The night felt eternal in the holding cells, and he couldn't help but remember when Jade had spent several hours in that place because of him… It felt as if a blindfold had been lifted from his eyes, showing him all the atrocities he had committed against the poor girl—something that only deepened his grief.
His friend was on time to pick him up, and they returned to the hotel in silence. Dominick wasn't in the mood to listen to his friend's reproaches, although Marcus seemed very focused—lost in his own thoughts, to be more precise—checking his phone constantly.
"I'll be with Maximiliano," Marcus warned. "Don't do anything stupid."
Dom didn't answer. He just watched as his friend got into the elevator, while he headed toward the chauffeur's room by the stairs. He arrived and knocked on the door.
Gregory opened, a little surprised by the visit, then stepped aside to let him in.
"Gregory, I need a favor. I have to hire a private investigator. I want you to find me the best one and schedule a meeting as soon as possible," he requested.
The man nodded.
"I'll get you one this very afternoon," he assured him.
Dominick thought it over.
"Make it two. Find two. That way the search will be more productive," he muttered.
"Search?" Gregory frowned.
"Don't worry, Gregory. Just take care of what I asked as quickly as you can. This is very important, and I can't waste time."
Dominick said goodbye and went back to his room. He looked around, let out a sigh, and told himself he would try to stay in control—if he wanted to find her, he had to stay sober. He cursed under his breath. Every day it was getting harder to keep his anxiety in check.
He shook his head. He didn't have a problem with alcohol. He convinced himself that he could stop drinking whenever he wanted.
He ordered food from room service and told himself he had to shave. He couldn't let himself fall apart; he had to face the problem and look for a solution.
He opened the door and thanked the server, then ate everything, feeling as though it had been years since the last time he had taken a bite. He showered and shaved, cleaned the small cuts on his face, and looked at himself in the mirror to examine his bruised features.
He laid down for a while, waiting for his chauffeur to bring what he had asked for…
[...]
Hours later, the sound of knocking woke him up. He got up and opened the door; his chauffeur was standing there with a piece of paper in his hand.
"Here are the contacts and references of two of the best investigators. One is waiting for you in the hotel restaurant, and the other has an appointment in an hour," he informed him, handing over the document.
"Thank you very much, Gregory. I'll call you if I need anything."
"At your service, sir," he replied, then left.
Dom headed straight for the restaurant—he wasn't going to waste time. He walked in and, once he spotted the man, went to sit down.
"Denier Links," the man introduced himself, extending his hand.
"Dominick Jackson," he replied, shaking it.
They sat down.
"I'll get straight to the point. I need you to find someone for me as soon as possible."
"If that's the case, I'm the man you need. Who are we talking about?" he asked.
"Jade Henderson. I need you to find her. She left a few days ago, and I have no idea where she is. I expect positive results soon, and if you deliver, the payment will be generous," he promised.
The dark-haired man smiled.
"In that case, I'll get to work today," he assured him.
They talked for a long while, arranging everything. When the man left, Dom also spoke with the other investigator, telling him the same thing he had told the first: plenty of money for positive results. He needed leads…
The afternoon came, and Dominick's anxiety was only growing. He wanted a drink. Instead, he decided to go out for a distraction, to look for information about Jade anywhere he could.
He got into his car, and before he knew it, he was parking in front of the girl's house. Even though his first visit there hadn't gone well, he told himself this time he would come in peace.
He got out of the car and walked up to the door. He knocked, and a few seconds later he was greeted by a young girl. Dom couldn't help but notice her striking resemblance to Jade.
"How can I help you?" Alicia asked.
"I'm a friend of Jade's," he lied. "I haven't heard from her in days, and I just want to know how she's doing."
"A friend of my sister's?" the girl frowned.
"Yes," he assured her. "Do you know where she is? The last time I saw her"—Dom swallowed hard—"was at the hotel. After that, I didn't know anything else about her."
"My sister left," the girl informed him, sadness plain on her youthful face.
"She left? Where to?" he asked, trying not to sound too desperate.
"I don't know." The girl shrugged. "The last time I saw her, she told me she had to leave. She also said she couldn't stay, but she didn't tell me her reasons… only that I couldn't know where she was."
"Do you think your mother knows?" he asked.
"My mom and Jade don't get along. The last time she was here, they had a really bad argument."
"Alicia, why are you taking so long?" Janeth called out, curious. "Who was it?"
The woman stopped short when she saw who it was.
"Alicia! What are you doing talking to this man?!" She grabbed her daughter by the arm and yanked her forcefully, pulling her further inside the house.
"Mom, he was only asking about Jade," she defended herself, struggling to break free from her mother's grip.
The girl managed to escape and ran off.
"You've got some nerve, coming here to my house to ask about Jade, that worthless girl," she spat furiously. "What do you want? To buy off my younger daughter too?"
"Don't you dare talk about your daughter like that, or I won't be able to hold myself back," he hissed, clenching his fists.
"What?" she scoffed. "Am I lying? Or what else should I call someone who sleeps with a man in exchange for money?"
Dominick tried to control himself. She was a woman, and he couldn't cross that line.
"You should be ashamed of yourself, talking about your own daughter like that." Janeth shifted uncomfortably. "What kind of mother lets a man who tried to rape her daughter keep living under the same roof?" he countered, furious.
