Claire's POV

Antonio led me down a narrow hallway, his steps steady, his presence calm but unreadable. The weight of everything pressed down on me—the deal I made, the way Vera had looked at me, the cold finality in her voice when she said I belonged to her now.

The walls of this place were suffocating, but the alternative was worse. If I disappeared without a trace, Valeria would come tearing through here looking for me, and that was a problem none of us needed.

Antonio finally stopped in front of a door, pushing it open without a word. The room was... not what I expected. Not a prison cell, at least. A small bed, a dresser, a bathroom attached. No windows, though. No easy way out.

Antonio stood in the doorway, arms crossed as he watched me step inside. I hesitated, then sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. "Look... I'm sorry about earlier."

He raised a brow, unimpressed. "For what?"

"For, y'know... getting you in trouble with your boss. I didn't think—I mean, I knew it was reckless, but I thought we could handle it." I winced. "Obviously, that was a dumbass move."

Antonio leaned against the frame, studying me for a second. Then, to my surprise, he snorted. "Yeah. It was."

I let out a breath, shaking my head. "Great. Thanks."

His smirk was faint, but it was there. "I've seen a lot of idiots in this business, but you're a special kind. No fear. No plan. Just running straight into the fire like it won't burn you."

I frowned. "That supposed to be a compliment?"

"Not really." He shrugged. "But you've got guts. And Vera doesn't waste time on people who don't matter. That means something."

I let his words sit, trying to figure out what they actually meant. "Right. Well, not sure if being 'worth Vera's time' is a good thing or a death sentence."

Antonio chuckled, pushing off the doorframe. "Bit of both, probably."

I exhaled, my body sinking onto the mattress. It wasn't comfortable, but it was something. "Guess I'll find out."

"You will." He turned to leave but paused at the door, glancing over his shoulder. "Get some rest. You're gonna need it."

Something about the way he said it made me uneasy.

But I didn't ask.

Because I already knew—this was only the beginning.

Vera's POV

The sound of Gabriel's boots echoing against the concrete was the only warning before he stormed into the room. I didn't look up right away, still seated at my desk, the weight of my knife cool and familiar as I turned it between my fingers. I could feel his glare before he even spoke.

"You're making a mistake," he said, voice sharp.

I exhaled slowly, dragging my eyes to him. "Good evening to you too, Gabriel."

His jaw ticked. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" I leaned back, feigning indifference.

"Act like this is just another play in your game," he snapped. "Keeping Claire here—it's reckless. You don't need her. And don't tell me this is about Valeria."

I smirked, but it was sharp, humorless. "I thought you liked when I made reckless moves."

"Not like this," he bit out. "This isn't about Valeria, and we both know it. You're acting like you have her on a leash, but she's not that easy to control."

My fingers tightened on the knife. "And you think I don't know that?"

"I think you don't want to admit why you're doing this," he challenged. "If it were just about Valeria, you would've made your move and sent Claire back as a message. But you didn't. You're keeping her here. Why?"

I scoffed, my grip flexing. "Because it pisses Valeria off."

Gabriel huffed a laugh, but it wasn't amused. "Bullshit." He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "I see the way you look at her."

Something sharp flickered in my chest, but I ignored it, my expression smooth as glass. "And how's that, Gabriel?"

"Like you don't know whether to push her away or pull her closer."

My blood ran hot. The blade in my hand pressed into the wood of my desk with a quiet thunk.

"You're pushing your luck," I said, voice soft but threaded with steel.

He didn't back down. "She's under your skin."

A beat of silence.

Then I stood, slow and deliberate. Gabriel's eyes followed me, but I could see the shift—the tightening in his stance. Good. He should be reminded who he was speaking to.

I moved around the desk, closing the space between us, until I was right in front of him. My voice was barely above a whisper when I spoke. "Go deliver my message to Valeria."

His jaw clenched. "Vera—"

"And next time you raise your voice at me," I murmured, tilting my head, "I won't take it kindly."

