Page 282 of Hate Mates

Bound by Deceit by J.L. Lora

Prologue

"Are you sure this is what you want to do, Sole?"

I ask myself, louder than I meant, and my words echo off the walls.

With its canopy sleigh bed and beautiful white furniture, this bedroom is a dream. It's a well-lit, reader's paradise, where I spent most of the peaceful nights of my life. But there's only so long you can look at the majestic bed or the round plush chaise, where I fell asleep reading, until reality crashes in. So I turn my gaze to my reflection in the mirror and the woman I barely recognize as myself — one walking the path I swore I would never tread.

"¿Estas Segura?"

I look the part for today in my flawless makeup and designer long-sleeve white gown. The Italian lace kisses the skin down my arms, and the silk slides softly against my body. The contrast between the rich brown skin I inherited from my mother and the pristine white material goes together in a way I never expected. My lips lined and painted, in the Blurred Berry shade, resemble a natural pucker.

Even my tight, unruly curls are softly pushed back by a diamond headband. Like a princess from my childhood dreams, I'm ready for my picture-perfect moment. The photos will tell a story of two people in love, smiling for quasi-unscripted moments.

Am I sure I want to do this?

No. Because this is not what I want to do.

This is what I must.

And when you must, whatever you decide, becomes the right decision.

When the knock on the door comes, a voice I don't recognize answers as my own, "Come in."

The door opens slowly. My soon-to-be husband is there, looking like the perfect complement to me in his black tux. The prince has arrived. And my stomach plummets.

"Are you ready?"

No.But I nod, stand from my chair, and cross the room to take his offering hand.

The rest of our lives begin tonight.

Chapter One

As it turns out, it was really a bad idea to go out running up a mountain in seven-degree weather. My lungs are about to burst and even thinking is a struggle. The snow-covered trees bled together in a six-mile-long blur that usually clears my head. Like its namesake, Mountain La Estela brings me peace. Today, I run out of gas, so I slow down along with the three men behind me. As I start catching my breath, Gustavo, the only man I truly call a friend, trots to my side.

"Can we fucking go back now?" he says, the surly tone coating his words.

"You're not even worked up," I wheeze out.

"That's because I'm actually in shape. You should get that checked." He points at me, half-laughing.

"Shut the fuck up."

He laughs this time but then sobers up. "Dario, stop letting the old man get the best of you."

It's hard when the old man is your father, and he lords his power over your head. Conrado Cordero won't run the family correctly, but he won't step aside so I can do it either. "He should let me quit and go make my own destiny."

"You're his heir," my friend says.

"I would gladly step aside for Diego."

"The altitude got to you because you're sounding straight uploco. One, your cousin is a fuckhead. Two, your father would never allow anyone to become head of the family over his own son."

"He could give two fucks about me, Gustavo."

"True, but his legacy is everything to him." His voice turns softer as he utters the words because he knows what a sore subject it is.

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