I cracked my knuckles one by one as I lowered myself into the chair, the faint ache in my legs reminding me of st night.

  It wasn't a bad pain—far from it. It was the kind of soreness that lingered warmly under the skin, grounding, reassuring. Proof that I'd ughed, moved, been held. Proof that I was alive... and loved.

  The chair adjusted effortlessly beneath me, solid and supportive, like it had been made with me in mind. I shifted my weight, testing it, and let out a quiet breath.

  Car was right. I could feel it in my bones, in the way my clothes still hung a little too loose. I needed to gain weight—real weight.

  I was too skinny for my own good, like I might disappear if I didn't anchor myself better to the world.

  I pressed the power button.

  The PC hummed to life instantly, fans whispering as the screen fred bright, washing the darkened room in soft neon light. Pink reflections danced across the walls, across my hands. It felt surreal—like stepping into a future I never thought I'd be allowed to touch.

  I sniffled softly, rubbing my nose as I clicked open Google. My fingers hovered for a moment over the keyboard, hesitant. Weeks had passed. Weeks wrapped in warmth and protection and even happiness.

  Now I wanted to know.

  What had I missed while the world kept spinning without me?

  I'd been avoiding my phone on purpose—treating it like it could burn me if I touched it too long. Part of me knew it was irrational. Elena didn't have the resources, the tech, the reach to track me like that.

  Still, fear doesn't care about logic. Fear just sits in your chest and waits.

  The moment the browser finished loading, my stomach dropped.

  Trending searches. Big bold headlines. My eyes skimmed without permission, and then they snagged—hard—on a name I'd been trying not to think about in that context.

  Car.

  My pulse spiked. My hand twitched on the mouse.

  "No... no, no, no—please," I muttered under my breath, even as I clicked, like I couldn't stop myself. The page loaded into a subreddit I'd never heard about: narcofootage.

  My gut twisted violently.

  The video was clear. Too clear. Not shaky, not distant—clean angles, good lighting, undeniable. I felt cold rush through me as I watched, my breath turning shallow, my ears ringing like I'd just been spped.

  "Oh my god..." I whispered, my voice barely there.

  The camera zoomed in on me. My own face.

  My vision tunneled. "Holy shit," I breathed, leaning back in the chair as if distance could undo what I'd just seen. My hands started to shake, fingers numb, useless on the desk.

  This wasn't some blurry rumor. This wasn't hearsay or whispers passed around online.

  This was proof.

  "This is a clear video..." I said to no one, my throat tight. "Oh god... everyone's gonna know."

  My chest constricted, as if my lungs were too big for the space inside me, pressing against my ribs.

  I hesitated, every instinct cwing at me to stop, to close the site, to look away. But I couldn't. My thumb betrayed me, scrolling downward with a slow, deliberate swipe of the mouse.

  The comments loaded in a flood, each one a little jab, a tiny cut. My eyes scanned the words, and my stomach twisted as I saw the specution about who I was.

  Some had already pieced it together—I was Car's. Others didn't hold back, their words dripping with venom that left a sour taste in my mouth.

  One comment burned itself into my brain: "La Sombra is so damn lucky to have someone like that wrapped around her. His dick probably feels like pure fucking heaven."

  I recoiled, a shiver of disgust crawling up my spine. My face twisted into a grimace as I read it again, unable to stop myself from lingering on the crude imagery.

  Another comment caught my eye, less crude but still sharp. "Seeing La Sombra with a guy feels... off." I exhaled sharply through my nose, a bitter confirmation of what I'd suspected. I was her first boyfriend in a long stretch, and the world wasn't ready for it.

  The weight of being exposed, dissected by strangers online, settled into my bones. I clicked the screen off with a shaky finger, the monitor going dark, dimming the room.

  "Cat's out of the bag now," I muttered to myself, my voice low and rough, barely above a whisper. I pushed myself up from the chair, my muscles stiff, and stretched my arms above my head, feeling the tension pull tight across my shoulders before releasing. The room felt smaller somehow, the air thicker, as if the words I'd just read lingered invisibly around me.

  "Car has to know about this," I muttered, already moving before the thought had fully settled.

  I stepped out into the hallway and nearly ran straight into Le.

  She stood exactly where she always did—back straight, shoulders squared, rifle held close to her body like an extension of herself. Her eyes were sharp, constantly moving, scanning angles I hadn't even noticed. If statues could be dangerous, they'd look like her.

  "Good morning, Le," I said as I approached, slowing my pace.