The room felt smaller, the tension stretching tight between us. I could hear Gabriel's measured breath, the way he reined himself in just enough. Then, after a beat, he exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

"Fine," he said, stepping back. "But don't come crying to me when she slips through your fingers."

I smiled, sharp and cold. "That's not going to happen."

He let out a quiet scoff but didn't argue. Instead, he turned and walked out, his exit just as heavy as his arrival.

The moment the door clicked shut, I let out a slow breath, rolling my shoulders. The tension was still coiled in my chest, wound tight, but I pushed it down.

This was all under control.

I wasn't losing control.

And Claire?

She was exactly where I wanted her.

---

The moment Gabriel walked in, I knew I wasn't going to like what he had to say.

He was too damn smug, and that was never a good sign.

I leaned back in my chair, swirling the amber liquid in my glass before taking a slow sip. "You're late."

Gabriel smirked. "Had a long chat with your dear sister."

I stilled for half a second before setting the glass down. "And?"

Gabriel stepped closer, arms crossed, eyes sharp. "She wasn't happy."

No shit.

I raised a brow, waiting.

"She wanted to storm in here again," he continued, "but Emilia talked her down. Convinced her that if she went in guns blazing, she'd be giving you exactly what you wanted."

My fingers tapped idly against the glass, but I didn't say anything.

"She also," Gabriel added, dragging out the words like he enjoyed this way too much, "did not appreciate being informed that Claire now belongs to you."

That got a reaction out of me. A flicker of something sharp, something irritated.

"She doesn't belong to me," I said, voice flat.

Gabriel tilted his head, amused. "Oh? That's not what you told her the other night."

I exhaled slowly through my nose, my patience thinning. "What else?"

Gabriel leaned against the edge of the desk. "She didn't buy it. She knows Claire gave herself to you for protection, not because she's suddenly your loyal little soldier. Valeria said—" He paused, then smirked. "Actually, she laughed. Said she'd love to see how long you'd put up with Claire's attitude before you regretted keeping her."

That made my jaw twitch.

Gabriel grinned. "Guess we'll see, huh?"

I met his gaze, my expression unreadable. "Anything else?"

He shrugged. "Just that she told me to tell Claire something. That she's an idiot, but Emilia's still got her back. And if she ever needs a way out..." He lifted his hands, mimicking an explosion. "Boom. It's done. She's out."

Silence stretched between us.

I picked up my glass again, taking another slow sip, letting the weight of his words settle.

Then, finally, I smirked. "How cute."

Gabriel exhaled, shaking his head. "You really think she won't take that offer?"

I didn't answer. Because I didn't know.

Claire was reckless, impulsive, and stupidly loyal. She had already put herself between me and a bullet twice.

But she also looked at me like she wanted to figure me out. And that? That made her unpredictable.

I tilted my head, my smirk deepening. "Guess we'll see."

Gabriel watched me, his amusement fading into something more knowing. He was waiting for something—for me to give away what I really thought about all of this.

But I wouldn't.

Instead, I set my glass down and leaned forward, voice turning cool again. "Now, unless you have something useful to report, get out."

Gabriel gave me one last, long look before chuckling under his breath. "I have something else in mind."

He pushed off the desk and came closer.



Claire's POV

Sleep wasn't happening.

I'd been lying in bed for over an hour, staring at the ceiling, trapped in a loop of restless thoughts. Too much had happened. Too much had changed. And my body—still aching, still healing—wasn't making things any easier.

The sheets felt suffocating, the air in the room too still. I needed to move. To breathe.

So I got up.

The house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of wood beneath my feet. The hallways stretched into the dark, dimly lit, lined with doors leading to God knows where. Everything about this place felt... unfamiliar. Claustrophobic. I hated it.

I wasn't even sure where I was going. I just walked, letting my feet take me wherever, until the distant murmur of voices reached me.

A low voice. A chuckle.

Then—laughter.

