RICHARD’S POV.

I leaned back in my chair, letting the smooth jazz from the speakers fill the room. We sat in the bar lounge in the mansion.

Martins sat across from me, swirling his wine like he always did when he was about to say something serious.

I could see that look in his eyes—the one that said he was about to dig into things I didn’t want to talk about.

“You know,” he started, his voice low, “sometimes I feel pity for her. Sarah didn’t deserve all that.”

“Pity?” I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped, harsh and cold. “For her?” I shook my head, taking a long sip of my own wine.

The taste was bitter on my tongue, but it matched the mood. “I don’t feel anything for Sarah, except maybe... hatred.”

Martins raised an eyebrow at me, clearly not buying it. “Hatred? Come on, Rich. She’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad?” I shot him a look. Was he serious? I stared down at my glass, watching the red liquid swirl.

“You know how this all started, don't you?” I felt the anger rise in me again, just thinking about it.

“Back in high school, I was with Susan. She was... well, she was everything. Confident, strong, not some clingy little girl who followed me around like a lost puppy.”I could feel the disgust creep into my voice.

“Then my dad and her dad got this bright idea—‘Hey, let's marry off our kids and strengthen our business ties.’ Like I was just some piece in their game.”

“Yeah, I remember that,” Martins said, but I could hear the sympathy in his voice. It irritated me. “But Sarah—”

“Sarah,” I cut him off, my voice sharper than I meant it to be. “Sarah was obsessed. It was disgusting. She made it so obvious.”

I could see her in my mind, always there, always looking at me with those wide eyes. “Always jumping on me, clinging like I was the air she needed to breathe.”

I continued. “Everywhere I turned, there she was. Smiling, blushing, trying to get my attention. And everyone thought it was cute.” I let out a bitter laugh.

“Cute? It was pathetic. Unlike Susan. Susan knew what she wanted. She had pride. She didn’t throw herself at me like Sarah did.”

“So, you hated her for liking you?” Martins asked, his voice annoyingly calm.

I leaned forward, my grip tightening around the glass. “I hated that she made it so easy for them to control me. My father used her feelings to push this marriage.”

“She could have refused to get married to me, but no, she decided to say yes.” I felt my jaw tighten as the memories flashed through my mind.

“It was like I was trapped in some twisted fairy tale, where everyone wanted the perfect love story. But it wasn't love. Not for me.”

“You could’ve told her,” Martins said quietly. “You could’ve made her understand.”

“Understand?” I scoffed, setting my glass down with a thud. “What was the point? She was so blind, so hopeful. Even if I told her, she’d just keep trying.”

“She never saw the real me. She just saw the version of me she wanted.” I looked away, staring at the flickering candle on the table. “I was just the prize at the end of her silly dream.”

Martins sighed, rubbing his temples. “And Susan? You still think she’s the one?”

“Susan…” Her name felt like a lifeline. “Susan understands. She's not weak like Sarah. She knows what she wants, and she's not afraid to go after it. She's not some fragile little flower.”

“But she’s not with you now,” Martins pointed out. “Sarah was.”

I felt a jolt of anger at his words. “Yeah, well, that was the deal, wasn’t it? I married Sarah to keep everyone happy. To fulfill my father’s wish.”

I forced a laugh, though it sounded bitter even to my ears. “And look where that got me.”

I felt the rage flare up inside me at the mere thought of it. The old man—Sarah’s father—was the real reason I was stuck in this mess.

“He was the one who killed my father, even if no one wanted to admit it.”

Martins was staring at me, his eyes searching for something. Understanding, maybe? I didn't care.

“Richard,” he began slowly, like he was picking his words carefully. “You know it was an accident. They didn't plan for it to happen.”

I glared at him, my fingers digging into the armrest of my chair. “Accident? He was the one driving, Martins! They drove themselves to death at the prospect of bonding their precious families together.”

