Chapter 46

The pigs were dead.
Every single one of them.
Their bodies lay in grotesque stillness, their forms eerily contorted, as if something had struck them all at once.
I wasn’t sure how many times I gulped, but it was way more than usual. How on earth were the pigs dead?
Not one, not two, but ALL?!
My heart had begun to race because I was already getting blamed for this.
I scrambled to my feet, my pulse roaring in my ears. “I didn’t do anything!”
But Julián wasn’t listening. He was already shouting for the other, his voice reverberating through the estate.
More workers arrived. More gasps. More horror.
And then the whispers began.
“It’s her.”
“It has to be.”
“The Omega. Heard she slept with the pigs overnight.”
“Yes, she did. Look how horrible she looks!”
What the hell were they saying?! Were they accusing me of killing the pigs? Where would I find the strength or balls to do that?!
Were they even thinking at all?!
Of course, something goes wrong, then blame the Omega for it!
I shook my head, panic clawing up my throat. “No! I didn’t—!”
“It’s the curse,” one of the older women hissed. “She’s cursed by the Moon Goddess! Havoc wreaks wherever she goes!”
They’ve got to be kidding me!
The last man had barely disappeared around the corner when a terrible thought struck me.
Mateo.
Where was he?
He had been here last night, hadn’t he? Hadn’t I fallen asleep to his voice, to the warmth of his presence beside me? And yet, now, he was gone.
How?
A chill crawled up my spine and my breath was hitching. He wouldn’t have just left, would he? He was different, I knew that much. But could he have had something to do with this? ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ.net
I shook my head. No, that’s ridiculous.
Mateohad been nothing but kind to me. He had teased me, comforted me, made me laugh when I thought I never would again.
Surely, he wouldn’t have… done this.
Would he?
The thought unsettled me more than I cared to admit. I cast a glance around the pigsty, as if he might suddenly appear out of thin air, flashing that insufferable smirk of his.
But there was nothing. No trace of him, as if he had never been here at all.
And then, just when I thought things couldn’t possibly get worse…
A furious roar resounded through the morning air.
I stiffened instantly, ice flooding my veins. I knew that voice.
My father.
The crowd of workers that had gathered scattered like roaches, some retreating to a safe distance while others, too curious for their own good, lingered at the edges, watching.
His footsteps were heavy against the dirt. Every step he took was sending a sharp stab of dread through my chest.
It felt like death itself was marching toward me. I could feel the heat between my legs. I might pee my pants.
And then, there he was, standing at the entrance of the pigsty, his lofty form nearly blotting out the rising sun.
Don Diego.
The fury on his face was more obvious than a mask, his dark eyes burning as they landed on the scene before him. On the unmoving bodies of his precious livestock.
And then—on me.
I barely had time to breathe before his hands were on me.
“What the fuck have you done?!”
He grabbed me by the arm and yanked me forward with such force that I stumbled, my knees colliding painfully with the packed dirt floor.
“Papá, I didn’t—”
Before I could even finish, he threw me.
I barely had time to react before I landed face-first into the carcasses of the pigs.
The scent hit me first.
Argh.
It was overwhelming, putrid—heavy with the iron tang of blood and something deeper—something rotting. It clung to the inside of my nose, coating my tongue, making my stomach protest violently.
I gagged, scrambling to push myself up, but my hands—oh, Dios, my hands—
They were sinking into the still-warm flesh of the dead animals, the slick, unnatural texture of their bodies sending waves of nausea my way.
I screamed, but the sound came out choked, panicked.
“No, no—” I thrashed, desperately trying to get away, but my father’s boot slammed down onto my back, pinning me in place.
“You ungrateful little brat*” His voice was thunderously growling above me. “You were supposed to accept your punishment. Not destroy what’s mine!”
“I didn’t—I didn’t do this!” My voice was hoarse, scared, helpeless, tired—but he didn’t care. He never did.
“Bad omen!” someone else cried. “*We can’t work for a family with a cursed daughter!*”
I raised my hands as if that would stop them, my breath coming too fast. “I am not cursed! This—this has to be some kind of mistake!”
But they didn’t believe me.
One woman clicked her tongue, backing away as if I carried the plague. I was about to protest again when a man spat at my feet before bolting like he had seen a ghost.
The others turned and ran, as if merely standing near me would taint them. Others stormed off, muttering about telling my father.
Oh, no. Dad would kill me. He never joked with his livestock. All of his pigs had died while they were supposedly supposed to be with me.
He wouldn’t take it lightly at all!
I stood there, trembling as I watched my world fall beneath me.
The last man left sneered at me. “You should have died instead of them.”
And then he, too, was gone.
I wrapped my arms around myself, gasping for breath, trying to understand what had just happened.
What sort of calamity had befallen me?
And worse—how was I going to survive my father’s wrath this time around?
His hand twisted into my hair, yanking my head back cruelly so much that my eyes almost popped out of their sockets in agony.
“Lies.” He spat.
I gasped, my scalp screaming in protest. The tears had begun pricking at the corners of my eyes. The workers watched in eerie silence, some with pity, others with sick satisfaction.
“I didn’t kill them,” I choked out, trembling. “I swear.”
I knew I didn’t, but how do I prove innocence?