Vera's laughter.

I slowed my steps. My pulse kicked up, anticipation curling in my stomach before I could stop it.

The kitchen light spilled into the hallway, warm and golden against the dark. I crept closer, pausing just outside the doorway. I should have walked away. I should have turned around, minded my own damn business.

But I didn't. I peeked inside. And I froze.

Vera leaned against the counter, her head tilted back, lips curved into a lazy smirk. Gabriel stood close—too close—his hand braced against the counter beside her, his body caging hers in. He murmured something low against her ear, and then—

His lips brushed the curve of her neck.

Heat flashed through me, sharp and unexpected. I stiffened, fingers curling into my palms as something ugly twisted in my stomach.

Vera didn't push him away.

Didn't even flinch. No—she smirked, tilting her head slightly, like she was letting him.

Like she enjoyed it.

My breath stuttered.

Something thick and suffocating lodged itself in my throat, but I couldn't look away. Couldn't move.

Gabriel's lips ghosted against her skin again, his mouth tracing up to her jaw. His hand skimmed lower, fingers brushing against her hip, and something in my chest snapped.

I turned sharply, my pulse thundering in my ears, ready to walk away before I did something stupid.

Like watch any longer. Or worse—admit what this was doing to me.

But before I could take another step, I felt it—her eyes on me.

I glanced back, just for a second, and— Vera was looking right at me.

Her smirk curled slow, deliberate. A knowing, teasing thing. My stomach twisted. My breath hitched.

She tilted her head back against the counter like she owned the moment, like she knew exactly what I was thinking—what I was feeling.

And then, she let him keep kissing her. Like it meant nothing.

Showing me, I meant nothing.

Heat flooded my face, a sharp burn of something I refused to name, and I forced my feet to move, not letting her see whatever reaction she was trying to pull from me.

But I felt her watching me as I left.

And that—somehow—was worse.

I slammed the door behind me, the sound too loud in the quiet room. My hands were shaking, curled into fists at my sides.

What the hell was that?

I dragged a hand down my face, trying to wipe away the image still burned behind my eyelids—Vera's lips curling against Gabriel's skin, the slow drag of his mouth down her neck, her head tilting back, eyes locked on me.

Like she knew.

Like she wanted me to see.

I gritted my teeth, pacing the small room, my body still buzzing with frustration and something else—something I refused to name.

This wasn't supposed to happen. I didn't care. Vera could do whatever the hell she wanted. She could have Gabriel. She could have anyone.

So why did I feel like I'd been played?

My hands tightened into fists. Because you were.

She wanted a reaction. She expected me to flinch, to care. And I did.

I sat heavily on the bed, exhaling sharply.

I needed to get my head on straight. I wasn't here to fall into Vera's games. I wasn't here to get strung along like an idiot. She thought she was in control? Fine. Let her think that.

But if Vera thought she could push me around, pull me in, then toss me aside whenever she felt like it—she had another thing coming.

The only way to win against someone like her?

Make her think she's not winning.

I took a slow, measured breath, forcing my pulse to settle. Vera wanted to see me riled up? She wanted me to squirm?

Not happening.

If she was going to play with me, I was going to play right back.

She just wouldn't see it coming.

Vera's POV

The morning was quieter than usual, the kind of quiet that made my skin itch. I leaned back against my chair, the rich scent of coffee curling into the air, but it did nothing to ease the restlessness simmering beneath my skin.

Claire hadn't come looking for me.

Not after last night.

I tapped my fingers against the rim of my cup, Gabriel sitting across from me, flipping through files. Antonio was nearby, giving orders, but my attention was elsewhere.

She should have reacted by now.

She should have come storming in, all fire and sharp words, pushing back just to prove a point. She should have glared, should have snapped at me—something.

But she hadn't.

And somehow, that annoyed me more than if she had.

Gabriel's voice cut through my thoughts. "You're distracted."

I flicked my gaze up to meet his, slow and measured. "No."

