me, replaced by the harsh reality of heartache. It pains me to admit that my heart, once filled with dreams of romance and adventure, now bears the scars of a misguided pursuit.

I must say goodbye to the enchanting city that promised so much yet delivered the bitter taste of disillusionment. My presence here has become a haunting reminder of mistakes made (by me) and hearts broken. The bonds that once tethered me to this place now feel like shackles, urging me to seek solace beyond the confines of Parisian streets.

With a heavy heart and tear-stained ink, I declare my intent to leave, to break the ties that bind me to a city that has become more a labyrinth than a haven. Perhaps in distance, back home, I shall find the healing balm my wounded soul so desperately craves.

Regretfully,
Dulce"

    With determination etched in her heart, she made up her mind to dispatch the letter to the bakery, sealing her fate with the dawn's first light.