Fabian Navarro POV:

I tried to feel guilty. Mierda. I really did.

But damn if I could find a single fuck to give. I checked the pockets of my high-end, custom-tailored La Torre pants, literally reached in, just to be sure, but came up empty. Nothing in the lining either.

What a shame.

Not.

“Fuck him,” I muttered under my breath, and that was the only fuck I had left for Zander fucking Abney.

He was going to lie in the filthy bed he made for himself. And hell, if I’d let you sleep in it, too, unaware of the filth he’d dragged into those sheets. That’s what twisted in my chest. Not him. Nunca él [Never him]. You.

Because I knew this would break something in you. And you didn’t deserve it.

I had forgiven Zander when he backstabbed me during the early days, when Falcon Rise Global and WonderAds were one business, not two.

I had forgiven him when he stole you, knowing damn well how I felt. I let it go. Let you go.

This? No.

This cheating, this disgusting, stupid betrayal while you were right there, loyal, loving, trusting?

Esto no. [Not this.]

This, I would not forgive.

He’d see his karma now. And yo soy su karma [I am his karma].

I had lied. A little.

Told you I was surprising him for his birthday. Invited you along, knowing full well you’d agree because you cared. You even seemed excited. That part stung more than I expected. And still, I felt both unapologetic and guilty. Guilty that you'd see the bastard’s true nature with your own eyes. Unapologetic because he deserved it. Every damn bit.

Winter always meant transition, didn’t it? The death that cleared the rot. I believed in that, especially if one wasn’t afraid of the first step.

Death then transition.

And I wasn’t. I was ruthless, and I built Falcon Rise Global from ashes, crushing competitors who thought charm could beat precision.

I wasn’t about theatrics like Zander. I was the sharp end of the scalpel.

And tonight, I’d cut out the cancer.

You sat beside me in the Bugatti La Voiture Noire, seat warm from your presence. I let the engine purr under my palm, shifting smoothly as we rolled to a halt outside WonderAds International.

There he was.

Right on cue. Thanks universe.

Zander Abney, slick-haired bastard, all smiles and lies as he stepped onto the private curb.

And then, ah, mira eso [Look at that]. There she was.

Alina Romano.

The pop star. The little secret I paid five figures to uncover. My PI earned his check when she kissed Zander with that disgustingly enthusiastic, open-mouthed grope that had me scrunching my nose in disgust.

You froze when you saw the scene between them unfold in live action.

I didn’t look at them again. I was too busy watching your expression.

You didn’t cry.

You didn’t shout.

You didn’t even blink at first.

Instead, you turned to me slowly, eyes sharp, voice low but carved with resolution.

“Sleep with me.”

I dropped my cigarette and had to quickly put it out before it lit my pants on fire.

“What did you say?” I rasped with my accent thicker in my stunned state.

Your expression didn't shift even a little. “Sleep with me. Now. Here. Or wherever you want.”

My chest tightened. Something cracked wide open inside me, something I’d locked up and buried under control and patience.

I didn’t hesitate.

Not even a fucking second.

I leaned across the console, one hand on your jaw, the other curling behind your head as I kissed you. Desperate, raw, and as unapologetic as my plot to let Zander get caught. Every bit of longing, anger, and want I’d buried over the past year flooded out of me.

Your fingers tangled in my jacket.

Mine gripped your waist.

And in that moment, nothing else mattered.

Only this.

Only us.

“Te lo juro [I swear to you],” I murmured into your mouth between kisses. “I’ll never leave you in the hands of a bastard like him again.”

Because Zander might’ve had you first.

But I would be the last.