I hate mornings. Not the "ugh, too early" kind, but the "my head is pounding, my body hates me, and the world is immediately demanding things I don't have energy for" kind. Sunlight slaps me in the face through the curtains like it's personally offended I exist. My hair is a mess, my limbs ache, and somewhere in the back of my brain, champagne from last night is filing a formal complaint.
I grab my phone because apparently ignoring things never makes them go away. The screen is dark, then lights up. I squint. A message. One message.
Today is the day.
No name. No emoji. Nothing. Just those words, sitting there like they own me.
I mutter, "Seriously?" and toss the phone back onto the bed. I stare at the awards from last night sitting neatly on the table. They shine. They mock me. They're shiny little trophies reminding me that I am, technically, competent at life. That does nothing for the message. Nothing at all.
I shower. I dress. I walk out of the apartment pretending I'm functional. The city is normal. Cars move. People walk. Birds probably exist somewhere. The universe is indifferent, which is great, thanks.
By the time I get to the office, I am already exhausted. People smile too much. They ask how I am. They say congratulations, like they suddenly care about my life. I smile back. Nod. Say thanks. My chest wants to throw a fit, but I keep it together. Somehow.
I sit at my desk and try to work. Numbers blur. Emails multiply. The phone buzzes again. My stomach flips. I know who it is before I even check. I try not to.
Look up.
I glare at the window. Nothing. Just buildings. Just traffic. Just the city, pretending nothing is wrong.
I sigh. My life is quietly, beautifully, relentlessly dramatic.
The desk phone rings. I answer because my brain tells me to, even though my heart is screaming.
"Papa?"
"Mija!" Hector's voice booms, too cheerful, like he's announcing my death with a smile. "You were magnificent last night. Everyone saw. Your mother would have been so proud."
Yes i do know my mother would be so proud. My father! Always a weapon, never cares, always somewhere in the middle.
"Thanks." I try not to show I'm already panicking. "Where are you?"
"Barcelona."
I blink. "Why?"
"Its a celebration lunch at El Celler. Half past one. Be there."
Click. Line dead.
Of course. Of course he is here. Of course he didn't ask. Of course.
I slump in my chair, staring at the ceiling like it owes me answers.
A shadow falls across my desk. Gabriel.
He doesn't lean. He doesn't smirk. He just looks. Like he sees me and also knows better than to make it worse.
"You okay?" he asks.
I shrug. "I'll survive."
He nods. "Let me know if you need anything."
I hate that I want to tell him everything and also nothing at all. I mutter "sure" instead.
By the time it's lunch, my nerves feel like spaghetti. El Celler is all hushed elegance, the kind of place where everyone whispers like secrets are edible. Hector is already there, smiling like he's about to announce my engagement to a stranger.
I spot the other figure.
Ink snakes up his neck and disappears under a crisp suit. He's leaning back in the chair, one arm draped casually, looking like he owns the place. My stomach flips. I stop walking.
Gibz.
"Papa," I say flatly, "what is this?"
He smiles slowly. Too slowly. "Alma. You clean up well."
I raise an eyebrow. "Thanks. I guess."
Hector waves me over. "Sit."
I sit. The chair is too soft. The table too perfect. My hands are too sweaty.
"I've been following your work," Gibz says casually, like he's talking about the weather. "You're impressive."
I lean back. "Funny. I didn't know stalking was part of the package."
He laughs softly. "It's a privilege."
I grit my teeth. "Cool. I'll add it to my résumé."
Hector chimes in, all warmth and calm. "We've been discussing… opportunities."
"Opportunities," I repeat. I don't like the word. It smells like control.
Gibz leans forward, eyes sharp. "The messages this morning and last night? That was me."
There it is. The little trap. The "are you paying attention?" test.
"I don't like being tested," I mutter.
"You'll get used to it," he says, smooth and confident like he's untouchable.
I glance at my father. He doesn't meet my eyes. Smiling. Proud. Calm.
I check my phone. Nothing. Gael would have sent something if he knew I was here. My chest tightens. I shove the phone back in my bag. Great. Alone.
"This isn't a conversation," Gibz says. "It's an introduction."
I swallow. My hands clench on the table. My chest feels like it's been shoved in a vice.
This is not lunch. This is not a celebration. This is a handover.
I realize, sharply and unpleasantly, that I'm not a guest at this table. I am the table.
I sit, staring at Gibz like he just grew out of the chair and decided I belonged to him. My hands are flat on the table, nails digging into the edge. I want to push back, yell, throw my water in someone's face, but I can't. He's too calm. Hector is too proud. The whole restaurant feels like a stage, and I'm the idiot in the wrong costume.