He scoffed, not buying it. "She's getting to you."

A muscle in my jaw tightened, but I kept my expression unreadable. "She's not doing anything."

"Exactly," he said, closing the folder with a soft thud. "She's ignoring you."

I exhaled sharply, setting my coffee down. "She's smart enough to know her place."

Gabriel tilted his head, studying me with something bordering amusement. "Or smart enough to make you think she knows her place."

I didn't respond, because for the first time, I wasn't sure which one was true.

I expected resistance. I expected her to push back.

Instead, she was pulling back.

And the more she pulled, the more I wanted to see what it would take to break that silence.

Gabriel smirked, clearly enjoying this more than he should. "Admit it. You were expecting her to come running to you."

I smiled, slow and sharp, leaning forward. "I don't expect anything from her."

"Then why are you so bothered?"

I rolled my knife between my fingers, the blade catching the morning light. "I'm not."

Gabriel chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. "Whatever you say, boss."

I watched him go, my gaze flicking toward the door, my thoughts drifting.

If Claire wanted to play this game, fine.

But she'd learn soon enough—no one ignored me.

I caught movement from the corner of my eye—Antonio heading toward the door, his pace purposeful but casual. Too casual.

"Where are you going?" I asked, my voice smooth but edged.

Antonio slowed, turning to face me with a look that was almost too neutral. "I told Claire I'd grab her some coffee."

I stilled, my fingers flexing once against the armrest of my chair.

"Did you?" My tone was even, but something sharp slipped through.

Antonio nodded. "Yeah. From her favorite spot."

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the desk, my eyes narrowing just slightly. "And how exactly do you know where that is?"

Antonio hesitated. Just a flicker of it, but I caught it. He cleared his throat, shifting his weight. "I've been watching her, when you had me tailing her."

I tilted my head, considering him.

He was right. I had put him on Claire for a while, but something about this didn't sit right.

"Interesting," I mused, dragging my knife across my fingers, the blade flipping smoothly between them. "I don't recall asking you to memorize her coffee habits."

Antonio tensed. "I was just—"

"Just what?" I pressed, my smile razor-sharp. "Keeping track of her sugar preferences? Making sure she gets enough caffeine?"

He exhaled through his nose, clearly catching the shift in my tone. "I was keeping an eye on her, like you told me to. I noticed patterns. That's all."

I watched him for another beat, letting the silence stretch, the weight of my attention pressing against him. Then I leaned back, tapping my knife against the desk.

"Change of plans," I said lightly. "You're not going anywhere. Get back to work."

Antonio blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Vera, it's just coffee—"

"I don't give a fuck what it is," I cut in, my voice as smooth as it was lethal. "You're done babysitting."

A flicker of something passed over his face—confusion, maybe irritation—but he didn't argue.

Gabriel, who had been silent until now, let out a quiet, knowing laugh.

I didn't look at him. I didn't have to. I could feel the amusement rolling off him.

"What?" I said coolly, flicking my gaze toward him.

Gabriel smirked, arms crossed over his chest. "Nothing. Just—" he made a vague motion toward Antonio, who was still standing there, looking like he wanted to argue but knew better, "—seems like you don't like sharing."

The knife in my hand stilled for just a second.

Then I smirked, slow and controlled. "I don't waste my time on insignificant things," I said smoothly. "But I do hate when my orders are ignored."

Gabriel hummed in amusement, but the glint in his eye told me he saw exactly what this was.

I turned my attention back to Antonio, who was still standing there, waiting for me to change my mind.

I didn't.

"Go," I ordered, flicking my fingers toward the hallway. "Now."

Antonio clenched his jaw, gave a sharp nod, and walked off.

I leaned back in my chair, pressing my tongue against the inside of my cheek as the irritation simmered just beneath my skin.

Claire.

Always finding ways to be a problem—even when she wasn't trying.

Gabriel chuckled under his breath again. "You know, for someone who doesn't waste time on insignificant things, you sure seem interested in what Claire's up to."

