The sea was breathing with him that night.
Leo drove in silence, his hands locked around the wheel, knuckles white.
Every curve along the coast carried a memory, her voice whispering I don't trust anyone, her trembling breath when he looked at her like she was made of something breakable, her scent still clinging to his skin.
He hadn't slept in two days, hadn't eaten in three. But his mind was sharp, too sharp and guilt had carved itself into every thought.
When he reached the Moreno estate, the iron gates opened soundlessly, swallowing him whole. The guards nodded in respect. Leo only felt disgust; they all knew, and still they bowed.
Miguel was waiting in his office, behind his usual desk, smoke curling from a cigar between his fingers. His calmness was obscene.
"Leo," he said, exhaling slowly. "I assume our little problem has been taken care of."
Leo's jaw tightened.
"Yes, sir. Everything as planned. The girl is… safe."
"Excellent."
Miguel stood, walking toward the tall windows that overlooked the sea.
"You're a man of your word. Not many left like you. That's why I trust you."
Trust.
The word made Leo's stomach twist.
He was protecting the very man who had ordered the unthinkable.
"Stay available," Miguel went on. "Tomorrow is an important day. My associate can be demanding, but he pays well. And I, Leo, respect those who keep their promises."
Leo gave a curt nod, but his instincts screamed that something was wrong, too much ease, too much confidence in the man's voice.
When he turned to leave, a flicker of intuition made him stop by the door.
Miguel's tone had changed. Lower. Colder.
"Yes," he was saying into the phone. "Everything confirmed. The girl's in the right hands. Yes, perfect condition. You'll get what you asked for and I'll get what's mine. Tomorrow we close."
A short, satisfied laugh.
"Don't worry. Leo suspects nothing. He's too loyal to ask questions."
Leo froze. His blood turned to ice. He leaned against the wall, forcing himself to breathe quietly.
The girl. The right hands. Perfect condition.
Every word landed like a blade. When he finally stepped outside, the night air was heavy, poisonous.
"Son of a bitch," he muttered, pressing a hand to his forehead.
Far in the distance, the sea was black and endless. Somewhere out there, she was there. And he swore he would find her, even if it meant killing the man who called himself her father.
The ocean rocked the boat in cruel rhythm.
Inside, the air smelled of varnished wood and salt and fear.
Naiara sat on the edge of the bed, wrists bound to the headboard, her skin damp with tears and sea breeze. Every breath was an effort. Every heartbeat a question she couldn't answer. Then, the door opened.
He entered, slow, deliberate. No rush. No hesitation. That same way of moving, confident and dangerous, like the world bent beneath his feet.
"You're awake," he said.
The voice was identical. But the tone… no, the tone was wrong.
"Leo?" she whispered.
"Who else?"
He came closer. Too close.
"Why did you do this to me?" she asked. "I trusted you."
"That was your mistake."
Her lips trembled.
"So what we had, it meant nothing?"
He tilted his head, smiling faintly. "Nothing is meaningless when it gets me what I want."
Tears streaked down her face.
"No. You're lying. You're not like this."
He watched her, amused at first. Her pain was supposed to please him. And yet, somewhere deep inside, something small… shifted.
That voice calling his name, Leo, with such desperate faith, it cut through him in a way he didn't understand. A sound escaped his throat, barely audible, and his chest tightened before he buried it again beneath iron control.
"Do you really think you know me?" he asked quietly.
"I do," she whispered. "You're not cruel. You looked at me like I was human. Like I mattered."
He stood motionless, her words slicing through the armor he'd spent a lifetime building.
For the first time, the monster hesitated.
He reached out: a slow, uncertain gesture and touched her cheek.
Her skin was warm, trembling beneath his fingers.
She stared at him, wide-eyed.
"See? You can't be a monster."
He pulled back sharply, as if burned.
"Stop talking."
"You're scared to feel," she murmured.
He stared at her then, really stared and in her eyes he saw something he hadn't seen in years.
Recognition.
Not of who he was, but of what he could have been.
He leaned closer, his forehead brushing hers, their breaths mingling like smoke and flame.
"Ever wonder," he whispered, "if you even know who your father really is?"
Her heart stuttered.
"What are you talking about?"
A faint, almost pitying smile curved his lips.
"Maybe, little one, you're not the only one who's been deceived."
He stepped back, the mask returning.
The door closed with a clean metallic click.
Naiara stayed frozen, her body trembling, her mind whirling. For the first time since she'd been taken, she couldn't tell if she was shaking from fear, or from the echo of humanity she thought she'd seen in his eyes.
Outside, the waves crashed harder against the hull, as if mocking her hope.