CHAPTER 20: Clash

Andres's POV

The room changed the moment Gary said those words.

Nobody flipped a table or raised their voice above a controlled pitch. But I had worked with these people long enough to know what silence looked like when it was loaded, and right now, it was very, very loaded.

Every pair of eyes in that room bounced between Gary and me like they were watching a tennis match nobody wanted to referee.

I held Gary's gaze for exactly three seconds before I looked away. Not because I was backing down. But because I refused to give him the satisfaction of watching me react.

"You're taking her side," I said it flatly, not as a question.

"I am," he confirmed with a casual shrug, stepping further into the room as he owned it. Which he didn't. A detail he seemed to forget on a rotating schedule.

Rosaura hadn't moved. She was still seated, her bag on the table in front of her, watching both of us with an expression I couldn't quite categorize. Not scared. Not smug either. Just… still. Infuriatingly still, like she was watching a mildly interesting documentary.

It unnerved me more than I wanted to admit.

"This isn't your meeting, Gary," I said, keeping my voice even.

"And yet, here I am." He smiled.

I turned to the room. Twenty-something faces, all very pointedly studying the table, their shoes, the ceiling—anything that wasn't Gary or me.

"Meeting's over," I eventually announced. "We'll continue tomorrow. Numbers are on the shared drive; review them before you show up."

Chairs scraped. They moved quietly, like individuals trying very hard not to be noticed while evacuating. Brian and Denzel practically evaporated. Morgan moved more slowly, and I caught her throwing a cautious glance at Rosaura before slipping out.

Gary didn't move.

Neither did Rosaura.

I waited until the last person had cleared the threshold, then I turned to face my brother properly.

"That was unnecessary," I resisted the urge to palm my face.

"Firing someone for being stuck in traffic is unnecessary," he countered pleasantly. "I was just restoring balance."

"You were undermining me in front of my staff."

"Your staff." He repeated it with a small laugh, like the phrase was funny to him. "Still saying that, are we?"

The headache that had been quietly building behind my eyes since morning pushed forward. I pressed two fingers to the bridge of my nose and breathed.

"Get out of my meeting room," I said quietly.

Gary studied me for a moment, then let his eyes drift to Rosaura, lingering in a way that made something in my brows twitch.

"Miss Morales," he said pleasantly. "You're not fired."

"Thank you, sir," she replied. Polite. Measured. Giving absolutely nothing away.

He smiled at her—that particular smile of his, the one calibrated specifically to make women feel chosen—and then walked out with his hands in his pockets, whistling something soft under his breath.

I stood there for a moment after he left, the room quiet except for the air conditioning.

Then I turned to Rosaura.

She was already standing, slipping the strap of her bag over her shoulder like she was about to walk out without another word, and something about the ease of it, the sheer unbothered calm of her, made me speak before I could stop myself.

"Sit down."

She paused. Turned. Looked at me.

"Sir?"

"I said sit down."

She sat. Slowly. Without argument, which somehow felt like a different kind of argument entirely.

I moved to the chair across from her and sat also, which I hadn't planned to do. I had planned to remain standing. Standing at a distance. Distance was easier.

"How did you know about the lagoon?" I asked.

Something flickered in her eyes. Quick. Gone before I could read it properly.

"I don't know what you mean," she said.

"Yes, you do."

She held my gaze. "I was in the area. I saw a car go through the barrier. I reacted."

It was smooth. Too smooth. The kind of answer that covered all the obvious questions while leaving the important ones completely unaddressed.

"You're a trained diver," I said.

"I grew up near water."

"That isn't what I asked."

"It answers the question, though, doesn't it?" she replied, and there was the faintest curve at the edge of her mouth. Not a smile, exactly. Something more like the shadow of one.

I studied her face. The composure sitting over it like something practiced. The way her hands rested in her lap was perfectly still. Not the stillness of someone at peace, I realized. It was the stillness of someone who had learned how to stop their hands from shaking.

I knew that stillness. I had spent years cultivating my own version of it.

"Why are you here, Miss Morales?" I asked.

"You employed me," she said simply.

"Nobody employs a senior agent without a paper trail. No formal interview, no advance notice to HR, no application on file. Someone approved your placement from inside this company, and it wasn't me, and it wasn't my father." I paused. "And it certainly wasn't Gary, or he wouldn't have needed to introduce himself to you at the gala."

The flicker again. Faster this time.

"I have connections," she said.

"Everyone who walks through that door has connections. That isn't an answer."

She tilted her head slightly, and for a moment, something shifted behind her eyes. Not fear. More like reassessment. Like she was quietly recalculating something.

"Do you always interrogate the people who save your life?" she asked softly.

The words landed without weight, without accusation. Just a quiet observation, dropped into the space between us like a stone into still water.

I said nothing.

She stood again, smoothed her blazer, and picked up her bag.

She walked out without a word.

I remained at the table, staring at the door long after it had closed behind her.

The numbers, the meeting, Gary's interference… All of it had faded to background noise.

What stayed was the thought that had crept in quietly while she was speaking, threading itself through everything else like smoke through a cracked window.

She had known about the lagoon before anyone else did.

She had known, and she had come anyway.

And the question wasn't how.

The question—the one I couldn't shake—was why.