"Te quiero más, Caramella,"
💮Raul💮
When Angel's breathing steadied, her chest rising and falling in a fragile rhythm, I slowly, carefully pulled away, easing her onto the sofa.
She curled into the cushions, but her sleep wasn't peaceful—her forehead creased with worry, her lips parted as if whispering silent fears.
My chest tightened, guilt gnawing at me. She carried the weight of the world's judgment—home-wrecker, slut—because of me, because of us.
I sighed, leaning forward, taking her hand in mine, her skin soft and warm against my calloused palm.
"I'll tell you everything soon, Angel," I mumbled, my voice low, my eyes stinging. "I'm sorry you're going through this because of me."
We'd found each other in the most unconventional way—a scandal wrapped in passion, a love that defied the rules. It wasn't ideal, but to hell with ideals. I loved her, and that was all that mattered.
I'd do whatever it took to keep her, to shield her from the pain of Catalina's accusations and the tabloids' lies.
To the world, she'd ruined a perfect marriage, but behind closed doors, she'd saved me. She'd given me the strength to stand firm on a decision I'd wrestled with for two years: ending a marriage that had been dead long before her.
I lifted her hand, pressing a soft kiss to the back of her palm.
A knock interrupted my thoughts, sharp and insistent.
Before I could respond, the door swung open, and Nikolai stood there, his dark eyes catching the intimate moment between me and a sleeping Angel.
His jaw clenched, a flicker of something—envy, disapproval?—crossing his face. I didn't care. Let him judge. He wasn't even one to judge.
I rose, leaving Angel to rest, and crossed the room to my brother, my movements deliberate, my gaze hard.
"Why are you here, Nikolai?" I asked, my voice low, edged with irritation.
He didn't answer right away, his eyes flicking to Angel, lingering too long for my liking.
"You really love her," he said, not a question but a statement, heavy with something I couldn't quite place—regret, maybe, or resentment.
I ignored the comment, sinking into my chair behind the desk, the leather creaking under my weight.
"What brings you here, Niko?" I pressed, my tone clipped, the old wound between us throbbing beneath the surface.
Nikolai took a deep breath, his broad shoulders tensing.
"I won't be attending the award show," he said, his voice steady but guarded. "Thought I'd let you know in person."
I chuckled, a low, bitter sound, shaking my head.
"Or you came to see if the rumors about Angel and me are true, so you could swoop in and ask her to be your date."
My words were calm, but there was a razor's edge to them, the memory of his.... I shut my eyes, biting back the memories.
Nikolai's jaw tightened, his dark eyes narrowing, but he didn't take the bait.
"I'm not here to fight. I just came to tell you."
The word Hermano stung, a reminder of the brother I'd once trusted, the one who'd shared my dreams, my secrets, until he'd crossed a line that shattered us.
I leaned forward, elbows on the desk, my gaze piercing.
"You've always had a knack for timing, Niko," I said, my voice cold. "Showing up when it suits you, stirring things up. What's your angle this time?"
He flinched, barely, but I caught it—the crack in his polished facade.
"No angle, Raul," he said, his tone softer, almost pleading. "I'm trying to... keep the peace. For once."
I snorted, leaning back, my fingers drumming on the desk.
"Peace? That's rich, coming from you."
The tension of our past hung heavy—his betrayal, the nights I'd spent drowning in whiskey to forget, the years we'd barely spoken.
He'd been my shadow, my confidant, until he wasn't.
Now, seeing him watch Angel, even for a moment, set my blood on edge.
He shifted, his gaze flicking to Angel again, her sleeping form a quiet contrast to our tension.
"She's different," he murmured, almost to himself. "Not like the others. I can see why you're... like this."
"Don't," I warned, my voice low, dangerous. "Don't look at her. Don't think about her. You lost the right to weigh in on my life a long time ago."
Nikolai's eyes met mine, a storm brewing in their depths, but he nodded, stepping back.
"Have you told her already?" he asked.
My fist clenched. I glanced back at Angel.
As much as I hate what she's built with Nikolai, I know her heart—pure, golden, incapable of malice without reason. Whatever part of my past I reveal will change how she sees him. Maybe forever.
I'm not fond of my brother. There are a dozen ways I'd like to make him feel the pain of what he did to me. And yet... I'm choosing to shield him from her hatred. For now.
"Nikolai," I called, turning back to him, "what I share with my woman is none of your concern."
He didn't respond.
"I'll go," he muttered, his voice tight. "Just... take care of her, Raul. She's in deep, and you know how this world chews people up."
He turned to leave, but I called after him.
"Niko." He paused, glancing back. "Stay away from her. And don't think I've forgotten what you're capable of."
He held my gaze for a moment, eyes heavy with regret.
I looked away, then he walked out, the door clicking shut behind him.
I exhaled, my shoulders sagging, the weight of our fractured bond pressing down.
Angel stirred on the sofa, a soft murmur escaping her lips, and I moved to her side.
Her forehead was still creased, a frown stitched on her brows. I brushed a curl from her face, my heart aching.
"I'll fix this, Caramella," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "For you. For us."
But first, I had to clear her name, to unravel the mess of my marriage and the secrets tying me to Catalina's family—a business deal gone sour, a legacy I'd been too weak to break free from until Angel gave me a reason to fight.
After hours of poring over documents, my eyes burning from the glow of the laptop screen, I called it a night.
I stacked the papers neatly on my desk, shrugged on my blazer, and turned to Angel.
She was still fast asleep on the sofa, her curls spilling over the cushion.
I leaned over, then slid my arms beneath her, lifting her carefully.
Not bridal style, but in a position whereby her legs draped over my hips, and her body pressed against mine.
She stirred, a soft murmur escaping her lips, but relaxed into me, her face burying into the crook of my neck, her warm breath tickling my skin.
A smile tugged at my lips, warmth spreading through me. It felt good—damn good—to be her safe space, her anchor in the storm we'd created.
I clutched her bag and shoes in one hand, my other arm securing her thighs firmly.
I left the office, the door clicking shut behind us, the hallway dim and quiet save for the faint hum of the city beyond the windows.
"Good evening, sir," Tristan greeted, holding the car door open.
I returned a curt nod, sliding into the backseat with care, ensuring her head didn't bump the frame.
Once settled, she snuggled closer, her arms tightening around me as if I might vanish. Her warmth, her scent—chocolate and something uniquely her—grounded me, easing the pressure of the day.
"I love you, Raul," she murmured, her voice soft and slurred with sleep, the words slipping out like a secret from a dream.
A grin spread across my face, my cheeks burning with quiet joy. She was dreaming, no doubt, and I'd be teasing her about this later—relentlessly.
I held her tighter, pressing a kiss to her forehead, her skin soft and warm under my lips.
"Te quiero más, Caramella," I whispered.
( I love you more.)
The car hummed through LA's glittering streets, the city's lights blurring past as Tristan drove in silence.
Angel's confession, even in sleep, lit a fire in me.