Beneath His Roof

The first thing I notice is the smell of her shampoo, coconut and something else, maybe lime, mixing with the scent of his cologne on the pillowcase. It's a strange combination, one I've gotten used to over the past three months. The second thing I notice is the sound of his wife's car pulling into the driveway.

"Matias." I whisper his name, my hand freezing on his chest. His skin is warm, still slick with sweat from what we were just doing. "Matias, someone's here."

He doesn't move. His eyes are closed, his breathing slow and even, one arm draped across my waist like he's got all the time in the world. The gray in his hair catches the afternoon light filtering through the blinds, and I hate how beautiful he looks right now. I hate how much I want to stay.

"Matias." I shake his shoulder. "Your wife is home."

That gets him. His eyes snap open, those piercing blue irises locking onto mine for a split second before he's up, moving with a speed that shouldn't be possible for a man his age. He's forty-seven, fifteen years older than me, but he moves like someone who's spent his whole life learning how to disappear.

"Get dressed." His voice is calm. Too calm. He's already pulling on his jeans, not bothering with underwear, his movements efficient and practiced.

I scramble off the bed, grabbing my panties from where they landed on the floor. My hands are shaking. They always shake when this happens, when reality crashes into whatever fantasy we've been living in for the past few hours. I'm twenty-two years old, a virgin until three months ago, and I'm standing naked in a married man's bedroom while his wife parks her car in the garage below us.

The irony isn't lost on me.

"Bathroom." Matias points to the en-suite, already buttoning his shirt. "Now. Don't come out until I text you."

I don't argue. I've learned not to argue with him when he uses that tone. I grab my dress from the chair by the window and dart into the bathroom, closing the door as quietly as I can. The tile is cold under my bare feet. I press my ear against the wood, listening.

The front door opens. I hear it through the floor, a distant thud that travels up through the bones of the house. Then footsteps. Heels on hardwood. A woman's voice, light and melodic, calling out something I can't quite make out.

I look at myself in the mirror. My short black hair is a disaster, sticking up in places where his fingers tangled through it. My lips are swollen, my neck marked with faint red patches that'll be bruises by tomorrow. I look like exactly what I am: a girl who just got thoroughly fucked by someone else's husband.

The bathroom is nice. Marble countertops, a walk-in shower with one of those rainfall showerheads, expensive soap that smells like cedar and bergamot. Everything in this house is nice. It's the kind of house that says something about the people who live here. Successful. Comfortable. The kind of life where everything is in its proper place.

I'm not in my proper place.

I sit on the edge of the bathtub and pull my dress over my head. It's a simple thing, black cotton, nothing special. I bought it at a thrift store two years ago for eight dollars. It's the kind of dress that doesn't draw attention, which is exactly why I wore it today. I've gotten good at not drawing attention.

Through the door, I hear Matias's voice. He's saying something to his wife, something casual and domestic. I can't make out the words, just the tone. Relaxed. Normal. Like he wasn't buried inside me twenty minutes ago, his mouth on my neck, whispering things that made me forget my own name.

I hate him a little for that. For how easy it is for him to slip between worlds.

My phone buzzes in my purse. I pull it out, careful not to make any noise. It's a text from Matias.

*Stay put. She's making dinner. Should be gone in an hour.*

An hour. I'm supposed to hide in this bathroom for an hour while he plays house with his wife downstairs.

I type back: *I can leave. Back door.*

His response is immediate: *No. Too risky. She's in the kitchen. It faces the yard.*

Of course it does. Of course the kitchen faces the yard where the back door is. Of course nothing is ever simple.

I lean back against the cold porcelain of the tub and close my eyes. I can smell myself on my own skin, the evidence of what we did still clinging to my thighs. I should shower. I should wash him off me before I have to face the world again. But the water would make noise, and noise is the enemy right now.

So I sit. And I wait. And I think about how I ended up here.

---

Three months ago, I was still a virgin.

Not by choice, exactly. It just hadn't happened yet. I'd fooled around with boys in high school, a few girls in college before I dropped out, but I'd never gone all the way. There was always something holding me back. Fear, maybe. Or the sense that I was waiting for something specific, something I couldn't name.

Then I met Matias.

