Sanathiel moved through Itzel's estate with measured steps. Each footfall echoed across the cold marble floor, a ghostly sound that refused to fade.
"The marble walls glowed under the golden light of dusk, but faint cracks in the portraits whispered of truths long buried. When his foot pressed against a loose tile, the floor groaned like a suppressed cry."
The housekeeper led him to a sunlit room encased in glass. There, Itzel waited by a low table. Her elegance remained untouched, but her eyes—those eyes told another story. Something in them had withered, a sorrow carved deep into her soul.
"Here," she offered, handing him a glass of wine. "One of my favorites," she smiled, but the warmth never reached her gaze.
Sanathiel accepted, never breaking eye contact. Something about her movements—the way her fingers twitched ever so slightly—kept him on edge. As he sipped, his eyes caught a portrait in the corner. A girl with pale hair and eyes full of mystery.
"She was painted before her funeral," Itzel whispered, her voice soaked in pain too deep for words.
He narrowed his gaze at the canvas. There was something disturbingly familiar about that face, like a memory clawing its way back to life.And then—A crash shattered the silence.
A young woman burst into the room, her presence wild and blazing. The resemblance to the portrait was undeniable, but her eyes… they blazed with fury.
"Another one, Itzel?" she spat, scorn sharp in every word. "Did you tell him you're married?"
"Shards of porcelain scattered like broken tears. Among them, a silver wolf pendant caught the light.
Cristal snatched it up possessively, unaware that Sanathiel recognized it—it was the same one worn on the night of the blood moon."
"Enough, Cristal," Itzel said sternly, trying to rein her in.
The name hit Sanathiel like a thunderclap. His chest clenched. The floor beneath him seemed to tilt.
"You dishonor my father's memory!" Cristal screamed, hurling a vase that shattered with a crash louder than her rage.
Itzel shut her eyes, inhaling sharply. "Sanathiel, forgive her. Life has not been kind since her father died," she said, but there was something buried in her tone. Something evasive.
Sanathiel set his glass down. All of him focused now on Cristal, who glared before storming out.
When the door closed, he turned to Itzel."Itzel… Tell me the truth. The rumors about your daughter—are they true?"
She met his gaze for a heartbeat, then her shoulders sank. A sigh, long and heavy, slipped from her lips.
"Follow me to the greenhouse," she murmured.
The tension thickened as they crossed into the glass garden. The amber light painted shadows across their faces—shadows of truths neither was ready to face.
"A vine of black roses coiled around Itzel's neck as she spoke, like nature itself conspiring to strangle her words. Near Cristal, the flowers seemed to wilt ever so slightly when Itzel uttered: 'white wolf.'"
"Cristal… is she my daughter?" Sanathiel asked. His voice was barely a whisper—but it carried the weight of a storm.
Silence answered first. But it was enough.
"She doesn't know," Itzel finally said, eyes cast down. "You mustn't tell her. Not yet."
Sanathiel tasted iron—he had bitten his cheek. The wolf pendant in the painting now mocked him. Those painted eyes no longer looked mournful—they accused him.He had a daughter.
A daughter he never knew.
And now that truth wrapped itself around him like invisible chains.
"Her father..." Itzel's voice broke. "He was killed by the white wolf."
Sanathiel staggered a step back, as though her words had pierced his chest. The air turned thick, each breath a labor.
"Vengeance," he muttered, the word burning like poison on his tongue.
"She feels it, Sanathiel. Deep in her soul. She doesn't understand it, but it's there. One day she'll find the one responsible. And if she discovers the truth…"Itzel's gaze turned sharp. "She'll destroy you."
Her warning cut through him like lightning. His own curse—the white wolf—had birthed an enemy that now wore the face of his child.
"If you touch her, Sanathiel, it won't be you who destroys her," Itzel said as she traced the edge of the portrait, now cracked like breaking glass.
"She will devour you. Wolves don't recognize blood when they're starving."
He said nothing. His hands curled into fists, emotions roiling beneath his skin. She was right.But how could he walk away now?
As he left the greenhouse, his mind was chaos. But one thing echoed loudest:"The day she finds out who you are… it'll be too late. For both of you."
Sanathiel stood silent, eyes fixed on the ruby bracelet now in his hand. Thoughts spun in violent circles—He had a daughter.
The moon's crimson light seared his memories. How many years had passed with him unknowingly breathing the same air as her?Was this guilt? Rage? Or was it fear?
The brush of Itzel's fingers on his jaw broke the trance. The bracelet slipped from her hands to his, and in one reckless second, their lips met—A kiss too fleeting to be real. Too dangerous to be repeated.
Then—pain.Itzel had pressed her nail into his palm, sharp as a thorn.
"Lovers die by secrets," she murmured, voice soft as poison. "Or they keep them. You choose, white wolf."
He stepped back, eyes dark with turmoil. Desire and guilt tangled inside him like twisted roots.
Itzel just smiled, calm like a woman who knew too much. She walked away slowly, her laughter merging with the crunch of leaves, as if the earth itself mocked him.
Sanathiel clenched the bracelet. Her scent lingered—so sweet it suffocated him.
And with a dreadful clarity, he understood:
He was trapped.No matter how far he ran from his past, it would always catch up.
This time, it had her face.Cristal's face.