CHAPTER FIVE

#Dorothy’s POV#

It's already the next day.

Sunlight streams in through the translucent curtains, falling across my face like an accusation. There's breakfast spread on the table and a shape already seated beside me.

Rico.

He’s shoveling toast into his mouth like he hasn’t eaten in three days. Shirtless, of course. Always shirtless. I’ve stopped reacting.

Joel walks in, stretching. His hair's tousled, eyes puffy from sleep. He stops in his tracks when he sees us.

We’re already eating.

“What were you two doing last night?” he asks, rough.

Rico looks up mid-chew. I raise an eyebrow.

“We were asleep,” I answer plainly.

Joel doesn’t respond. He just stands there for a second too long as he stares between the two of us like he’s trying to catch something in the air. Something unsaid. Something dirty.

He glares at Rico.

Then finally, he exhales and straightens up. “We’ve got tests scheduled today.”

I lift my mug of tea. “Tests?”

“For Rico,” Joel replies, clipped. “Hospital visit. Need to confirm everything’s working properly. Make sure he’s all good down there and doesn’t have some… weird condition that could mess things up.”

“Classy,” I mutter.

Rico grins. “Don’t worry. I only infect people with charm.”

I laugh.

Joel doesn’t.

He watches me for a moment too long, and I know he caught that laugh. He doesn’t like it. I can feel the twitch in his jaw from here.

How have we gotten so close so fast?

Even I don’t know.

Maybe it’s because Rico actually talks to me. Asks questions. Listens. Or maybe it’s because he doesn’t treat me like an obligation with legs.

#•#

The hospital smells like sanitizer and resignation.

They run all the tests.

Bloodwork. Physicals. An awkward conversation with the fertility doctor. Rico doesn’t squirm; just smirks his way through it like he’s been tested for everything under the sun and nothing phases him.

The results come in faster than expected.

Clean bill of health.

Joel nods like it’s some kind of job interview passed. Rico shrugs like he already knew.

We walk back to the car in silence.

Joel’s on the phone with someone the entire time, pacing ahead of us and snapping instructions into the speaker.

As I move to enter the car, my blouse snags on the door latch. I mutter a curse as I try to untangle it without ripping the fabric.

Rico steps forward without a word then gently lifts the hem free. His fingers brush my waist for a second longer than necessary.

Our eyes meet.

It’s a stupid, tiny moment. But it feels like something clicks.

Joel sees it.

I don’t have to look to know.

His entire body tenses the second I slide into the back seat.

He doesn’t say much on the drive back.

Until he pulls into a different turn.

“I’ve got a meeting,” he says curtly. “I’ll drop you two off nearby. Get a drink. Loosen up.”

Translation: I’m pissed and I don’t want to deal with you right now.

I step out of the car without a word. Rico follows. Joel doesn’t even glance back before the tires screech away.

I watch the back of his head vanish into traffic.

He’s angry. That’s clear.

But about what? The tests? Rico being more fertile than him? Or the fact that I laughed at another man’s joke?

We find a quiet bar a few blocks away. It’s low-lit and moody, with old stools and sticky tabletops. Rico orders something ridiculous. I order something stronger.

We drink.

We talk.

I laugh again.

It surprises me.

Rico tips his glass toward me with a grin. “Damn. You laugh like someone who hasn’t had a reason in a while.”

I raise my brows. “That obvious?”

He shrugs. “Joel’s not exactly known for his comedy chops.”

“He’s not known for a lot of things,” I mutter, sipping again.

The bar is warm and a little too dark, lit with old wall sconces and flickering bulbs. Something jazzy and moody is playing low in the background. The kind of place people don’t come to be seen, just to feel less alone.

Rico watches me for a moment, then leans in, elbows on the sticky table.

“Can I ask you something without you throwing your drink at me?”

I smirk. “You can try.”

“What’s the real reason you agreed to all this?”

I go quiet.

His voice softens. “Like... really. Not the ‘heir’ crap. Not the money. Not the fake marriage. You. Why are you here?”

I blink down at my drink. Then at the liquid inside.

“Because I didn’t have a choice,” I say quietly. “Because my parents were drowning in debt and Joel’s father offered to make them gods in our village if I signed my life away.”

He doesn’t interrupt.

“They sold me for a mansion and a seat at the same table that’s never let them sit before.”

Rico exhales.

“I’m sorry.”

I look up at him.

He’s not mocking or smirking. He just... says it. And means it.

I nod. “You’re the first person who’s ever said that and didn’t sound condescending.”

He grins again, but it’s smaller this time. Gentler.

“Well, I do specialize in being the family embarrassment. I know how it feels.”

I raise my glass toward him. “To the embarrassments.”

He clinks mine. “To the ones they can’t control.”

We drink.

And for a second, I let the warmth spread through me.

His knee brushes mine under the table. I don’t move it.

