Chapter 17: You Look Mid as Fuck

Brian reached across the desk, placing a comforting hand on Cynthia’s. “You don’t have to do this alone. You have me, and Logan, and the entire team. We’ll figure something out. But first, you need a break.”

Cynthia frowned, her brow furrowing slightly. “A break?”

“Yes— a break from all of it— from playing co-wife with your sister. I know it must be driving you crazy,” Brian said, her eyes lighting up with determination. “The girls and I are going out tonight, and you’re tagging along. No excuses.”

Cynthia’s hesitation was immediate. She leaned back in her chair, shaking her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Brian. You know how things are... I’m not really in the mood for socializing.”

“Nonsense,” Brian said firmly, waving off her protest. “You’ve been cooped up in that house for months, Cynthia. A night out with the girls is exactly what you need to clear your mind.”

“I don’t know...” Cynthia said softly, her voice trailing as she considered the idea.

Brian leaned forward, her tone softening but still insistent. “Listen, I’m not asking you to forget everything or act like nothing’s wrong. I’m saying you deserve one night— just one— to breathe, laugh, and feel like yourself again. You need this, Cynthia.”

Cynthia looked down at her desk, her fingers absently tracing the edge of a file. The thought of escaping, even for a few hours, was tempting. “I guess I could use some time away from that house,” she admitted, her voice cautious.

Brian grinned, her excitement bubbling over. “That’s the spirit! You’re going to love it. We’ll hit up that new lounge downtown, the one with the rooftop garden. It’s going to be amazing.”

Cynthia gave a reluctant smile, her lips curving slightly. “Okay, fine. But just for a little while.”

“Perfect,” Brian said, clapping her hands together. “I’ll pick you up at seven. And don’t worry about anything— I'll personally make sure you enjoy every last bit of it.”

Cynthia sighed but felt a small weight lift off her shoulders. “Thanks, Brian. I appreciate it.”

“No need for that—” Brian said with a playful wink. After all you're my best friend, and I'm happy to do it.”

"Nevertheless thank you." Cythian responded.

And as Brian stood and headed for the door, Cynthia leaned back in her chair, already anticipating the brief reprieve from the suffocating presence of Carlos and Megan. Tonight, she would take a breath— a real one— and try to remember what it felt like to be free.

\--------------------

Hours Later...

Cynthia stood in front of the sprawling mirror that stretched the length of the restroom wall, carefully applying a touch of highlighter to her cheekbones. The golden hues of the overhead chandelier reflected softly off the marble countertops, adding an elegant glow to the space. Her hands moved with precision, her organic makeup palette spread out neatly on the vanity before her. She was humming under her breath, anticipation for the night ahead evident in the faint smile curling her lips.

The faint sound of footsteps echoed in the suite, followed by the familiar creak of the bedroom door opening. “Cynthia?” Carlos’s voice called out, smooth but carrying a hint of curiosity.

“In the restroom!” she called back, her voice bouncing off the tiled walls.

Moments later, Carlos appeared at the doorway, his tall frame leaning casually against the doorframe. He crossed his arms over his chest, his sharp suit tailored to perfection as always, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “What’s the occasion?” he asked, his eyes scanning her figure before locking onto her face in the mirror.

Cynthia didn’t glance back, her focus remaining on her reflection as she applied a final stroke of mascara. “Going out with some friends,” she replied nonchalantly.

Carlos raised an eyebrow, stepping further into the restroom. His leather loafers clicked softly against the tiled floor as he leaned his shoulder against the cool marble pillar separating the sinks. “Friends?” he repeated, his tone laced with mild skepticism. “What friends?”

“Friends from work,” Cynthia replied, keeping her voice steady as she reached for her lipstick. She twisted the tube open, the soft scent of rose oil filling the air.

Carlos tilted his head, watching her intently. “Work friends,” he mused. “Can I tag along and meet these friends?”

The lipstick paused just shy of Cynthia’s lips. She met his gaze in the mirror, her eyes narrowing slightly. “No,” she said firmly, applying the vibrant red shade with a single, smooth swipe. “Not your kind of people. You’d hate it.”

Carlos straightened, his expression shifting from curious to amused. “And why’s that?”

Cynthia capped the lipstick, placing it down with deliberate care before turning to face him fully. Her arms crossed, mirroring his earlier stance. “Because they’re not billionaires, Carlos. They don’t live in glass towers or vacation in the Maldives. To you, they’re low class.”

Carlos chuckled softly, stepping closer. The faint scent of his cologne— a mix of cedar and spice— filled the space between them. “Low class? Is that what you think I see?”

“No,” Cynthia replied coolly, turning back to the mirror to fix a strand of her hair. “That’s what you’ve shown me. You’ve never once bothered to get to know them, and you’d probably spend the whole night judging.”

Carlos reached out, gently brushing her hair aside. His fingers worked deftly as he smoothed the strands, his reflection now close beside hers in the mirror. “Then why,” he asked, his voice lowering, “is my wife hanging out with people she knows I wouldn’t approve of?”

Cynthia’s gaze hardened as she locked eyes with him through the mirror. “Because I don’t see them the way you do. They’re good people— people I spend time with, people who matter to me. Just because you don’t understand that doesn’t mean I have to abandon them.”

Carlos let out a low, weary sigh, his hands dropping to his sides. His piercing gaze didn’t waver. “Who’s fault is that, though? I’m not the one who made them poor or kept them there. If anything, they chose their circumstances.”

Cynthia turned to face him directly, her tone sharp now. “And that’s exactly why you’re not coming with me. You don’t get it, Carlos. You don’t understand what it’s like to grow up struggling, to fight for every little thing. Not everyone has a family legacy or wealth handed to them on a silver platter.”

For a moment, the tension in the room was palpable. Carlos’s jaw tightened, and the smirk that had been playing on his lips faded. He took a small step back, his eyes narrowing. “At least let one of my men follow you,” he said, his tone more commanding now. “I don’t want you alone and exposed around... those people.”

Cynthia’s eyes flared with indignation. She stepped closer, her voice rising slightly. “Those people? Really? They’re my people, Carlos. The ones who were there before the money, before the estate, before you. We grew up on the same streets, faced the same struggles. They’re a part of me— something you’ll never understand.”

Carlos’s gaze was unyielding, his voice clipped. “Are you going to let my men follow you or not? Because I didn’t ask for your whole childhood story.”

“No,” Cynthia said, her tone final. “I don’t need your protection or your men breathing down my neck. Besides, Brian’s picking me up, and I already said yes. She’ll be here any minute.”

Carlos let out a frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before stepping behind her. “Fine,” he muttered. “Suit yourself.” His hands moved to the zipper of her gown, pulling it up slowly. His touch lingered a moment longer than necessary before he stepped away.

Cynthia glanced at him in the mirror, her expression unreadable.

Carlos adjusted his cufflinks, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “You look mid as fuck—"