"I'm your security. And I'm telling you it's not safe tonight."
"Why? What's not safe? What aren't you telling me?"
"That's not—" He stops. His mouth opens like he might actually explain, then snaps shut. "That's not your concern."
"It's MY LIFE. Everything about it is my concern!"
He finally looks at me, and his eyes are arctic. Empty. Except for a flash of something desperate before he locks it down. "If you want to be exactly what everyone expects, drunk and high, making my job impossible, you can fire me. Otherwise, you're staying here tonight."
The words cut deep. Exactly what everyone expects. Like that's all I am. All I've ever been. The party girl. The disaster. The mess he has to manage.
Not the woman he kissed by the pool. Not the person he carried to bed. Just the asset making his job impossible.
"Fine," I say, my voice dead. "I'll stay."
I walk to my room. Close the door carefully. Don't slam it. Don't give him the satisfaction of knowing how deep that cut.
Through the wall, I hear him on the phone. Low, urgent. "…need more eyes on the building… Cesar's people were spotted… tonight, yes… I can't tell her, she'll—"
The rest is muffled, but I've heard enough. Something's happening. Something about Cesar. And Nico won't tell me because… because what? He thinks I'm too fragile? Too stupid? Too drunk to handle it? Fine, I'll just go to La Sirena and ask Cesar directly. He, at least, won't lie to me.
I lie on my bed staring at the ceiling.
Nico called me exactly what everyone expects. Drunk and high. Those were his words. Like that's my only setting. Like these endless days I've been sober don't matter. Like trying doesn't matter. Like I don't matter.
I should have known better. No one stays. No one wants the real me. Mom left through death, whispering Gabriel's name. Dad looks at me like I'm a disappointment with a trust fund.
And now Nico, who kissed me when I couldn't breathe, who caught me when I spilled water, who listened when I talked about my mother. He sees me the same way everyone else does.
The disaster. The burden. The job no one wants.
But what cuts deepest? He won't even tell me why it's not safe. Won't trust me with the truth about my own life. Just "it's not safe" and "that's not your concern" like I'm cargo to be stored, not a person who deserves information.
My mother's voice floats through my memory:"The water doesn't judge, mija. It just holds you or it doesn't."
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I ignore it. Then it buzzes again. And again.
I pick it up, ready to throw it across the room, but the messages make me pause.
Yacht party tonight. Marina del Rey. Pier 7. Going to be LEGENDARY.
Mari, where have you been? Miami misses its queen.
Babe, you HAVE to come tonight. Everyone's going to be there.
My old life, calling me home. The people who don't care if I'm broken as long as I'm fun. The parties where no one asks deep questions or expects me to be sober or judges me for being exactly what they need me to be: entertainment.
I scroll through the invitations. Art gallery opening (boring). Club promoter's birthday at Babylon (too obvious, Nico would check there first). But the yacht…
Private. On the water. International waters, technically, once we get far enough out. The kind of party where anything goes and no one remembers details anyway.
I've been sober for… what, two days? Three? Since that first night when he showed up. The longest I've gone in months. And for what? To prove something to a man who's already decided I'm worthless? Who forbids me from leaving because of dangers he won't even name?
What's the point of being sober when no one notices? What's the point of trying when the trying just highlights what a disaster you really are?
My phone shows it's only 5 PM. Nine hours until the yacht leaves. Nine hours to sit in this penthouse with a man who can barely look at me. Or maybe that's just my imagination, seeing what I want to see.
I text back:I'm in.Marina del Rey. Pier 7. 2 AM.
