I shake my head to banish the dark thoughts. I walk to the kitchen, my bare feet silent on the marble floors. I open the fridge and pour myself a glass of water. But before I can take a sip, my phone buzzes on top of the kitchen island.
Unknown Number
I freeze. The water glass hovers halfway to my mouth. I let it ring.
I take a sip of water, waiting for the call to drop. It stops eventually, but a second later, a text notification lights up the screen.
“Hi, Kat, it’s me, Alfonso Cruz.”
My stomach drops. A cold feeling washes over me, instantly killing the quiet of the evening. I don’t even get to open the message before the phone rings again.
What does he want?
Still ignoring the call, I text Sol instead, saying, "Alfonso is calling me."
She replies instantly, three dots dancing on the screen before her text appears:“Answer. Find out what he wants, but promise nothing.”
Like a good little robot, I slide the toggle on the screen to answer. "Hola, Katarina. It’s me," An unfamiliar voice comes through the phone.
“Hola?” I force a polite tone, leaning my hip against the counter to steady myself. “How did you get this number?”
“I have my ways,” he laughs, but it sounds hollow, sending a chill down my spine. Immediately, I regret answering.
“I’m doing well, thanks for asking.” I offer a curt reply.
“Listen, I know this is sudden, and I know I shouldn’t be calling you out of nowhere, but... are you free tonight? For dinner?” He rambles.
What the hell?
“I’m sorry, I can’t,” I say, almost too fast. “I have a prior commitment,” I lie.
“Cancel it,” he says. The words snap out of him, sharp and commanding. Silence stretches between us before he realizes his mistake.
“I mean,” he stammers, softening his tone, “it would mean a lot to me.Please, Katarina.”
“Alfonso,” I say, my voice hardening into steel. “I apologize for the rumors circulating in the press. But I truly don’t believe being seen together helps either of us. In fact, it might just add fuel to the fire. I am sure a man in your position doesn’t want the wrong idea getting out.”
“You don’t understand,” he interrupts, his voice dropping to a desperate whisper. Then he clears his throat. “Listen, if you can’t do it tonight, we can do lunch tomorrow instead. Or coffee. Ten minutes. I can pick you up.No one needs to know—” The call cuts off.
I stand there, staring at my phone’s lock screen, fully expecting it to ring again.
When it doesn’t, I walk over to the window, letting the last of the sunset calm the stress in my body.
“He wanted to meet, but I declined. He sounded desperate. It was weird.”I text Sol.
I toss the phone onto the sofa and rub my temples.
God, I hate this world. And I hate the way men like him look at me, like I’m a prize to be claimed or bought.
When the phone rings again, I scoff, spinning around, ready to scream at Alfonso. I snatch the phone that settled in between two cushions, expecting the same unknown number, but different letters flash on the screen.
DAMIANO
My anger vanishes, replaced by a sudden, liquid heat that floods my veins and fills my stomach. It rings four times before I find the courage to answer; my throat turning dry, and my palms are damp.
“What?” I manage to sound nonchalant.
"What took you so long to answer?" His voice is rough and instantly annoys me.