It was at a coffee shop, of all places. Cliché, I know. But I was working behind the counter, and he came in every morning for a black coffee and a croissant. He never said much. Just ordered, paid, left. But he always looked at me. Not in a creepy way. More like he was trying to figure something out. Like I was a puzzle he was solving.

One day, he stayed.

"You're not from here," he said. Not a question.

I wiped down the counter, not looking at him. "What makes you say that?"

"Your accent. You've trained it out pretty well, but it slips sometimes. South side of Chicago?"

I looked up. He was watching me with those blue eyes, and I felt something shift in my chest. Like he'd seen through a wall I didn't know I'd built.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"Matias." He extended his hand. "I'm a private investigator."

I didn't shake it. "I didn't ask what you do. I asked who you are."

He smiled. It was a small thing, barely a twitch of his lips, but it changed his whole face. Made him look younger. Made him look like someone who might understand things.

"That's a better question," he said. "I don't have a good answer yet."

I shook his hand. His grip was firm, warm. He held on a second longer than necessary.

That was the beginning.

---

The bathroom door opens. I jerk upright, my heart slamming against my ribs, but it's only Matias. He's fully dressed now, his hair combed, his face a mask of calm. He looks like a completely different person from the man who was moaning my name an hour ago.

"She's in the shower," he says. "We have maybe ten minutes."

I stand up, my legs unsteady. "I should go."

"Not yet." He crosses the room in two strides, his hands finding my waist, pulling me against him. "Not like this."

"Matias, your wife is literally in the next room."

"I know." His forehead drops to mine. His breath is warm on my face. "I know. But I need you to understand something."

I don't want to understand anything. I want to leave. I want to go back to my tiny apartment with its leaky faucet and its noisy neighbors and forget that any of this ever happened. But I don't move. I can't.

"What?" I ask.

He doesn't answer. Instead, he kisses me. Soft this time, not like before. His lips brush against mine like he's asking a question, and I answer the only way I know how. I kiss him back.

When he pulls away, his eyes are bright, almost feverish. "I'm going to leave her."

The words hang in the air between us. I've heard this before. Not from him, but from other men in other situations. It's always the same story. *I'm going to leave her. I just need time. You have to understand, it's complicated.*

But Matias isn't other men. Matias is careful. Matias doesn't say things he doesn't mean.

"When?" I ask.

"Soon." He touches my face, his thumb tracing my cheekbone. "There are things I need to take care of first. Things you don't know about."

"What things?"

He shakes his head. "Not yet. But I need you to trust me."

Trust. That's a big word for a girl like me. I've trusted people before. It never ends well.

"Matias, I've been hiding in your bathroom for an hour. I think I've earned some answers."

He almost smiles. "You're right. But not here. Not now." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a key. "My office. Tomorrow. Seven o'clock. I'll explain everything."

I take the key. It's cold in my palm, small and silver. "Why not now?"

"Because my wife is in the shower, and if I'm not downstairs when she gets out, she'll start asking questions."

He kisses me again, quick this time, and then he's gone. The door closes behind him with a soft click, and I'm alone again.

I look at the key in my hand. It's just a key. It doesn't mean anything. But it feels heavy, like it's pulling me toward something I can't see.

I should leave it on the counter. I should walk out the back door and never come back. I should forget about Matias and his blue eyes and his careful hands and the way he makes me feel like I'm the only person in the world who matters.

But I don't. I put the key in my purse and I wait.

---

The house is quiet now. The wife, I've learned her name is Elena, is watching television in the living room. I can hear the low murmur of voices through the floor, some kind of drama or reality show. Matias is in his study, doing whatever it is he does when he's being a husband instead of a lover.

I've been in this bathroom for two hours.

My phone buzzes. Another text from Matias: *Elena's going to bed. Give it thirty minutes.*

I don't respond. I'm too tired, too wrung out. I've spent the last two hours going over every moment of the past three months, trying to figure out how I got here. How I became the kind of person who hides in bathrooms and waits for married men to give her permission to leave.

The answer is simple: I fell in love.

Not the kind of love you see in movies, all grand gestures and perfect timing. The other kind. The kind that sneaks up on you, that makes you do things you never thought you'd do. The kind that makes you stupid.

