Page 6 of Cryptic Curse

Belinda is playing the piano in Vinnie’s conservatory.

I could listen to her for hours.Idolisten to her for hours.

Music has always been more than just sound to me.It’s like a sanctuary.I can lose myself in the melodies and harmonies and pretend that life is like music—a place where everything fits.Everything makes sense.

I no longer need a sanctuary.I live in one—Vinnie, Raven, Belinda, and me playing house in this strange version of paradise.Still, music gets to me.Cuts through the noise.Reminds me I’m alive, that life is worth living.

Belinda is a prodigy—brilliant and unnervingly precise.Now that she’s here, under Vinnie’s care, she’s finally getting the kind of attention and instruction she deserves.Today, she’s playing Mozart—a new piece.

Mozart has always been a weakness of mine.I know people think his music is light, maybe even easy.But they’re wrong.There’s a frightening kind of perfection in it.Every note is deliberate.Measured.There’s no chaos in Mozart.Just order.

And for someone like me—who grew up in the constant storm that was my father’s house in Colombia—that kind of order felt like escape.

Because my life back then?

It was anything but logical.Anything but safe.Nothing fit.Nothing made sense.

In the middle of all that madness, Mozart was a calming balm.My mother had a vinyl collection of his greatest symphonies, sonatas, and chamber works that I listened to in secret in our mansion’s library—one of the few places I was sure never to run into Dad.

I escaped into the music.I used to dream about playing—really playing—an instrument and losing myself in the rhythm and structure, the discipline of it.But my father shut that down fast.Said it was a waste of time.Said it wasn’tusefulfor a girl growing up in Colombia.

He had a very clear idea of whatwasuseful.Music wasn’t on the list.

But cooking?That was allowed.That waspractical.

So I learned to cook under the guidance of the chef on my father’s staff.Over time, I found something strangely beautiful in it.The way ingredients come together—how they react, transform, become something new.Something better.It’s precise.It’s dependable.If you follow the steps, if you respect the process, it all makes sense.

Unlike everything else in my life.

My favorite thing to do back in Colombia—when I was allowed to—was to help the chef in the kitchen while listening to Mozart.

Sometimes Chef didn’t want any distractions—and that included music—but on the rare occasion when he was in a better mood, he let me play the classical tunes while we worked.

Until I got older, and then he expected a different kind of payment…

But before that, my life was pretty good.I got to cook.I got to listen to music if not play it.

Until I turned fifteen.

When my father began to force me to entertain his friends and colleagues.

One of them became particularly enamored with me.An older man named Diego Vega.Just thinking about him makes me want to vomit.

I was promised to him for a while, but now he’s dead.

And I’m married to Vinnie.

In name only.Now that I’m eighteen and my status in the United States is safe, we’ll be dissolving our marriage.

Vinnie’s already engaged to Raven, anyway.

Belinda’s fingers scamper up and down the keys.

I stand at the doorway to the music room.Just behind it so she doesn’t see me.

She doesn’t like it when I watch her play.Says it makes her nervous.And sure enough, anytime I sit in there, she tends to make errors.

That’s something she’s going to have to learn to deal with eventually because she has an amazing future in music.One day, she’ll be playing for packed houses, and she can’t be nervous then.

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