  "Good morning, Miguel," she replied smoothly. "Sleep well?"

  I nodded. "Yeah. I did."

  She studied my face for half a second longer than necessary, like she was filing something away. Then, without me asking, she spoke again.

  "Car's in her office."

  I blinked. That was exactly what I was about to ask.

  "Thanks," I said, offering a small, grateful smile.

  She gave a short nod and stepped just enough to clear the path. As I walked past her, I felt that familiar sensation—like crossing an invisible line of protection. Whatever I was carrying on my face, she'd seen it. And she'd let me through anyway.

  I headed toward the stairs leading up to the third floor, my footsteps lighter than they should've been for how heavy my chest felt. I didn't come up here often. It wasn't forbidden—just distant. This level felt more like Car's space than ours.

  The staircase curved upward, the mansion growing quieter with every step. No echoes of ughter, no clinking gsses—just muted silence and soft lighting.

  Up here there wasn't much: a massive party lounge that only ever came alive when Car wanted it to, a few guest rooms that rarely saw use, and at the far end of the hall—

  Her office.

  I slowed as I reached the top, the weight of what I'd seen pressing harder with every breath. Whatever was waiting behind that door, I knew one thing for certain.

  Car needed to hear it from me.

  I slowed as I neared the office, my steps softening without me meaning to. As I passed one of the tall windows lining the hallway, I gnced outside. Nothing but forest—endless trees stretching into the distance, dark green and unmoving.

  It was the same view it always was, but it still worked its quiet magic on me, easing the tightness in my chest just a little.

  I stopped in front of her door and lifted my hand, hesitating for half a second.

  I knocked.

  "Come in," Car called.

  I opened the door and stepped inside.

  She was seated behind her desk, ptop open, the glow of the screen reflecting faintly in her eyes. Her posture was composed, controlled—but I caught it immediately. The slight whiteness around her nose. The way she sniffled once, subtle, like she didn't want anyone to notice.

  "I saw it," she said before I could speak. Her voice was steady, but quieter than usual. "Don't worry, Miguel. I saw it."

  I closed the door behind me and sat down across from her, the chair leather cool under my palms.

  "It's everywhere," she continued, rubbing a thumb slowly along the edge of the desk. "There isn't a pce online where you can't see it."

  I nodded, my gaze drifting over the things scattered across her desk—neatly stacked folders, a heavy pen, her phone pced face-down like it was deliberately ignored, and a jewel box weirdly. Everything looked orderly.

  "N–nothing's going to happen to you, right?" I asked quietly. "You're not... you're not going to prison or anything?"

  My eyes drifted back to the small jewel box on her desk without meaning to. It sat there untouched, elegant and out of pce, catching the light like it didn't belong to the chaos surrounding us.

  "Everything's under control," she said easily. "I'm always on the internet. This time it just happens to be a murder I made."

  She chuckled—light, almost dismissive.

  The knot in my chest loosened instantly. The way she said it, the certainty in her voice, made it feel like there was never any real danger to begin with. She wasn't panicking. She wasn't scrambling. She was exactly where she always was—ten steps ahead.

  We sat there in silence after that, the kind that stretches but doesn't feel awkward. Just heavy. Thoughtful. My eyes kept wandering, tracing familiar shapes around the room until they nded on the box again.

  Curiosity finally won.

  "Hey," I said, nodding toward it, "what's in that box?"

  Car's gaze followed my finger.

  For a moment, something unreadable crossed her face.

  "I can't lie to you," Car said quietly.

  She opened the box and turned it toward me.

  Inside, resting against the dark velvet lining, was a fine white powder—so stark it almost hurt to look at. My chest tightened, and I let out a slow breath through my nose, the air heavy with understanding rather than shock.

  She closed her eyes.

  "Forgive me, Miguel," she said softly. "Please."

  The words didn't sound rehearsed. They sounded afraid.

  "I'll quit," she continued, voice steadier but fragile underneath. "I promise. From now on... no more." She swallowed. "The only addiction I want is you."

  I nodded, the tension in my shoulders easing as I looked at her. "I'm gd you want to quit," I said honestly. "And I'll be here for you. All the way."

  Her eyes opened then, gssy but relieved.

  She stood and came around the desk, stopping in front of me before pulling me gently to my feet. Her hands rested at my waist for just a second, like she was making sure I was real, still there—then she leaned in and kissed me.

  It wasn't rushed or desperate.

  Just soft and careful. Her lips lingering against mine, grounding us both in something real—something that didn't need hiding in a box.

  "I love you Miguel."

  —