"I'll break down your walls one by one and sneak into the gates of your icy heart before crushing it into tiny pieces." He murmurs mercilessly as his lips lightly brush my ear, the contact eliciting an indescribable sensation through every inch of m...
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I end up staying on the balcony longer than I had expected.
All I want is for Yara to be happy, even if it means being with Eric.
But if there's even the slightest truth to what Stalon said, that changes everything.
An incoming call disrupts my thoughts.
Upon recognizing the caller ID, I answer after three rings.
"Hello?"
"Hi Anaya, sorry, is this a good time?"
"I mean, it's past midnight. . ." I trail off.
"I apologize for the late disturbance," the voice says on the other line, "I had no one else to call but you."
Before I can speak, she beats me to it.
"For the past few months, Tatianna has been acting unlike herself, and I'm getting worried by the second."
The topic of conversation stiffens me on the spot.
After the fallout between Tatianna and I, I blocked her phone number and hoped to God that I'd never cross paths with her again.
The fact that Saja, her older sister, is calling me in the middle of the night puts me in a strange predicament.
"Before you're about to share more," I trail off as I rub my temples, "I don't know if you're aware that she and I are no longer friends."
The silence is deafening.
"What?!" is her belated reaction, "How did this happen? I thought you two were still friends."
A sigh escapes me, "She's just not someone I can trust anymore. She betrayed my trust in the worst way. But I don't want to get into the weeds of it right now. . ."
"I'm speechless, I had no idea. . .I'm so sorry to hear that," Saja empathizes, "I hope things will work out."
If she knew the kind of person her sister was, she wouldn't be saying this.
"To shift gears," she continues in apprehension, "I called because I wanted to know if you had any idea of her whereabouts. She's been awfully distant with everyone for months now, and on most mornings, she leaves the house early in the morning without telling anyone—"
"I don't think it's something to read too much into," I interrupt, "There are many times, I've left home early in the morning—"
"No, you don't understand," Saja intercepts in determination, "She disappears to God knows where and arrives super late in the evening. She often hops into this black van, and I have no idea who she's involved with and how to get through to her. Something about all this doesn't feel right."
I scrunch my brows, "Wait, did you just say a black van?"
"That's right."
On the day of Lolita's murder, I think back to when I spotted her stepping out of some mysterious black van at the parking lot of our parents' home last year, hours before our aunt's wedding ceremony.