I met Matias at the coffee shop six months ago. We talked for an hour that first day, and then he came back the next day, and the next. We'd talk about everything and nothing. His cases, my dreams. The things we were afraid of. The things we wanted.

He told me about Elena on the third day. I should have walked away then. I should have said thanks but no thanks and gone back to my life. But I didn't. Because when he looked at me, I felt seen. Really seen. For the first time in my life.

Three months ago, he invited me to his office. He said he had something to show me. I went, thinking it was case files or something. Instead, he kissed me. And I let him.

I let him take me apart on his desk, my back against the cold wood, his mouth everywhere. I let him be the first. I let him teach me things I didn't know I wanted to learn.

And now I'm here. Hiding in his bathroom while his wife sleeps down the hall.

The thirty minutes pass. I hear the house settle, the creak of floorboards, the distant hum of the air conditioning. Then my phone buzzes again.

*Now.*

I slip out of the bathroom, my shoes in my hand, my heart in my throat. The hallway is dark, lit only by the faint glow of a nightlight near the stairs. I move carefully, avoiding the spots I know will creak. I've done this before. Too many times.

Matias is waiting at the bottom of the stairs. He's changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt, his feet bare. He looks like a different person. Softer. More human.

"She's asleep," he whispers. "Come on."

He takes my hand and leads me to the back door. The kitchen is dark, but I can see the shape of it, the expensive appliances, the granite countertops. This is the life he's built. The life he's going to leave.

"Is she really asleep?" I ask.

"She took an Ambien. She'll be out for hours."

I don't ask how he knows that. I don't want to know.

He opens the back door and we step out into the cool night air. The yard is small but well-kept, a patch of grass surrounded by rose bushes that are just starting to bloom. The moon is bright overhead, casting everything in silver and shadow.

"I'm sorry," he says. "About earlier. I didn't mean for you to have to hide like that."

"You never mean for it to happen. But it keeps happening."

He flinches. Good. He should flinch.

"I'm going to fix this," he says. "I promise."

I want to believe him. I really do. But I've heard promises before, and they don't mean anything unless someone follows through.

"Tomorrow," I say. "Seven o'clock. You're going to explain everything."

"I will."

"And if you don't?"

He looks at me, and for a moment, I see something in his eyes that I haven't seen before. Fear. Not of me, but of losing me. It's the first time I've ever seen him afraid.

"Then you walk away," he says. "And I won't stop you."

It's not the answer I wanted. But it's an answer. And for now, that's enough.

I walk to my car, which is parked two blocks away, hidden behind a neighbor's hedge. I don't look back. I don't need to. I can feel his eyes on me the whole way, watching me disappear into the night.

---

My apartment is small and dark and smells like the takeout I forgot to throw away three days ago. I don't bother turning on the lights. I just kick off my shoes and collapse onto my bed, staring at the ceiling.

The key is still in my purse. I can feel it there, a small weight that's somehow heavier than it should be. Tomorrow, I'll go to his office. I'll listen to whatever he has to say. And then I'll decide.

But tonight, I let myself remember.

I remember the first time he kissed me, how his lips were soft but insistent, like he knew exactly what he wanted. I remember the first time he touched me, his hands gentle but sure, exploring my body like it was something precious. I remember the first time he was inside me, the pain and the pleasure mixing together until I couldn't tell them apart.

I remember all of it. And I hate myself for how much I want to remember more.

My phone buzzes. A text from Matias: *Get home safe?*

I type back: *Yes.*

*Good. I miss you already.*

I don't respond. I don't know what to say. I miss him too, but that doesn't change anything. It doesn't change the fact that he's married, that I'm the other woman, that everything about this situation is wrong.

But wrong feels right when I'm with him. That's the problem.

---

The next morning, I wake up to sunlight streaming through my cheap curtains and the sound of my neighbor's dog barking. I feel like I've been hit by a truck. My body aches in places I didn't know could ache, and my head is pounding from lack of sleep.

I drag myself out of bed and into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the remnants of last night. I scrub my skin until it's pink, trying to erase the feeling of his hands on me. It doesn't work. I can still feel him everywhere.

When I get out, I check my phone. Three missed calls from my mom, one from my boss at the coffee shop, and a text from Matias: *Thinking about you.*

I ignore them all. I make coffee, eat a stale bagel, and try to figure out what I'm going to do with the rest of my life.