“My father trusted him, and look where that got him—six feet under!” My voice was cold, each word like a knife cutting through the air.

“If it weren't for him, none of this would have happened."

Martins rubbed his forehead, looking more tired than before. “You could have rejected Sarah after that, you know. Both your fathers were gone. No one would have stopped you.”

I shot him a sharp look, my eyes narrowing. “As if you didn't know,” I snapped. He was my best friend; of course, he knew the full story.

“It wasn't just about our fathers. It was about my grandfather, too. The moment Dad died, he took over and made sure I couldn’t get out of this trap.”

Martins leaned back, listening, but he didn't say anything this time. He knew I was just getting started.

“My grandfather told me straight up,” I continued, my voice laced with bitterness.

“‘You marry Sarah,’ I refused, of course. Told him I already had someone I wanted to marry. Susan. But he didn’t care. He said the only way to claim my inheritance was to marry her. Did I have a choice?”

“Your grandfather was a stubborn man,” Martins said quietly.

“Stubborn? That's putting it mildly.” I let out a harsh laugh. “He practically held my life hostage. Marry Sarah, or lose everything. Those were my choices. And he made it clear there wouldn't be a third option.”

It felt as if those years were replaying itself. The frustration, the anger, the feeling of being caged.

My grandfather died a year after I married Sarah. A whole year I had to endure that sham of a marriage, just to keep everything in line.

But the moment he passed, I was free. Free to divorce her and live my life the way I wanted.

“And that's exactly what I did,” I muttered, more to myself than to Martins. “The second he was out of the picture, I filed those papers. I wasn't going to waste another second.”

Martins just sat there, staring at his glass. He always supported Sarah, but he didn't have a choice when I requested for a divorce.

It was either his best friend of many decades or Sarah.

SARAH’S POV.

The next few days in the hotel were a blur. I busied myself with plans for Madrid, checking listings online, arranging paperwork, anything to keep my mind occupied.

But every time I closed my eyes, the image of Richard and Susan on that television screen flashed back at me.

I could still hear the reporter's voice announcing my failed marriage like it was the evening news.

I tried not to think about it. I had to move forward, right? Mom always said that life doesn't stop for anyone. But it felt like mine had hit a wall.

The morning I was set to leave for Madrid, I stood by the window, watching the city wake up. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a soft glow over the buildings.

I took a deep breath and looked at my packed bags. This was it. A new start.

A knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts. My heart skipped a beat—who could it be this early? I walked over and opened it cautiously. It was the hotel manager.

“Good morning, Miss Williams,” he greeted with a polite smile. “Just here to remind you about your checkout time.”

“Thank you,” I replied, forcing a smile. “I'll be out in an hour.”

As he walked away, I closed the door and leaned against it. My chest tightened. I should have known things would go sour when Grandpa Bryan died.

Richard never looked at me twice, but u had always wished–if wishes were horses.

I took one last look around the room, grabbed my bags, and headed downstairs. The lobby was quiet, just a few people milling about.

I handed in my key and turned toward the exit. As I stepped out into the fresh air, I felt a rush of mixed emotions—fear, relief, uncertainty.

The taxi to the airport was waiting. I climbed in and gave the driver my destination. As we pulled away from the hotel, I glanced back one last time.

The drive to the airport was uneventful, giving me too much time to think. Madrid was supposed to be my new beginning, a place where I could carve out my happiness.

But the fear was still there. What if it turned out just like this? What if I was never meant to be happy?

We arrived at the airport, and I went through the motions—checking in, going through security, and waiting at the gate.

People moved around me, living their lives. For a moment, I felt invisible, just a face in the crowd. And maybe that was okay. Maybe being invisible was better than being broken.

I finally boarded the plane and found my seat by the window. As the plane started to taxi down the runway, I looked out at the world I was leaving behind.

A part of me felt numb, like I was watching someone else’s life unfold. But as the plane took off, climbing higher and higher, I felt something else. Hope.