Gibz leans forward, elbows on the table. "Alma, you don't understand yet. This isn't about what you want. It's about what is best for everyone."
I snort, sharp enough to make my own ears hurt. "Is that what you call it? Best for everyone? Because it looks like you decided I belong to your little club without asking."
He smiles. Not the nice smile, the "I know what I'm doing and you will sit there like a good girl" smile. It crawls under my skin.
"You are capable," he says. "Intelligent. Ambitious. But you also need guidance. Someone to direct you."
My stomach twists. My fingers tighten on the table. "I don't need direction. I need you to leave me the hell alone."
Hector laughs softly, like my words are amusing rather than relevant. "Alma, stop being dramatic. You're safe. We're only trying to help."
Safe. My stomach flips. I feel anything but safe.
I glance around the restaurant. People are whispering, but not at me. They're oblivious. Lucky them. I feel like a trapped animal, like everyone here knows I'm being caged and no one will notice.
Gibz tilts his head. "You misunderstand me," he says. "You're not trapped. You're being… guided. For your own good. Eventually, you'll thank me."
I laugh. A short, bitter sound. "I highly doubt that."
He leans back and spreads his hands over the table, like he owns not just the booth but the entire floor. "You will learn. You always do. You're stubborn, Alma, but stubbornness can be corrected."
Corrected. The word crawls across my mind and sets off alarms. My fingers dig into my lap. I think about Gael, about Gabriel. About choices. About freedom. And suddenly, I hate every polished detail in this restaurant. The linen, the chairs, the food I haven't touched.
I glance at Hector. He's smiling again. Calm, pleased. That smile tells me everything I need to know: my father, in his infinite arrogance, thinks he can order my life like a menu item.
My phone buzzes. I think about ignoring it, but curiosity wins. Gael. His name lights up the screen. Are you okay? I think I saw your father.
I shove it back into my bag. No one needs to know how exposed I feel.
Gibz leans forward again, this time closer. I notice the way he watches me like he already knows the answer before I say a word. That's what makes it worse.
"You see, Alma," he murmurs, calm and deliberate, "people like me… we recognize potential. And people like you… you have potential that must be used. Properly. Carefully. Efficiently."
I chew my lip. I want to tell him to shove it. I want to throw my water in his face. I want to do something. But my throat is tight, my hands are trembling. The calmness of his voice makes me want to scream.
Hector clears his throat. "We're only preparing you for the future. One day you'll see this was necessary."
Future. Necessary. Both words make my blood boil. They make my freedom itch under my skin.
I glare at him. "Or maybe one day I'll see this was a mistake. Maybe one day I'll be done with your… control."
Hector's smile falters just enough to be noticed. Gibz's eyes narrow, faintly amused. "Oh, Alma," he says. "You don't know the half of it yet."
The words hang. Heavy. Dark. Like a warning that isn't a warning, more of a promise.
I want to leave. I really do. I want to stand, gather my things, and sprint out into the street, into the chaos of the city, and not look back. But I can't. Hector's presence alone is enough to hold me in place, and Gibz… Gibz's gaze is like glue.
My phone buzzes again. This time it's Gabriel. I'm here if you need me.
I bite my lip. He would save me if he could. Or at least try. But right now, he's outside. I'm inside. And these two men, my father and Gibz, are slowly folding the room around me until there's nowhere to hide.
I glance down at my hands. My nails are digging into my palms. My heart is hammering. I feel cornered, exposed, trapped. I don't even know if I can call it fear or just… despair mixed with anger mixed with adrenaline.
Gibz leans forward, the low hum of his voice cutting through the quiet restaurant. "One day, Alma, you will understand. And when you do… you'll realize there was never a choice. Only this. And it was always meant to be this way."
I want to laugh. I want to cry. I want to punch him and punch my father and scream and run. Instead, I just sit there, breathing shallowly, pretending I am calm while the world is collapsing in polished silver and white linen around me.
The waiter brings bread I do not touch. I stare at Gibz instead. He watches me like a predator playing with prey that thinks it still has options.
I glance at my phone one more time. Gael's name is still there. Gabriel's message is still there. Both reminding me that I still have people who care, who fight for me, who might save me if I could get out alive.
But right now, none of them can. And the words echo in my head, chilling and clear:
There is no choice. Only this.
I clamp my hands over my face for a second. Breathe in. Breathe out. Pretend. Smile. Nod. Apologize. Accept.
Because that is what Hector and Gibz expect.
And I am not sure if I am strong enough to refuse.