The thing is, I never planned on being someone's mistress. I never planned on being the kind of girl who sneaks around and lies and hides. But here I am. And the worst part is, I don't even feel guilty about it. Not really. Not in the way I should.

I feel guilty about other things. About the fact that I dropped out of college and never went back. About the fact that I'm working a dead-end job and living in a shitty apartment. About the fact that I haven't talked to my mom in weeks because I'm too ashamed of what my life has become.

But I don't feel guilty about Matias. I should. I know I should. But I don't.

Maybe that makes me a bad person. Maybe it makes me exactly the kind of person I always swore I'd never be. But I can't change how I feel. And I can't change the fact that when I'm with him, I feel more alive than I've ever felt in my entire life.

---

Seven o'clock comes faster than I expected.

I stand outside Matias's office, a small storefront in a strip mall on the edge of town. The sign on the door says "Matias Reyes, Private Investigations" in plain black letters. No frills. No bullshit. That's Matias.

I use the key he gave me. It turns smoothly, and the door swings open.

The office is small but neat. A desk, a couple of chairs, a filing cabinet. The walls are covered with maps and photographs and newspaper clippings. Evidence of cases he's solved, lives he's changed.

He's sitting behind the desk, reading something on his laptop. When he sees me, he closes it and stands up.

"You came."

"I said I would."

He walks around the desk and pulls me into his arms. I let him. I hate that I let him.

"I was worried you wouldn't," he says into my hair.

"I almost didn't."

He pulls back and looks at me. "What changed your mind?"

I don't have an answer. Or maybe I do, but I don't want to say it. Because the truth is, I came because I'm in love with him. And I'm terrified that if I walk away now, I'll spend the rest of my life wondering what might have been.

"Sit down," he says. "We need to talk."

I sit. He sits across from me, his hands folded on the desk. He looks serious. More serious than I've ever seen him.

"First things first," he says. "I want you to know that what I said last night was true. I'm going to leave Elena."

"When?"

"Soon. But there are things you need to know first. Things about me. About my past."

I wait. He takes a breath.

"I wasn't always a private investigator. Before this, I was a cop. A detective. I worked homicide for twelve years."

I didn't know that. He's never talked about his past before.

"Why did you leave?"

"I didn't leave. I was fired." He pauses. "I was investigating a case involving a local businessman. Corruption, money laundering, the usual. But the deeper I dug, the more I realized the corruption went all the way to the top. People I trusted. People I worked with."

"What happened?"

"I got too close. They set me up. Fabricated evidence, paid off witnesses. I was lucky I didn't go to prison."

I stare at him. This is a lot to take in. "So you became a private investigator."

"I had to do something. I couldn't just disappear. I had too many questions that needed answers."

"Like what?"

He leans forward. "The people who set me up, they're still out there. Still doing what they do. And I've been building a case against them for the past fifteen years."

Fifteen years. That's a long time to hold onto something.

"What does this have to do with me?"

He hesitates. "Because Elena is one of them."

The words don't make sense at first. I must have heard him wrong.

"What?"

"Elena's family, they're part of it. Her father is one of the men who set me up. When I met her, I didn't know. But by the time I found out, it was too late. We were already married."

I feel like the floor has dropped out from under me. "You married the daughter of the man who ruined your life?"

"I didn't know at first. But when I found out, I thought... I thought I could use it. Get inside, gather evidence. But then things got complicated."

"Complicated how?"

"She's not like them. She doesn't know what her father does. She's innocent in all of this. And I..." He trails off.

"You love her."

"No." His voice is sharp. "I don't. I haven't for a long time. But I care about her. And I don't want to hurt her."

I don't know what to say. I don't know what to feel. This is so much more than I expected. So much more than a simple affair.

"So what's the plan?" I ask. "You're going to take down her father, and then what? Walk away clean?"

"I'm going to take down her father. And then I'm going to walk away. But not clean. I'll never be clean. But I'll be free."

"And me? Where do I fit into this?"

He looks at me, and his eyes are soft. "You're the first good thing that's happened to me in fifteen years. I'm not going to let you go."

