The following days confirmed her unease.
Marco began visiting more often—never empty-handed, always with a basket of fruits or a bottle of wine, as though gifts could soften his presence. He spoke of plans and ideas, framing them as casual musings:
"What if you planted coffee, cousin? It's a profitable crop."
"Have you thought about building a resort here? The mansion could be a tourist attraction."
"You should let me bring a business partner by, just to look. No commitments, just… exploration."
Each time, Bianca refused politely, though it grew harder to mask her irritation. Lara fumed openly, muttering, "Snake in silk clothing" whenever Marco left.
But Marco never lost his smile. He remained courteous, warm, charming to Paolo and respectful to Lydia and Ramon. To any outsider, he was the picture of a helpful cousin.
And yet… Bianca felt the hacienda itself react each time he came. The air grew tense, the trees whispering uneasily. Even the animals were restless—Pochi bleated loudly whenever Marco approached, wings of the chickens flapping in agitation.
The land knew.
---
One afternoon, while Marco strolled the orchard with Bianca, he paused at the guava tree. His hand reached toward a glowing fruit.
Bianca's voice was sharp. "Don't."
He blinked, withdrawing his hand with a laugh. "Just curious, cousin. Everyone's been talking about these miraculous guavas. Rosa swears they cured her arthritis. Quite the miracle, isn't it?"
"They're just fruit," Bianca said firmly.
"Fruit people would pay a fortune for," Marco murmured. His eyes glinted, but his smile remained easy.
Bianca's chest tightened. For the first time, she sensed clearly: Marco wasn't here just to help. He was studying, calculating. Waiting for the right moment.
---
That night, Bianca returned to the veranda, unable to shake the heaviness in her chest.
And there, as before, stood the stranger—the man from the market—half-hidden in the orchard shadows.
This time, Bianca didn't look away.
He inclined his head, a silent reassurance.
And though he melted back into the darkness without a word, Bianca felt a strange comfort.
As though, while Marco schemed with smiles, someone else—someone she didn't yet understand—was watching, guarding.
---
For days, Marco's presence hung over the hacienda like a shadow.
His polite visits, his easy smiles, his endless suggestions—they pressed on Bianca's nerves, made the orchard restless, stirred whispers in the bamboo. Every step he took felt like an intrusion, though he cloaked it in warmth.
But then, as suddenly as he had appeared, Marco stopped coming.
At first Bianca expected him any moment, arriving with mangoes or wine, ready with more "ideas." But the days passed, then a week, and still no sign of him. The hacienda seemed to breathe easier without his footsteps in its soil. Even the air felt lighter, freer.
Bianca allowed herself to relax.
---
End of Chapter 21