I yawned deeply as I dragged myself out of sleep, my body feeling heavy but oddly lighter at the same time. After Car gave me the full tour of the mansion, the exhaustion hit me all at once—like my body finally realized it was safe enough to shut down.

  I hadn't slept at all the night before. Every time I'd closed my eyes, I cried. Silent at first, then shaking, like if I let it out any louder I'd break apart completely.

  All in all, maybe two hours of real sleep.

  And yet... now, I felt refreshed. Not healed. Not okay. Just functional again.

  My eyes adjusted slowly as I scanned the room. For a split second, I expected to see Car beside me—her dark hair against the pillows, her presence filling the space—but the bed was empty. Untouched on her side. The sheets were cool.

  I reached for my phone on the nightstand, squinting at the screen.

  5:03 PM.

  "...Seven hours?" I muttered under my breath, letting my head fall back slightly. "Yeah... my sleep schedule's completely fucked now."

  I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my feet meeting the cold floor before I slid into a pair of slippers someone must've left out for me. I scratched at my head absently, still half-asleep, and stood there for a moment just listening.

  The mansion was quiet.

  Not an uncomfortable quiet—more like the kind you get in a pce that's constantly guarded. Controlled. Safe in a way that felt unnatural compared to the chaos I was used to.

  I padded out of the room and into the hallway, my footsteps barely making a sound against the polished floors. The pce felt even bigger now that I was alone, the high ceilings and wide corridors stretching on forever.

  As I made my way down toward the living room, my chest tightened just a bit.

  Maybe Car's there, I thought. Maybe she's working. Or watching over things.

  Either way, I didn't want to be alone right now.

  As I descended the st stretch of stairs to the first floor, my eyes wandered along the walls, finally taking in the artwork I'd missed earlier.

  The paintings were... bold. Old art of Men posing nakedly in stances that would show them off, paintings that were more so for showing off male beauty than for actually masturbating to them.

  Then I saw her.

  Tina Montana. Scarface.

  Multiple portraits, all stylized differently—some modern, some almost cssical—but unmistakably her. Strong jaw, piercing eyes, that same presence Car carried effortlessly. It was strange seeing her immortalized like that, rger than life, like a myth she'd already accepted herself as.

  "...Pretty fitting," I muttered under my breath.

  My gaze drifted past the paintings, curiosity creeping in despite myself. "I wonder what kind of guns she has stored here..." I whispered, more to fill the silence than anything else.

  When I finally stepped into the living room, the space opened up wide—floor-to-ceiling windows, expensive furniture arranged with almost military precision. But Car wasn't there.

  Instead, two of her bodyguards stood near the tall windows, their backs straight, eyes trained on the forest beyond the gss. They looked less like people rexing in a home and more like sentinels guarding a fortress.

  I hesitated, my stomach fluttering with that familiar anxiety, before walking up to one of them. I reached out and tapped her on the back—or at least, I tried to. My fingers barely registered through the thick armor, and I had to tap again for her to notice.

  "Hm?" she hummed, turning around. She looked down at me, then her expression softened. "Ah—Miguel." She smiled, surprisingly warm. "What do you need?"

  Her friendliness caught me off guard. I shifted my weight, scratching at my arm, suddenly hyper-aware of how small I probably looked standing next to her.

  "Um... where's Car?" I asked quietly.

  "Ms. Juárez is currently out running some errands," the bodyguard replied easily, her tone calm, reassuring. "She'll be back soon."

  I nodded, relief and disappointment mixing in my chest. "Okay... thank you."

  She gave me another polite smile before turning back to her post.

  I walked away slowly, my footsteps echoing faintly in the massive room. With nothing to do and no one to talk to, the mansion felt even bigger than before. Too big. Too quiet.

  I wrapped my arms around myself slightly and gnced around, trying to figure out how to occupy my mind until Car came back—anything to keep my thoughts from spiraling again.

  "I guess I'll go look at the garage," I muttered to myself.

  The words barely left my mouth before I was already moving, slipping through the massive doors and out into the open air. The moment I stepped outside, I felt it—the weight of eyes on me.

  There had to be at least a hundred and fifty guards scattered around the compound. Probably more. Some leaned against walls, others stood in small groups, rifles slung casually like extensions of their arms. A few were patrolling, boots crunching softly against the gravel. Every single one of them looked up when they noticed me.

  My shoulders stiffened.

  They weren't hostile, exactly—but they weren't rexed either. It was like I'd wandered into a pce I wasn't meant to roam freely, even if Car herself had brought me here.