I want to believe him. I want to believe that this is all going to work out, that we'll ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after. But I'm not stupid. I know that life doesn't work that way.

"What if I say no?" I ask. "What if I walk away right now?"

"Then I'll let you go. I won't like it, but I'll let you go."

"And what happens to you?"

"I'll keep fighting. It's all I know how to do."

I stand up. I need to move, to think. I pace around the small office, looking at the maps on the walls, the photographs of people I don't know. This is his world. A world of secrets and lies and danger. And he's asking me to be part of it.

"Why me?" I ask. "There must be other women. Women who are... simpler."

"There are. But I don't want them. I want you."

"Why?"

He stands up and crosses the room, taking my hands in his. "Because you see me. The real me. Not the cop, not the investigator, not the husband. Just me. And you don't run away."

"I ran away last night."

"No. You hid. That's different. You stayed."

He's right. I did stay. And I'm still here.

"What happens now?" I ask.

"Now, we wait. The case is almost ready. I just need one more piece of evidence. And then I can take it to the authorities."

"What evidence?"

"A ledger. Elena's father keeps a record of every transaction, every bribe, every illegal thing he's ever done. It's in his house. In a safe."

"And you're going to steal it?"

"I'm going to borrow it. Long enough to make copies. Then I'll put it back."

I shake my head. "This is insane. You're talking about breaking into the house of a man who ruined your life. What if you get caught?"

"Then I go to prison. But at least I'll have tried."

I pull my hands away. "I can't be part of this."

"You already are. The moment you walked through that door, you became part of it."

"That's not fair."

"None of this is fair. But it's the truth."

I turn away from him, facing the wall of maps. I can feel him behind me, waiting. The silence stretches between us, thick and heavy.

"What do you want from me?" I ask.

"I want you to trust me. I want you to wait for me. And when this is over, I want you to be there."

"And if I can't?"

"Then I'll understand."

I close my eyes. I think about my life before him. The loneliness, the emptiness, the feeling that I was just going through the motions without any real purpose. I think about the way he makes me feel. Alive. Seen. Wanted.

I think about the way he looked at me last night, when he said he was going to leave her. The fear in his eyes. The vulnerability.

I turn around. He's still standing there, waiting. His face is unreadable, but I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands are clenched at his sides.

"Okay," I say. "I'll wait."

The relief on his face is almost painful to see. He crosses the room in two steps and pulls me into his arms, holding me so tight I can barely breathe.

"Thank you," he whispers. "Thank you."

I don't say anything. I just hold him back. And I try not to think about what I've just agreed to.

---

The next few weeks are a blur.

Matias is busy with his case, gathering evidence, meeting with contacts, preparing for the break-in. I don't see him as much as I want to. When I do, it's quick and secret, stolen moments in his office or my apartment. We don't talk about the future. We don't talk about Elena. We just... exist. Together.

I go back to work at the coffee shop. I smile at customers. I make lattes and cappuccinos and pretend that my life isn't falling apart. My coworkers don't notice anything different. My boss doesn't notice anything different. No one notices anything different.

But I notice. I notice the way my hands shake when I think about what Matias is planning. I notice the way I check my phone every five minutes, waiting for a text. I notice the way I can't sleep at night, my mind racing with worst-case scenarios.

I'm in love with a man who's about to commit a crime. And I'm going to help him.

Not directly, of course. I'm not going to break into anyone's house. But I'm going to be there for him. I'm going to support him. I'm going to wait for him.

And that makes me complicit. I know it does. But I can't bring myself to care.

---

The night of the break-in, I can't sit still.

Matias texted me earlier: *Tonight's the night. I'll call you when it's done.*

That was six hours ago. I've been pacing my apartment ever since, my phone clutched in my hand like a lifeline. I've tried to watch TV, tried to read a book, tried to do anything to distract myself. Nothing works.

At midnight, my phone rings. I nearly drop it in my haste to answer.

"Matias?"

"I've got it." His voice is breathless, excited. "I've got the ledger."

"Are you okay? Did anyone see you?"

"I'm fine. No one saw me. I'm at my office now, making copies."

"Thank God." I sink onto my couch, relief flooding through me. "What happens now?"

"Tomorrow, I take this to the district attorney. He's an old friend. He'll know what to do."