I flicked the knife, letting it lodge into the wooden desk with a solid thunk.

Gabriel just grinned wider.

And I hated that he wasn't wrong.



Claire's POV

The house was suffocating.

I didn't know how long I'd been pacing in my room, restless and irritated, but it was long enough that the walls felt like they were closing in. I needed air. Movement. Something.

So, I left.

I wasn't stupid enough to try the front door again—not after last night's disaster. But a walk around the house, maybe the kitchen for a late-night coffee, wouldn't hurt.

The halls were dim, the only light spilling in from the far end where I knew the main rooms were still alive with voices. I moved quietly, feeling more like a ghost in this place than someone who belonged.

I didn't. Not really. But if I was going to survive here, I had to learn how to navigate it.

My stomach twisted at the thought.

I was still thinking about how I'd explain all of this to Valeria and Emilia, how I'd tell them I couldn't see them, when I heard movement near the kitchen.

And then—voices.

I paused at the threshold, frowning as I made out a familiar one.

Antonio.

I leaned just enough to see past the doorway, catching sight of him standing near the entrance, his stance stiff, almost defensive. He wasn't alone.

Vera.

She stood in front of him, her expression unreadable, but I felt the weight of it. Something sharp, something charged.

"What did I tell you?" she asked, her voice deceptively calm.

Antonio exhaled, shifting his weight slightly. "Boss, it's just coffee."

Vera's eyes narrowed. "No, it's not. You think I don't see what you're doing?"

Antonio hesitated, his mouth pressing into a firm line. "I promised her."

Vera scoffed, a sharp, humorless sound. "And when, exactly, did you two get so close?"

He didn't answer immediately.

I watched as Vera took a slow step forward, her head tilting, her voice dropping lower. "I sent you to watch her. Not get attached."

Antonio clenched his jaw, but before he could respond, she added, "Go back to work. I don't need you babysitting."

Something flickered across his face—frustration, maybe? But he knew better than to argue. After a beat, he nodded stiffly and left.

The moment he was gone, Vera let out a slow exhale, her jaw tight.

"Someone's jealous." The words were out before I could stop them.

Vera's head snapped toward me, and for the first time, I felt like maybe I should've kept my mouth shut.

Her eyes—cold and sharp—dragged over me. "You're awfully bold for someone who just handed herself over to me."

I smirked, even as my pulse stuttered. "What can I say? I like testing my limits."

Something flickered behind her gaze, unreadable and dangerous. But instead of snapping back, instead of lashing out, she just smirked.

Slow. Calculating. And that, somehow, was worse.

"Good," she murmured. "Because I like breaking them."

The air thickened.

I swallowed, my body tensing despite myself.

She took a slow step toward me, closing the space inch by inch, deliberate and unhurried. "Tell me, Pastelito," she said softly, "are you really so naïve that you think Antonio could protect you from me?"

I held my ground, but the heat coiling low in my stomach made it harder to breathe.

"Don't flatter yourself," I shot back, my voice sharper than I felt. "I don't need protecting."

Her smirk deepened. "No?"

She reached out—fingertips brushing my chin, tilting my face just enough to make me feel the control, the power behind such a simple touch.

My breath hitched.

Shit.

She noticed.

Her thumb dragged slowly across my jaw, almost like a test, her voice dipping lower. "Then tell me why your pulse is going crazy right now."

I clenched my jaw, refusing to let her see how deep under my skin she was getting.

But she already knew.

She let the silence stretch, her touch lingering just a second too long before she stepped back, completely unbothered.

"Don't get comfortable," she murmured as she turned away. "You're mine. And that means you don't eat, drink, think or breathe unless I say so."

Then, just before she disappeared down the hall, she added—

"And stay away from Antonio."

My pulse was still pounding, my skin still burning where she had touched me.

I exhaled slowly, rubbing my face.

God help me.

I was so screwed.