"This. I just want this."
My arm tightens around her. She breathes against me, and I fight not to squeeze her until she bursts.
She falls asleep against me. Exhausted. Real sleep this time, not the twitching half-consciousness of last night. Deep. Trusting.
I watch her face, the tension smoothing out. The faint freckles she hides with makeup. The curve of her mouth. Herhair still damp from the shower, smelling like vanilla. Her body warm against mine, soft in sleep.
The feeling sits in my chest, unnamed but absolute. I know what it is. Have known for days. But the word itself feels foreign, dangerous, like ammunition I'm not trained to handle. Three syllables that change everything, that I'll tell her when she's ready to hear them. When she's not drowning. When the timing is right.
My phone lights up repeatedly while I scroll through watching her world burn on every screen. Each headline another nail in the coffin Cesar's building around her.
Marco:Timeline?
I understand what he's asking. How long before I need the full Rosetti machine deployed?
I type back:Soon.
More updates flooding in. Cesar visiting the estate this morning, playing the devoted uncle to Jorge. Media narrative building: "BODY FOUND IN DELGADO HEIRESS'S SEALED VIP ROOM." The embezzlement stories were just groundwork. Everything leading to this moment.
She breathes against me while her reputation dies in real-time. The authorities will push for an interview within days, maybe sooner if the lawyer can't stall. Her public conviction is already forming. Her father's dying faith in her is being shattered by Cesar's whispers. Every hour I hold her is an hour Cesar gains ground.
But today she sleeps. And underneath the stillness, the soldier plans.
Not defense anymore. Not damage control.
Offense.
I'll make him suffer. Not a bullet. Too quick. My hands around his throat while I explain exactly why. While I make him understand that he touched what's mine. That he used hertrauma as a weapon. That he called her "cariña" while planning her destruction.
The rage has gone past hot or cold. It's become structural, load-bearing, the thing holding me together while she falls apart.
When the time comes, and it's coming soon, Cesar will learn the difference between a man who manipulates and a man who eliminates.
He's probably sleeping soundly in his expensive sheets, thinking he's won.
He won't sleep again.
She shifts in her sleep, pressing closer, seeking my warmth even unconscious. Her hand moves across my chest, searching, then stills over my heart. Right where those three syllables wait, heavy as loaded weapons. Her fingers curl into my shirt, anchoring herself to me.
The gesture breaks something in my chest. This woman who's been betrayed by everyone who should have protected her still reaches for me in sleep. Still trusts me to keep the monsters away.
Her breathing deepens, and she murmurs something against my chest. My name, maybe, or just sounds of contentment. The softness of it, the complete vulnerability, makes my throat tight. She fits against me perfectly, like she was designed for this space. Like she belongs here, in my arms, while I plan murder.
I press my lips to the top of her head, breathing her in. Vanilla and flowers and something that's just her.
Her fingers tighten in my shirt, holding on even in dreams. Trusting me completely.
Not knowing I am one of the monsters.
25 - Marisol
Iused to think rock bottom was waking up in a stranger’s bed with no memory of getting there. I was wrong. Rock bottom is being wide awake for every second of your life falling apart.
My phone vibrates against the marble counter. Another notification joining the swarm. One forty-five. One forty-six. Each buzz sends a small shock through my fingertips where they rest beside it. I haven't looked yet. Can't. My body still aches from last night. Purple bruises bloom on my hips where Nico gripped me like I might disappear, that particular soreness between my legs that makes me clench involuntarily. Twelve hours ago he was inside me, groaning my name as he came. Now his tactical voice cuts through the penthouse. "Surveillance," "legal exposure," "timeline." Like none of it happened.
One forty-eight. The screen lights up with another headline I can't quite read from here.
I pick up the phone.