I was halfway through pretending that Gibz's existence didn't make me want to throw my wine glass across the restaurant when movement caught my eye.
Gael.
Of course it had to be Gael. Walking in like he didn't know he was about to ruin my carefully contained panic. He's with his friends, scanning the room for a table, laughing at something I don't hear, completely oblivious. And then he sees me. My stomach does that stupid flip that makes me want to crawl under the table.
I freeze.
Gibz notices too. He leans back slightly, expression shifting, like a predator suddenly seeing another predator he didn't expect. "That… that man," he says slowly. Recognition flickers in his dark eyes. "He came to Colombia. The one… with the apartment. The one who was all over. Just everywhere."
Oh great. Fantastic. Just what I needed.
Gael moves closer, smiling when he realizes it's me, like everything else in the world doesn't matter. My chest tightens. My heart does that stupid thing. I hate him right now and also kind of… don't.
Gibz stands abruptly, chair scraping loudly, sharp enough to make heads turn. His calm mask drops for a second. "You," he says, voice low and dangerous. "What are you doing here?"
Gael doesn't flinch. Not even a twitch. He smirks. "I could ask you the same thing. But I'm here for her." His eyes lock on me.
The room feels like it contracts. I can't breathe. My palms are sweating. I want to scream: "Stop!" but my voice doesn't work.
And then it starts.
Gibz lunges at Gael. Gael meets him halfway. Chairs crash. Plates rattle. Forks clang. And I? I'm in the middle of this ridiculous chaos, my hands flailing, yelling, trying to get them to stop.
"Stop it! Both of you! STOP!"
It works. Somehow. For a second. They freeze, both breathing hard, staring at me like I'm the problem.
Gael reaches for me, pulls me close, one arm strong around my shoulders. "You're not going anywhere," he says, just low enough for me to hear. It was like he knew what was going on but I don't quite remember if I mentioned Gibz to him. His chest against mine, warm and steady, the only sane thing in this mess.
Gibz leans forward, too close, voice sharp. "She will choose. Now."
My stomach twists. My hands are trembling. The world tilts. I hate being here. I hate that I can't just disappear. I hate that I feel… alive and terrified all at once.
Gael tightens his hold on me. "You're not listening to him," he growls.
And I… I snap.
I shove Gael back slightly, almost hitting his chest, then scream, "ENOUGH! I AM NOT CHOOSING ANYONE! STOP!"
The restaurant goes silent. Even the waiters stop moving. All eyes on me. I feel my face burning.
Gael doesn't let go. He tilts his head, eyes glare, intense. "Good. Stay with me. No one's taking you."
And then it happens.
I blink, and in the confusion, in a moment I can't explain, I find myself pressing my lips to his. Fast, desperate, like I'm stealing air from the world. For a second, all the chaos around me blurs. I feel him, steady, protective, and my own regrets hit me like a brick—I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be doing this. And yet… I do.
Gibz's hand slams down on the table, shattering a glass. The noise cuts through the moment like a blade. Everyone jumps. His eyes flare. Then, just as abruptly as he appeared, he turns and leaves, walking out with a predator's grace that chills me to the bone.
Hector stays behind for a second, looking at Gael with a warning I understand instantly. "Be careful," he says quietly.
Gael doesn't respond. He just pulls me slightly closer, keeping me under his arm until the danger has left. Then he lets me go. His hand lingers on mine for a heartbeat longer, firm, protective, almost saying: I'm watching. I've got you.
I grab my purse like a lifeline, still trembling, my heart hammering, my lips tingling from the kiss I never intended to give. My face is flaming, and I want to disappear under the table and stay there forever.
I glance at Gael. His eyes catch mine, steady, unwavering, and for a moment, I see something. Something that might be love, or at least… the possibility of it. My chest tightens.
"I… I need to go back to work," I manage, voice small, ridiculous, terrified.
He nods, letting me go, watching me as I walk away. I feel the heat of his gaze burn across my back as I step out of the restaurant. My fingers are still tingling from his grip.
Outside, the air hits me, and I breathe in like it's the first time all day. I can feel the adrenaline crashing out of me in waves. My head spins. My body feels alive in the worst and best way possible.
I pull my purse closer, tug my jacket around myself, and start walking. My heels click against the pavement, loud, hurried, like they know the world is too big and I am too small.
I keep glancing back. Gael is still there, still watching. I can't help it. My stomach twists. My heart aches. And somewhere deep down, a small, stubborn part of me is smiling.
Because no matter how dark this day has been, no matter how terrifying Gibz is, no matter how controlling my father is, I know this: someone's here. Someone is holding me in the middle of all of it.
And for now… that has to be enough.