The Illusion of Normalcy

The silence of the library was heavy, pressing against Ariana’s eardrums as the two-hour countdown began. She stared at the digital protocols on the tablet, but the words were just flickering lines of light. All she could see was the predatory glint in Mateo’s eyes and the way his hand had felt—heavy and possessive—at the nape of her neck.

He’s right, a dark voice whispered in the back of her mind. You stayed. You whispered his name. You didn't run.

"No," she breathed, pushing the chair back so hard it screeched against the hardwood. "No, this is wrong. This is Cami's father. This is madness."

She needed to fix this. She needed to reset the boundaries that had been obliterated the moment she stepped onto that moonlit balcony last night. If she could just be firm, if she could show him that she wasn't some girl playing a game, maybe they could go back to the way things were supposed to be before she officially moved her life into this house.

Ariana hurried out of the library, her heels clicking a frantic rhythm as she ran back up to Cami’s suite. Every shadow in the hallway felt like him; every creak of the old house sounded like his footsteps coming back early. Since her own bags were still at her tiny staff apartment across town, she had no choice but to raid Cami’s closet again.

She tore off the emerald dress, the fabric feeling like a layer of sin she needed to shed. She rummaged through the racks of silk and sequins until she found the most "normal" thing Cami owned: a simple, oversized white button-down shirt and a pair of dark denim jeans. It was casual, almost clinical in its simplicity. No plunging neckline. No exposed back.

She pulled her hair back into a tight, no-nonsense bun, scrubbing the remains of her makeup off until her face was scrubbed raw and pale. She wanted to look like the nurse she was—stable, professional, and completely off-limits.

"Okay," she whispered to her reflection, her chest heaving. "Just talk to him. Be adult. Tell him you want this relationship to be strictly about Cami and the hospital. Nothing else."

She returned to the library and forced herself to focus. For two hours, she scoured the hospital protocols, taking meticulous notes, building a fortress of productivity around herself. When the clock finally struck two, the heavy doors opened.

Mateo didn't rush in. He walked with a measured, rhythmic stride, his suit jacket now unbuttoned, revealing the crisp white shirt underneath that strained against his broad shoulders. He stopped at the edge of the desk, his eyes immediately raking over her new attire. The disappointment in his gaze was sharp enough to cut, but it was quickly replaced by a cold, amused curiosity.

"You changed," he remarked, his voice devoid of the heat from earlier.

Ariana stood up, smoothing the front of the white shirt. She didn't let herself tremble. "I did. Because I think we need to have a serious conversation, Mr. Lopez."

Mateo leaned back against the mahogany bookshelves, crossing his arms. "A conversation. How illuminating. Proceed, Ariana."

"I... I don't know what this is," she started, gesturing vaguely between them. "I don't know where this tension started or why it’s happening. But I know it’s wrong. It’s wrong for Cami, it’s wrong for my career, and it’s wrong for you. We got off on the wrong foot—I was overwhelmed last night, and things got... confused. But I want everything to go back to normal. I want a professional relationship. I want to be your daughter's friend and your staff member. I don't like... whatever this is. I want it to stop."

She took a breath, feeling a small sense of triumph. She had said it. She had set the boundary.

Mateo was silent for a long moment. He watched her with the stillness of a statue, his dark eyes unreadable. Then, he began to walk toward her. It wasn't the fast, aggressive movement of the hallway. It was slow. Predatory.

"Normal," he repeated, the word sounding like an insult on his tongue. He stopped so close she could smell the expensive tobacco and sandalwood clinging to his suit. "You want to go back to being the innocent little girl who stumbled into my home last night?"

"Yes," she insisted, backing up until her thighs hit the desk.

"There is no 'normal' anymore, Ariana," he whispered, leaning down so their faces were level. "The moment you stood on that balcony and watched me with that woman, normal died. The moment you let me mark your neck in the hall, normal became an impossibility. You can put on a white shirt and hide your hair, but you can’t hide the way your pulse jumps when I breathe near you."

"I'm telling you I don't want this!" she cried, her voice cracking.

Mateo’s eyes darkened, a flash of something raw and obsessive breaking through his calm facade. He reached out, his thumb dragging across the collar of the white shirt, his knuckles grazing the sensitive skin of her throat.

"You can tell yourself whatever lies you need to sleep at night, Ariana. You can wear the most boring clothes in Madrid. But every time you see me at that hospital, every time we sit across from each other at dinner, you’re going to remember the weight of my hand on you. You’re going to wonder if the 'normal' version of me is the one who signs your paychecks... or the one who wants to hear you scream his name again."

He straightened up, his professional mask snapping back into place so perfectly it made her dizzy.

"The protocols look complete," he said, glancing at the tablet as if they hadn't just been on the verge of a breakdown. "Camila will be back in ten minutes. She wants to take you to the plaza. I suggest you fix your hair, Ariana. You look... flustered. And we wouldn't want my daughter to think I was being anything other than a 'gracious' host."

He turned to leave, but stopped at the door, his hand on the wood. He didn't look back this time.

"By the way," he said, his voice a low, lethal vibration. "The white is a vast improvement. It makes you look like a blank canvas. I find myself wondering what it would look like if I started staining it with my own hands."

The door closed, leaving Ariana gasping for air. She had tried to end it. She had tried to be normal. But as she looked down at her shaking hands, she realized that Mateo Lopez hadn't just ignored her boundaries—he had used them to tie the noose even tighter.