"And then?"

"And then it's over. Elena's father goes to prison. I file for divorce. And we can finally be together."

Together. The word sounds foreign to me. I've been thinking about it for so long, but I never really believed it would happen.

"Are you sure?" I ask. "About the divorce?"

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

I close my eyes. I can picture it. A life with him. No more hiding, no more secrets. Just us.

"I love you," I say. It's the first time I've said it out loud. The first time I've admitted it to myself.

"I love you too." His voice is soft, almost reverent. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow."

I hang up and let myself smile. For the first time in months, I feel like everything might actually be okay.

---

But the next day, everything falls apart.

I'm at work when I get the text from Matias: *Don't come to the office. Don't call. I'll explain later.*

That's it. No context, no explanation. Just those two sentences, and then silence.

I try to call him. It goes straight to voicemail. I try to text him. No response. I spend the rest of my shift in a daze, burning coffee, dropping cups, forgetting orders. My boss yells at me twice. I don't care.

When I get off work, I drive to his office. The lights are off. The door is locked. I peer through the window, but I can't see anything. The place looks abandoned.

I go home and wait. And wait. And wait.

At midnight, my phone finally rings. It's Matias.

"What's going on?" I demand. "Where are you?"

"I'm at a hotel. I can't tell you which one. It's not safe."

"Not safe? What happened?"

There's a long pause. When he speaks again, his voice is hollow. "The district attorney... he's dead."

I feel the blood drain from my face. "What?"

"Someone killed him last night. Before I could give him the ledger."

"Oh my God."

"I don't know who did it. But I think... I think someone knows what I have. Someone knows what I'm trying to do."

"Matias, you need to go to the police."

"I can't. The police are compromised. I told you that."

"Then what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to finish this. On my own."

"Matias, no. That's too dangerous."

"I don't have a choice. If I don't do this, they'll win. And I can't let that happen."

I want to argue with him. I want to tell him to forget about the case, to just come home, to let someone else handle it. But I know it won't do any good. He's made up his mind.

"Where are you?" I ask again.

"I can't tell you. It's safer if you don't know."

"Safer for who?"

"For you."

I close my eyes. I can feel him slipping away from me, disappearing into the shadows he's spent his whole life navigating.

"When will I see you again?"

"I don't know. But I'll come back. I promise."

"You promised before."

"And I'll promise again. I will come back."

The line goes dead. I stare at my phone, my heart pounding in my chest. He's gone. And I don't know if I'll ever see him again.

---

The days that follow are the longest of my life.

I go through the motions. Work, sleep, eat. But I'm not really there. I'm somewhere else, somewhere far away, waiting for a man who might never come back.

I don't hear from him. No texts, no calls. Nothing. I check the news every day, looking for any sign of what's happening. There's a story about the district attorney's death, but no suspects, no leads. Just a mystery that no one can solve.

I start to wonder if I imagined the whole thing. If Matias was just a figment of my imagination, a character in a story I told myself to make my life seem more interesting. But the key to his office is still in my purse, and the memories are still in my head, and the love is still in my heart.

He's real. And he's in danger.

---

Two weeks after he disappears, I come home to find a man waiting outside my apartment.

He's tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair and cold eyes. He's wearing a suit that probably costs more than my monthly rent. He looks like he belongs in a boardroom, not in the hallway of my shitty apartment building.

"Ms. Melyssa?" he asks.

I don't answer. I don't know who he is, but I know he's not here to deliver good news.

"I'm a friend of Matias's," he says. "He sent me to check on you."

"I don't know anyone named Matias."

He smiles. It's not a nice smile. "You can drop the act. I know everything. About you, about him, about the ledger."

My blood runs cold. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He steps closer. "Here's the thing, Ms. Melyssa. Matias has something that belongs to my employer. And my employer wants it back. You're going to help us get it."

"I don't know where he is."

"I know. But you're going to find out. And when you do, you're going to tell us."

"And if I don't?"

He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a photograph. It's me, leaving Matias's office. The timestamp is from two weeks ago.

"We've been watching you for a while," he says. "We know everything about you. Your mother in Chicago. Your friends. Your coworkers. It would be a shame if something happened to them."

My hands are shaking. "You're bluffing."

