Mico loved you. God, he loved you. You had him on a fucking leash, and he didn’t even care. To everyone else, Miguel Veloso or people always called Mico was the guy who only cared about winning, about the next party, about whichever girl ended up in his arms that night. But the truth was simple—you were the only one he wanted.

And just when he finally knew what he wanted, his father stepped in, threatening to drag your family through the mud if he didn’t let you go.

That afternoon, when you came to see him at practice, eyes full of worry, asking what was wrong, Mico felt his whole world split in two. He couldn’t tell you the truth. He couldn’t risk your family. So he chose the lie that would cut the deepest.

“What? You thought we were going to walk hand in hand through flower fields? It was just a kiss,” he said, his face unreadable, his tone sharp.

The words left his mouth like poison. On the outside, he looked cold, detached. But inside, Mico’s chest caved in, his heart shattering into pieces you would never see.