Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 68858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
I kept swiping, unable to stop myself even as the images became more vulgar and more explicit. Each photo painted a clearer picture of the life Eva had been living—one of dangerous liaisons and indulgence in the darkest corners of the city. Some of the men in the photos were faceless, their identities hidden by the angles of the shots or perhaps deliberately cropped out. But there were others—most of them—whose wedding rings gleamed in the low light, a silent testament to their infidelity.
It wasn’t just one man; there were many. Mateo’s father was in several of the images, his hands on Eva, his presence undeniable. But he wasn’t the only one. There were other men, some of them two at once, their bodies intertwining with hers in ways that made my stomach turn. The gold bands on their fingers told me everything I needed to know about how Eva had financed her lifestyle—the expensive clothes, the luxury apartments, the nights spent in the city’s most exclusive spots. She had found her way to thrive in this corrupt city, but at what cost?
I felt a strange mix of emotions—rage, sadness, disgust—but most of all, a deep, aching sorrow. This was the life my sister had chosen, or maybe it was the life she had been forced into. Either way, it had consumed her, swallowed her whole, leaving behind the girl I once knew in its wake.
Just when I thought I couldn’t take anymore, the images changed to videos. I hesitated, my finger hovering over the screen. The thumbnail showed Eva, her face partially obscured, her lips slightly parted as she stared into the camera. It was a look I didn’t recognize, a combination of defiance and despair that twisted something deep inside me.
I knew I shouldn’t, that whatever lay on the other side of that play button would only make things worse. But I couldn’t stop myself. I had to see, had to understand what my sister had been through, even if it shattered the last illusions I held about her.
I tapped the screen, and the video began to play. For a moment, the screen was filled with nothing but darkness. Then the scene began to take shape—a dimly lit room, opulent and suffocating in its decadence. My sister, Eva, came into view, dressed in nothing but lingerie that left little to the imagination. She was perched on the edge of a bed, the camera angled in such a way that I could see the mirrored ceiling above her.
The reflection showed more than just her—it captured a man’s silhouette moving towards her, the same man from the previous images, Mateo’s father.
He reached out, his fingers brushing along her bare skin, and I felt my breath catch in my throat. The way he touched her, the way she leaned into him—it was like watching a predator close in on its prey. But the most disturbing part was the look on Eva’s face. It wasn’t fear, nor was it pleasure. It was resignation, a deadened acceptance of whatever was about to happen. As if she knew she was trapped in a life she could never escape, and this was just another moment in her endless cycle.
The video continued, the man’s voice barely audible as he murmured something into her ear. Eva nodded, her expression changing to one of forced delight. My hands shook as I watched, and I had to fight the urge to throw the tablet across the room.
How could she have ended up like this? What had driven her to this point? Anger surged through me, mingling with a deep, crushing guilt. I should have been there for her. I should have done something, anything, to stop this. Her moans poured from the tablet as she submitted to his every desire, riding him slowly. As the video progressed, it was evident that the man was growing increasingly rougher, his voice louder. Eva's cries grew less and less like pleasure and more like pain. The video ended abruptly. The screen went black, leaving me staring at my own reflection in the glass, pale and horrified with tears streaming down my face.
I didn’t want to see it anymore.
My hands were trembling as I tried to exit the gallery, desperate to escape the horrors flashing on the screen. But in my clumsiness, I swiped to the next video, and it began to play automatically. I froze, a chill sweeping over me when I recognized the voice.
“No,” I whispered, the word barely escaping my lips as dread clawed at my chest. “No, no, no…”
I didn’t want to look, didn’t want to see what was coming next. But I couldn’t stop myself. My gaze was drawn to the screen as if it had a will of its own. And then I saw her—Eva’s face turned towards the camera, her eyes wide with fear and pain. For the first time, she met my gaze through the lens, and the sheer desperation in her expression broke something inside me.