White Lies and Wines.

Raul’s POV

I sat on the kitchen island in nothing but a pair of gray shorts, my glass of wine slowly warming between my fingers.

The dim lights cast a soft glow across the counter, the silence of the condo pressing into my temples like a balm… until my phone rang. Her name lit up the screen like a migraine: Catalina.

I let it ring. Once. Twice. Three times. Then picked it up on the fourth out of nothing but tired obligation.

“Hey baby, I’ve been calling you.”

Of course you have.

“I was in the bathroom,” I muttered, flat and disinterested.

“So, you coming home today?”

I clicked my tongue, pinching the bridge of my nose. “No, Catalina. I’ve got work.”

She scoffed, loud and exaggerated. “You just had three days of shooting, and now you still want to work? Or is it that you just don’t want to spend time with me?”

My jaw clenched. My patience was paper-thin.

“Catalina, you and I both know my companies run fine without me lifting a damn finger. But you also know how I