chapther 3

It was a busy night at the club, the colorful lights flashing and the music vibrating in the air. I was about to leave, but I spotted Lídia and decided to go say goodbye. I approached and whispered in her ear:

—I’m heading home. Need a ride?

Lídia smiled and shook her head.

—No, girl. He’s taking me.

She gestured to the guy beside her. I looked at him, and he nodded slightly. I responded with a cold smile, which he didn’t seem to notice, and murmured to Lídia:

—If you need anything, call me, okay?

She nodded, so I grabbed my bag and walked away. I made my way out of the club toward my car. I unlocked the doors, got in, and turned on the radio to break the silence of the night. I took one last look at my phone, and seeing no messages, I sighed in relief. Finally, it was time to go home.

After parking, I walked straight inside and went to the office where my father was meeting with some guests. As soon as I entered and closed the door, all the men in the room—including my father—stood up and watched me.

—Good evening, gentlemen, I greeted, maintaining my composure.

I sat in a chair beside my father, and they followed suit, resuming their seats. The visitors included Mr. Smith, a middle-aged, very elegant man; Mr. Philips, who always looked at me with an uncomfortable intensity; and finally, Félix Brown, who was accompanied by his son, Dylan.

To Beck, Dylan was the classic “playboy” type—with his relentless charm and confident demeanor, which she wasn’t sure if she loved or hated. Tall and athletic, he carried himself like someone always ready for a conquest, which only made his personality more irritating to her. His perfectly styled brown hair only reinforced that image, and his brown eyes, which always seemed to sparkle with mischief, made it clear he knew exactly the effect he had.

Dylan had a striking presence, but his carefree and somewhat annoying attitude put Beck on edge.

I knew my father had always encouraged the idea of Dylan and me having something more serious. He’s a good man, responsible, but the truth is, I’ve never seen him as anything more than a friend. Our relationship is easy, light, with no demands. We understand each other and respect boundaries. I looked at him and smiled, and he returned the gesture.

My father then stood up, drawing everyone’s attention.

—I’ve received reliable information that someone is talking about taking down our family, the Riveras, he announced, his voice firm but with a note of concern.

There was a moment of tension in the room, and Mr. Félix was the first to react.

—Let them come. Our unity won’t be shaken by any threat. And if I find out who’s behind this, that person will regret it.

Mr. Philips, who always remained silent, agreed with a stern nod. My father then picked up a sheet with some names written on it and began distributing them among those present.

—Here are the possible suspects, he said, handing a paper to each of us. —The Thomas, Collins, Gonzalez, Simmons, and finally, the Sanchez families.

I looked at the names and realized I didn’t recognize any of them. They were new and enigmatic figures to me, which only deepened the mystery. My father continued:

—I want everyone to investigate these families. Each of you will take a name and investigate however you can. I won’t accept mistakes.

After the command, everyone took a paper and began to leave. As I stood up to go, my father called me back.

—Beck, I also need your help to investigate. Use your contacts, he said, handing me an envelope.

He gave me a kiss on the cheek before returning to his serious demeanor. I left the office and went straight to my room, exhausted. As soon as I entered, the darkness was welcoming. I turned on the light and nearly jumped when I saw Dylan sitting on my bed.

—What are you doing in my room, Dylan? I asked, surprised.

He smiled, standing up and approaching me.

—I came to ease the longing.

He kissed me on the cheek, and I smiled as I stepped away to put my bag and the envelope on the table beside me. I kicked off my heels and left them on the floor, walking barefoot to the bathroom.

—Shouldn’t you be going home with your father? I asked from the bathroom as I turned on the shower.

Dylan approached the door, smiling.

—I told him I needed to talk to you about what your father asked of us. He didn’t mind.

I laughed as he watched me through the steam that was beginning to form.

—You lied to your father?

—Not exactly… We have urgent matters to discuss, don’t we?

I got out of the shower, wrapped in a towel, and approached him.

—What matters, Dylan? I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He pressed his lips to mine, picked me up, and carried me to the bed. We kissed intensely for a few moments until I pulled away and sat beside him.

—It was good to ease the longing, I commented, smiling.

Our relationship had always been like this—based on affection and respect, with no labels. He always knew the boundaries were the ones I set, and that was something that preserved our friendship.

He wrapped me in a tight hug.

—This is all crazy, isn’t it? These threats to your family…

—Threats are just words, Dylan. I’ll always be ready to defend what’s ours, I replied, determined.

—And so will I, Beck.