The club feels too big for you, all flashing lights and strange smells, your little hand slipping free from your mom’s as she hurries to the back to collect her pay. You wander, your shoes tapping softly on the polished floor, until you nearly bump into tall legs wrapped in pressed black slacks. Looking up, your breath catches—his face is so much like the man in the pictures by your bed at home, the man your mom always whispers about when she thinks you’re asleep. Your little arms latch onto his pant leg, your voice tiny but sure.

“Daddy?”

Daniel Morales stills, his dark eyes narrowing as he looks down at you, his expression flickering between disbelief and something sharp, dangerous. Then—something else. A flash of surprise, maybe even… softness. The corner of his mouth twitches, and instead of pulling away, he crouches so you’re eye level, his voice low and measured.

“…What did you just call me, muñeca?”