  A breeze brushed against my face, cool and sharp, carrying the scent of pine and oil and something metallic I couldn't quite pce.

  Footsteps approached.

  "Miguel."

  I turned slightly to see one of the guards walking toward me. She gave a brief nod. I nodded back, instinctively.

  "What are you doing out here?" she asked, her tone neutral but watchful.

  "Just... wanted to check the garage out," I replied, gesturing ahead as I continued walking. My voice came out quieter than I meant it to.

  She fell into step beside me without another word, not blocking me, not encouraging me either—just there. Escorting. Supervising.

  The garage doors were already open, tall and wide, and as soon as I crossed the threshold—

  I nearly stopped dead.

  The lights inside were blindingly bright, stark white LEDs reflecting off polished floors and walls so clean they almost hurt to look at. The entire pce felt less like a garage and more like a private car museum—or a billionaire's showroom.

  Every surface gleamed.

  Rows of cars sat perfectly aligned, each one spotless, pristine, like they'd never known dust, let alone a road. Some looked sleek and elegant, others aggressive and sharp, all angles and muscle. A few didn't even look real—like something pulled straight out of a sci-fi movie.

  "Woah..." I breathed, my steps slowing on their own.

  My eyes locked onto one car in particur. Low. Wide. Bck with blue accents.

  "A Bugatti..." I muttered.

  Then I looked closer.

  "...Wait. Three Bugattis."

  They were all different—one darker, one lighter, one with details so subtle I wouldn't have noticed them if I hadn't been staring so hard. I didn't know much about cars, but even I knew these were the kind of vehicles people talked about like legends. The kind you only ever saw online, or behind gss.

  My chest tightened.

  I walked slowly between them, afraid to get too close, like I might smudge something just by breathing wrong. The silence in the garage felt heavy, broken only by the faint hum of electricity.

  "This is insane..." I whispered.

  The guard beside me watched quietly, arms crossed, eyes flicking between me and the entrance. I wondered how many of these cars had bulletproof panels. How many had hidden compartments. How many had carried Car to meetings where lives were decided in seconds.

  This wasn't just a sign of wealth.

  This was a sign of power.

  And somehow... I was standing right in the middle of it.

  "Ms. Juárez has more."

  I blinked, my gaze still glued to the rows of cars. More? My brain struggled to process that word in this pce, where this already felt excessive, unreal. I followed the bodyguard's line of sight—and that's when I saw it.

  An elevator door.

  It was tucked neatly into the far wall, matte bck, almost easy to miss if you weren't looking for it. No markings. No buttons visible from a distance. My stomach fluttered with curiosity.

  "Oh..." I murmured.

  I took a step toward it without really thinking, my hand lifting, fingers hovering as I searched for a call button—

  "I'm afraid I can't show you that right now."

  I froze.

  That voice.

  I turned around, my heart jumping, and there she was.

  Car stood a few feet away, dressed sharply in a tailored suit, dark and perfectly fitted, her hair pulled back neatly. She looked... different. Not rexed like earlier. This was the Car everyone else answered to.

  Before I could even stop myself, I walked straight to her and wrapped my arms around her.

  She chuckled softly, one arm coming around my back without hesitation. "Someone's happy to see me."

  I nodded against her chest, breathing her in. I didn't know why my body reacted like this—why my chest felt lighter, why the tight knot inside me loosened just from her being here. With her, the world felt quieter. Safer.

  "Yeah..." I mumbled.

  Her hand rested on my back, steady and grounding, not possessive—just there.

  I pulled back slightly, gncing over my shoulder toward the elevator. "Car... what's down there?"

  For a split second, something unreadable passed through her eyes. Not anger. Not fear. Just calcution.

  "That," she said calmly, "is for another time."

  She didn't eborate. Didn't need to. The finality in her tone made it clear that whatever was down there wasn't meant for me to see—not yet.

  Then, just as smoothly, her expression softened again. She tilted her head, studying me like she was checking if I was still holding together.

  "Come on," she said, gently steering me away with a hand at my back. "Wanna make us something? I remember you saying you're a good cook."

  A small smile tugged at her lips.

  The shift was so natural it almost made my head spin.

  "...Yeah," I said after a beat, nodding. "I can do that."

  As we walked out of the garage together, I gnced back one st time at the elevator doors.

  Whatever was down there... I wonder if it's bad.

  ———

  Extra chapter cause I felt bad for some reason