"You don't know anything!" she shrieked, glaring at him. "It was Jade, that shameless girl, who asked for money in exchange…!"
Dominick lost his patience and grabbed her by the throat, cutting her off.
"Say one more insult about Jade, and I swear I'll forget you're a woman," he hissed, tightening his grip slightly. "You're a damned wretch, and I hope you pay dearly for everything…"
"Let go of my wife, unless you want me to put a hole in your head right now," threatened Elías, pressing his service weapon against the back of Dom's neck.
Dominick slowly released Janeth's throat. He turned carefully, facing Elías in uniform. The man glared at him with murderous intent.
"You dare to come to my house after what you did to me, and now you have the audacity to lay hands on my wife?" He shook his head, aiming the gun at Dominick's forehead. "Janeth, go inside."
The woman obeyed immediately.
"Do it," Dom challenged, pressing closer to the barrel of the gun. "I dare you to kill me right here, right now, in front of the whore you call your wife—because I already know everything." He smiled darkly.
Elías gripped the weapon tighter, burning to shoot him. But not now—not with people passing by on the street. Too many witnesses… He lowered the gun and smirked, telling himself there would be another time.
"You got lucky this time," Elías said through gritted teeth. "Watch your back." His smile made it clear this fight wasn't over. "Next time, you may not be so fortunate."
"Are you threatening me?" Dominick narrowed his eyes and took a step closer, confronting him.
"Take it however you want. I don't care," Elías shot back.
"In that case, I should stay on guard—because I doubt you'd be man enough to face me head-on. I'm sure you'll act like a coward and stab me in the back. Am I wrong?" Dom raised his eyebrows.
"Get out of my house," Elías ordered before he did something reckless.
"You'll hear from me again," Dom promised. He wasted no time, stormed off, and jumped into his car, tires screeching down the street.
He was driving fast, his anger boiling, feeling his blood burn beneath his skin. At that moment, more than ever, he needed a drink.
He drove straight to the hotel, handed the car to the valet, and stepped into the elevator. He paced inside, anxiety clawing at him, breaking him down.
The metallic box opened, and he rushed out until he reached his room. He shut the door behind him and, though he knew it was pointless, searched every corner for alcohol.
The result was the same—not a single drop.
He looked over at the dresser and spotted a bottle of pills. He grabbed it and swallowed two to help him sleep. He needed to calm down, though he doubted he'd be able to manage it.
He lay back and closed his eyes, thinking that a few hours of rest might help…
[...]
Slowly, he began to wake up. His body felt heavy, and he was starving. He sat up, blinking several times to focus better. He yawned and rose from the bed.
He took a long shower, and while the water ran over him, he remembered the altercation with his best friend. He admitted to himself that he didn't blame him—after all, he deserved every insult he had received.
He let out a deep sigh. It hurt to know that because of him, a lifelong friendship had come to an end—and the reason made him feel even worse, sick to his core. I should have listened from the start, he thought, reproaching himself for being so stubborn.
He turned off the tap and stepped out of the shower. After drying himself, he got dressed from the closet, left his room, and went down to the restaurant.
He arrived and was attended to immediately. He ordered his meal, and when he was nearly finished, he called over the waiter.
"How can I help you, sir?"
"Bring me a glass of whiskey," he said, wiping the corner of his lips with the napkin.
The man shifted uneasily.
"I'm sorry, sir. I can't…"
"This must be a joke!" he exclaimed, slamming his fist against the table. A few diners turned their heads to look at him. "A glass of wine? Champagne…?"
The waiter shook his head.
"Not a single drop of alcohol. Those were orders given to every member of the hotel staff. I'm very sorry, sir."
"Don't apologize."
The waiter left when Dom dismissed him with a gesture.
Annoyed by the situation, he stood up and left the hotel. He skipped his car and hailed a taxi instead. He considered going to a bar, but ruled out the seedy dives like the one from before.
He told the driver to take him somewhere good, where he could drink in peace. Half an hour later, the taxi pulled up in front of a luxurious establishment. He paid, stepped out of the car, and walked inside—realizing the man had been right. It was a quiet, elegant place, the kind that only people with money could enter.
Men and women in fine clothes chatted animatedly throughout the room. Dom went to the bar and ordered a cognac.
A woman sat beside him, glanced at him for a few seconds, and frowned slightly before turning her attention back to the front.
Dominick called the bartender and asked for the whole bottle, pulling out his card since he was planning to leave soon. The card slipped and fell; the woman bent down and picked it up.
"Here you go," she said, handing it to him.
"Thanks," he muttered. That feeling of emptiness settled inside him once again. Bitterness coursed through him, and the guilt grew heavier… He noticed the dark-haired woman looking at him with curiosity.
"Are you all right?" she asked, frowning.
Dominick detected genuine concern in her tone—but why? She didn't even know him.
"No," he admitted, tipping the bottle back. He handed his card to the man behind the bar. "I've been a mess for days because I'm an idiot."
"Well," the girl raised her eyebrows.
"What?" he looked at her strangely, then took another swig straight from the bottle.
"Not many men admit they're idiots," she remarked. "So why are you one…?"
"Dominick," he said, taking another drink. "My name's Dominick."
"Nice to meet you, Dominick. I'm Lizet."
Dom smiled faintly at the woman, unaware that outside the establishment… someone was waiting for him.