Madrid was waiting for me. A new city, a new life. Maybe this time, I could find my own happiness, one that wasn't tied to someone else's story.

As the plane soared through the clouds, I closed my eyes and let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I won't sulk over him anymore. I would build my life back.

The flight to Madrid felt like a long blur, hours passing in a haze of quiet thoughts and restless attempts to sleep.

When the plane finally touched down, the city greeted me with a bright, warm sun. It was almost like Madrid was offering me a fresh start right from the moment I stepped off the plane.

After grabbing my luggage, I made my way to the taxi stand. The driver was a middle-aged man with a friendly smile. “¿A dónde vas?” he asked, his eyes warm and welcoming.

“Hotel Valencia, por favor," I replied, my voice shaky from exhaustion. The driver nodded, and soon we were on our way.

Don't ask me how I could speak Spanish, I learned languages in school and I majored in Spanish.

As the car navigated through the busy streets, I looked out the window, taking in the sights. Everything was different—the language, the architecture, the people.

It was like stepping into a whole new world, one that didn’t have the shadows of Richard and my failed marriage hanging over it.

The hotel was charming, with a small courtyard filled with plants and flowers. After checking in, I headed up to my room.

It was small but cozy, with a balcony that overlooked a narrow, cobbled street. I set my suitcase down and walked over to the window, pushing it open.

A soft breeze drifted in, carrying with it the sounds of the city: chatter, laughter, the hum of life.

I knew I couldn't just hide in the room. I had to start living. So, after a quick shower, I changed into a simple dress and decided to take a walk.

I needed to explore, to see what this new life could be. I wandered through the streets, letting my feet guide me.

The city was alive with color and energy. Street vendors called out to passersby, the scent of fresh bread wafted from small bakeries, and artists sat along the sidewalks, painting and sketching.

After walking for a while, I found myself in a small, bustling market square. I wandered through the stalls, admiring the fresh produce and handmade crafts.

One stall caught my eye—a little stand filled with beautiful, hand-painted tiles. Each tile was a tiny masterpiece, with intricate patterns and vibrant colors.

I couldn't resist picking one up. The design was simple but captivating, a swirl of blue and white.

“Es hermoso, ¿verdad?”(It's beautiful, isn't it)a voice beside me said. I turned to see an elderly woman standing behind the stall, her eyes crinkling with a kind smile.

“Sí, es muy hermoso,” (Yes, it is very beautiful) I replied, smiling back at her. I decided to buy the tile.

As I walked away, I heard the sound of music in the distance. Drawn by the melody, I followed it until I came to a small park.

A group of musicians was playing under a large tree, their music lively and full of joy. I found a bench nearby and sat down, letting the music wash over me.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt a small flicker of happiness.

Suddenly, there was a commotion near the musicians. A little girl, maybe five or six, was standing there, her face scrunched up in worry.

She had lost her balloon, and it was now drifting up towards the sky. I watched as she reached up, her eyes filling with tears. Without thinking, I got up and walked over to her.

“Hey, it's okay,” I said softly, kneeling down to her level. She looked at me with big, teary eyes, and my heart ached. “You know what? Balloons like to go on adventures, just like us.”

She sniffed and looked up at the balloon, which was now just a tiny dot in the sky. “Really?”

“Really,” I nodded. "And I bet that balloon is going to tell the clouds all about the wonderful girl it met today."

She blinked at me, and slowly, a smile started to form on her lips. Just then, a woman rushed over, clearly the girl's mother.

She thanked me in a flurry of Spanish, hugging her daughter tightly. I stepped back, watching as the little girl wiped her eyes and started to smile again.

As I walked back to the bench, I realized what I needed to do. I was going to gain my stand and build myself to a point where I wont be stepped over.

I stayed in the park for a while longer, just listening to the music and watching people go by.

The city was starting to feel less like a place where I was running to and more like a place where I could belong.

I would make sure Richard ran back begging me. He would come crawling.