He pulls out another photograph. This one is of my mother, standing outside her house in Chicago. She's smiling, holding a bag of groceries. She has no idea that someone is watching her.

"Try me," he says.

I don't know what to do. I don't know what to say. I'm trapped, caught between two impossible choices. Betray Matias, or risk the lives of everyone I love.

"I need time," I say. "To think."

He nods. "You have twenty-four hours. After that, we come back. And we won't be as friendly."

He walks away, his footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. I stand there for a long time, my heart pounding, my mind racing.

I'm in over my head. Way over my head. And I don't know how to get out.

---

That night, I can't sleep. I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what to do.

I can't betray Matias. I won't. But I can't let anything happen to my mother either. She's the only family I have. The only person who's ever really loved me.

There has to be another way.

I get up and pace around my apartment. I think about Matias, about everything he told me. The case, the conspiracy, the corruption. The people who set him up. The people who are still out there, still doing what they do.

And then I think about the ledger. The evidence that could bring them all down.

If I could find it, if I could get it to someone who could use it, maybe I could end this. Maybe I could save Matias and my mother and everyone else.

But I don't know where the ledger is. Matias never told me. He said it was safer if I didn't know.

I stop pacing. I look at my purse, sitting on the kitchen counter. The key to his office is still inside.

His office. Where he kept all his files. All his evidence. Maybe there's something there that can help me.

I grab my purse and my keys. I don't know what I'm going to find, but I know I have to try.

---

The office is dark and still. I let myself in with the key, closing the door behind me. The air smells stale, like no one's been here in weeks.

I turn on the desk lamp and start searching. The filing cabinet is locked, but I find the key in the desk drawer. Inside, there are folders and folders of documents. Case files, witness statements, photographs. Everything Matias has been working on for the past fifteen years.

I go through them one by one, looking for anything that might help. Most of it is stuff I don't understand. Legal documents, financial records, names and dates that mean nothing to me.

And then I find it.

A small notebook, hidden at the back of the drawer. It's worn and battered, the pages yellowed with age. Inside, in Matias's neat handwriting, is a list of names. The names of everyone involved in the conspiracy.

I recognize one of them. The man who came to my apartment. His name is Victor Salazar. He's Elena's father's right-hand man.

I keep reading. There's more. Addresses, phone numbers, meeting places. And at the very end, a single line:

*The ledger is in the safe at the Salazar estate. Combination: 47-32-19.*

I stare at the words, my heart pounding. This is it. This is what I need.

I take a picture of the notebook with my phone, then put it back exactly where I found it. I turn off the lamp and let myself out, locking the door behind me.

I have a plan. It's a stupid plan, a dangerous plan, but it's the only one I've got.

I'm going to break into the Salazar estate and steal the ledger.

---

The next morning, I call in sick to work. I spend the day preparing, gathering everything I'll need. Dark clothes, a flashlight, a lockpick set I bought online. I watch YouTube videos on how to pick locks and how to disable security systems. I'm not an expert, but I'm a fast learner.

At midnight, I drive to the Salazar estate. It's a mansion on the outskirts of town, surrounded by high walls and security cameras. I park my car a block away and approach on foot, keeping to the shadows.

The wall is tall, but there's a tree near the corner that I can climb. I've always been good at climbing. I used to climb trees all the time when I was a kid.

I make it over the wall without setting off any alarms. The grounds are dark and quiet. I can see the main house in the distance, its windows dark.

I move carefully, avoiding the motion sensors I can see. The back door is locked, but it's an old lock, easy to pick. I'm inside in less than a minute.

The house is huge. I don't know where the safe is, but I know it's somewhere in the study. I saw the floor plans in Matias's files. I make my way through the dark hallways, my flashlight barely illuminating the way.

The study is on the second floor. The door is unlocked. I slip inside and close it behind me.

The safe is behind a painting of some old guy in a wig. I move the painting aside and there it is, a small metal box embedded in the wall. I enter the combination, my fingers trembling.

47-32-19.

The safe clicks open.

Inside, there's a single leather-bound ledger. I grab it and shove it into my bag. I'm about to leave when I hear something.

Footsteps. Coming up the stairs.

I freeze. The footsteps get closer. I look around for somewhere to hide, but there's nowhere. The room is too open, too exposed.

