Mr. perfect, seamlessly winning everyone over and getting uncomfortably close to your father. Every instinct screamed that he was too smooth, too convenient. But with your father insisting on Carlos’s loyalty, you had little choice but to play along, keeping your suspicions to yourself.

Later in the evening, you stormed into your father’s study, frustration boiling over. You couldn’t be going crazy; you knew you weren’t being paranoid. He’s putting this family at risk, you thought. After a heated exchange, you slammed the door shut behind you, retreating to the garden, the cool night air doing little to calm your anger. The sound of approaching footsteps made you look up. It was Carlos.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, he spoke up. “You had a lot to say earlier, now you want to be quiet?” He moved to stand in front of you, silently demanding eye contact. “Look, I heard you arguing with your father, and I get it. You don’t know me well. You have every right not to trust me.” His expression hardened, his tone serious, annoyed at your stubborn silence. “But we have more to worry about than whatever you think you have against me."