My fingers drift to the bracelet sitting on the dresser.
I pick it up slowly.
The diamonds catch the sunlight when I slide it onto my wrist.
It fits perfectly.
I hate that it does.
Disco stares at it with his head cocked, then says, “¡Brilla!” like he’s impressed.
The maid appears in the doorway, voice calm.
“Is everything to your liking?”
I look around the apartment.
The new refrigerator hums quietly. The windows are open and fresh air drifts in from the street. Disco is already climbing around his massive new cage like he was born into luxury, crest up like a king.
“To my liking?” I repeat.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Ma’am again.
I shake my head slowly.
This is what Diablo does.
He doesn’t beg.
He builds a world around you until leaving feels stupid.
Until walking away feels like choosing discomfort on purpose.
My phone lights up again.
Diablo: You’re not a secret.
The words land deep.
Not soft.
Not sweet.
A claim.
A line in the sand.
I sit on the edge of the bed, the bracelet glittering against my wrist, my pulse still not steady.
I am furious.
At him.
At myself.
At the way my heart reacts to those words.