The door opens.

Victor Salazar stands in the doorway, a gun in his hand. He's smiling that same cold smile from before.

"I was hoping you'd come," he says. "You just made this a lot easier."

I don't say anything. I just stand there, my heart pounding, my mind racing. I'm caught. There's no way out.

"Give me the ledger," he says.

I clutch my bag to my chest. "No."

He steps closer. "You don't have a choice."

"There's always a choice."

He laughs. "You sound just like him. Matias. Always so principled. Always so sure of himself." He stops a few feet away from me. "But look where it got him. Hiding in a hotel room, afraid to show his face. And look where it's gotten you. Standing in my study, about to die."

"You're not going to kill me."

"Oh? And why not?"

"Because you need me. You need to know where Matias is. And I'm the only one who can tell you."

He considers this. "You have a point. But I have ways of making people talk."

"I'm sure you do. But I'm not going to tell you anything. Not unless you let me go."

He laughs again. "You're in no position to negotiate."

"I disagree." I reach into my bag and pull out the ledger. "You want this. I have it. If you let me walk out of here, I'll leave it behind. You can have it. Just let me go."

He looks at me, his eyes narrowing. "And if I don't?"

"Then I'll destroy it. Right here, right now. And you'll have nothing."

He stares at me for a long moment. I can see him weighing his options. He wants the ledger. He needs it. But he also wants to punish me for what I've done.

"Fine," he says. "Give me the ledger, and I'll let you go."

"No. First, you let me walk to the door. Then I'll leave the ledger on the floor. You can pick it up after I'm gone."

He doesn't like it, but he nods. "Deal."

I walk slowly toward the door, my eyes never leaving his. He steps aside to let me pass. I'm almost there when I hear a noise behind me.

A crash. A shout.

I spin around. Matias is standing in the doorway, a gun in his hand. Victor is on the ground, clutching his leg, blood seeping through his fingers.

"Matias?" I can't believe it. He's here. He's actually here.

"Get down," he says.

I drop to the floor. Another shot rings out. Victor screams.

And then it's over.

Matias crosses the room and pulls me to my feet. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. What are you doing here?"

"I was watching the house. I saw you go in. I couldn't let you do this alone."

"You could have been killed."

"So could you." He pulls me into his arms. "What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking about you. About us. About everyone who's been hurt by these people."

He holds me tighter. "You're insane. You know that?"

"I know."

He pulls back and looks at me. His face is bruised, his lip split. He looks like he's been through hell.

"We need to go," he says. "Before more of them show up."

"The ledger." I point to where it fell on the floor. "We need to take it."

He picks it up and grabs my hand. "Let's go."

We run down the stairs and out the back door. The night air is cold on my face. I can hear sirens in the distance, getting closer.

"This way," Matias says, pulling me toward the wall.

We climb over and run to his car, which is parked down the street. We get in and he floors it, tires screeching as we speed away.

---

We drive in silence for a long time. The city lights fade behind us, replaced by dark country roads. Matias keeps checking the rearview mirror, but no one is following us.

Finally, he pulls off onto a dirt road and stops the car. He turns off the engine and we sit there, the only sound our breathing.

"I thought you were dead," I say.

"I thought I was too." He reaches over and takes my hand. "How did you find the ledger?"

"Your notebook. The one in your office. It had the combination."

He shakes his head. "I should have destroyed that."

"I'm glad you didn't."

He looks at me, and there's something in his eyes I've never seen before. Pride. "You saved us. You know that?"

"I just did what I had to do."

"No. You did more than that. You risked your life."

"So did you."

He leans over and kisses me. It's a soft kiss, gentle, like he's afraid I might break.

"What happens now?" I ask.

"Now, we take this ledger to the FBI. They'll handle the rest."

"And then?"

"And then we're free."

I want to believe him. I really do. But I've learned that freedom isn't something you're given. It's something you fight for.

"Where will we go?" I ask.

"Anywhere. Everywhere. As long as we're together."

I smile. It's the first real smile I've had in weeks. "That sounds good."

He starts the car and we drive off into the night. The road stretches ahead of us, dark and unknown. But for the first time, I'm not afraid.

I'm with him. And that's all that matters.