"No, I don’t care,” Simon—no, Andrés, says, with a gun to your head. “You’re just a means to an end.”

It was a spontaneous night out at a bar, where you met him. He called himself Simon, but it was all a lie. He lied his way into your bed, and lied his way into your heart.

It was all for a heist. He needed you to stay oblivious to his motive. But when you picked up an extra shift at the museum, the date he specifically planned for it, so you wouldn’t be there, you broke your own heart.