Chapter 8: This Isn’t an Open Relationship, Carlos

She turned and walked out of the room, her footsteps echoing in the silent hall. Behind her, she could hear Megan’s soft laughter and Carlos’s low voice, but she didn’t look back.

As she reached her suite, she slammed the door shut and leaned against it, her breathing ragged. She wiped at her eyes angrily, refusing to let the tears fall.

“This isn’t over,” she whispered to herself. "Not by a long shot."

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The Following Day...

Cynthia walked slowly through the garden, her sandals crunching softly against the gravel path as the cool morning breeze played with her loose hair. The lush greenery surrounding her should have brought peace, but today, it only deepened the turmoil in her chest. She glanced at the staff meticulously tending to the garden— one trimming a rose bush, another carefully watering the ferns, and yet another kneeling by the roots of a large oak tree, spreading fresh mulch. Their chatter and laughter, though subdued, felt intrusive to her fragile state of mind.

As she moved further along the path, her heart clenched when she saw Carlos approaching her from the opposite direction. His stride was slow and purposeful, his hands casually clasped behind his back. Even from a distance, his piercing blue eyes locked onto her, radiating an intensity that made her stomach churn. Cynthia’s first instinct was to turn and leave, but her legs betrayed her, frozen in place as he drew closer.

When he was just a few steps away, she willed herself to walk past him without acknowledgment, her chin held high in defiance. But her resolve crumbled as his hand shot out, firmly gripping her wrist.

“What do you want, Carlos?” Cynthia asked, her voice sharp and brittle as she glared at him.

He smirked, a mixture of amusement and authority flashing in his eyes. “Is that how you greet your husband, Cynthia? No smile, no warmth?”

Her lip curled in disdain. “Why don’t you go find your other wife? I’m sure she’s eager to play your dutiful bride.”

Carlos chuckled, a low, mocking sound that only stoked the fire in her chest. “It’s you I want to talk to right now, not Megan.”

“And why’s that?” she shot back, her tone laced with bitterness.

“Because when a husband feels like talking— or having some private time— with his wife, he’s entitled to it,” Carlos replied smoothly, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Cynthia let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow even to her own ears. “Private time? With me? You should’ve thought about that before you decided to marry my sister. You don’t get to have it both ways, Carlos. You either choose me or—”

“Enough,” Carlos interrupted, his smirk widening into a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Let me remind you who’s in charge here. I’m the man in this relationship, Cynthia. I decide how it goes. Not you.”

His voice carried a warning that sent a chill through her, and her expression faltered, a flicker of fear betraying her bravado. She knew what Carlos was capable of— his charming billionaire façade was a mask hiding the ruthless cartel boss who could make people disappear without a trace. Cynthia swallowed hard, trying to suppress the dread curling in her stomach.

“What do you want from me?” she asked, her tone softer now, treading carefully as she searched his face for a clue to his mood.

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur that sent a shiver down her spine. “I want you— all of you. Your undivided attention.”

Cynthia then forced a weak smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Her voice hollow, “It's not like I could run away, anyways?”

Carlos smirked, his eyes glinting with challenge. “You could try.”

She let out a shaky laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Do you think I’m stupid enough to run away, Carlos? I know better than that.”

Carlos said nothing at first, but his eyes glinted with a dangerous mix of desire and control. Slowly, he reached up and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers grazing her skin. Cynthia froze as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against her neck. He inhaled deeply, his face buried against her, as if savoring her scent.

The intimacy of the gesture shattered something inside her. Despite everything— the betrayal, the pain, the humiliation— she still craved him. She hated herself for it. His touch, his scent, his commanding presence— it all awakened feelings she wished she could bury.

Carlos pulled back slightly, his lips brushing the edge of her ear. “You still belong to me, Cynthia,” he murmured, his voice dripping with certainty.

And then, just as abruptly, he released her wrist and stepped back, leaving her standing there, bereft of his touch. The sudden loss made her ache even more. She clenched her fists, struggling to steady her trembling hands.

“I can’t do this,” she said finally, her voice breaking. “It’s either me or Megan. You can’t have us both. You need to choose.”

Carlos tilted his head, a mocking smile playing on his lips as he shook his head. “I already have. I choose both.”

Cynthia’s breath hitched, and her chest tightened with a mix of fury and despair. “So, it’s fine for you to cheat,” she snapped, her voice rising, “but you demand I give you all of me? How is that fair, Carlos?”

“Cheating?” Carlos scoffed, his tone almost amused. “This isn’t cheating, Cynthia. It’s sharing.”

Her mouth fell open in disbelief. “Sharing? I hate that word! This isn’t an open relationship, Carlos. You can’t just—”