Page 267 of Bad Prince
My face.
Reflected in hers.
Younger.
Fiercer.
Untouched by compromise.
A slow exhale leaves me.
“Mi hija…”
(My daughter…)
The words feel foreign.
And inevitable.
Behind me, the model calls out lightly, “Everything okay?”
No.
Nothing is okay.
Everything is different.
I stand, for the first time all evening—I actually see her and feel nothing. “Carla,” I say calmly, “the car will take you home.”
Her smile falters. “What?”
“I have business.”
She studies my face noticing something has changed and gathers her things without another word.
The second the door closes—I move, phone in hand.
One call.
“Alonso.”
My attorney answers immediately. “Señor.”
“I need you at the penthouse. Now.”
A beat.
“No questions.”
“Yes, señor.”
Next call is to, Javier, the head of security. “I want a full trace on a U.S. number. Immediate.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Also—pull everything on Stella Cortéz. Stanford University.”
Pause.