And I forget—just for an hour—about the cancer. The cold. The contract.

We walk home slower than usual. The wind’s picked up, brushing strands of hair across my face. Rico doesn’t say much now. He just walks beside me, his jacket slung over one shoulder, as my steps get wobblier with every block.

When we reach the villa, he nudges the door open and gently leads me up the stairs.

“You good?” he asks as I stumble into the hallway.

“Mhm,” I murmur. “Just dizzy. From your bad jokes.”

He snorts and guides me to my room. I flop backward onto the bed, arms spread wide.

He crouches beside me. “Lie down properly.”

I do, but I can’t stop moving. My hands flutter, adjusting the blanket, my top, the pillow. I feel like my skin’s too tight.

“You’re restless.”

“No, I’m mad.”

“Mad at Joel?”

“Yes. No. Everyone. Me.” I turn to face him. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Well, I am.”

I roll away from him, and he sighs. Then stands and walks to the bathroom.

The water runs for a second, then I hear the click of a phone.

“Yeah... hey babe. No, I’m fine,” he whispers.

Babe?

His voice lowers more. “I had to come meet a guy... yeah, to borrow something. Cash, that’s all.”

He’s lying.

I sit up slowly and tilt my head.

“No, it’s nothing big. Just... I didn’t want to stress you about rent. I told you I’d handle it.”

A pause.

Then a female voice, muffled through the phone. “You didn’t have to do that, Rico. I already asked my dad. He said he’ll send something tomorrow.”

Rico groans softly. “I told you not to go to them for me, Paulina.”

Paulina.

His girlfriend?

His real life?

The one I’m not a part of.

They talk soft. Sweet. He tells her he loves her under his breath.

And that’s when I walk in.

My body moves before my brain.

I throw myself at him and wrap my arms around his neck.

“Dora—!” he hisses, trying to catch me. His hand flies up to his phone to keep it pressed to his ear. “Paulina—uh, the signal’s… hello? Shit—”

“Touch me…” I whisper, slurring. “Please…”

He freezes.

I press against him. My hands tug at his shirt.

“Your cousin… yeah, that annoying prick… he only touches me when his chicks are busy…”

“Dora,” he warns tensely.

“I miss it,” I mumble. “Touch. I miss being touched. Please touch me…”

His arms wrap around me, but firm now. Holding me in place. Containing me.

“I’m not doing this,” he whispers. “You’re drunk. You’re hurting.”

I hold on to him harder.

Paulina’s voice blares through the phone. “Rico? Hello? Who is that… Rico?!”

The call drops.

He stares at his screen in horror.

I’m still swaying on my feet, breathing heavily into his chest.

Rico exhales.

Then hugs me.

Not hungrily. Not lustfully.

Just... holds me.

Like he’s trying to piece together what’s left of me.

We stay close.

His breath brushes mine.

We pull back slightly.

Our faces are inches apart.

And then—

I gag.

“Oh no.”

I puke on his chest.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, but there’s no anger in it. Just tiredness.

#Rico’s POV#

She throws up on my chest.

I don’t flinch. I don’t yell.

I just hold her tighter so she doesn’t fall.

“Fucking hell,” I mutter under my breath, but not at her. Not even really at the mess.

More at the whole damn situation.

The whole damn... everything.

I scoop her up before she slips. Her body’s limp, hot with drunken shame, but she doesn’t say a word.

I carry her to the bathroom.

The lights are too bright. The tiles too cold. Her skin’s clammy against my arms. She leans into me like I’m something solid. Like I’ve always been that.

I’m not.

But I hold her anyway.

I grab a towel. Wet it. Wipe her face. Her mouth. Her chin. Her neck.

I rinse her off like she’s breakable. Because in that moment, she is.

I help her change. Grab one of my old shirts from the wardrobe—it’s oversized and gray. She doesn’t fight me. She just moves where I guide her.

She doesn’t say my name.

Not even once.

When I tuck her into bed, she curls away from me. She looks so small, and silent. Like she’s been fighting her own body for years and just now gave up.

Gosh.

I can only imagine what she's been facing in the hands of that bastard.

I sit beside her.

My back hits the headboard.

I lean into it.

Head tilted back.

Eyes wide open in the dark.

I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing here.

I don’t know who the hell I’m becoming.

This girl. This situation. This whole heir through your cousin madness.

And now she’s wrapped in my shirt. Breathing evenly. Like she’s finally not in pain.

My jaw tightens.

She shouldn’t be this easy to carry.

She shouldn’t be this used to not being touched gently.

I swallow.

My body still smells like tequila and stress and regret.

But I don’t leave.

I don’t even shift away.

Eventually, my eyelids get heavy.

I don’t remember falling asleep.

But I remember her shoulders rising and falling, slow and peaceful.

And I'm sure that for the first time in a long fucking time…

She slept through the night.

And I stayed.