35. The Last Night

35. The Last Night
How do you hate the man who taught your heart to beat again, when it was his name your soul was sworn to bury?

GABRIELLA

By the time we returned to the beach house, the sun had already dipped beneath the horizon, casting the ocean in molten shades of blue. The scent of salt and blooming night jasmine hung in the air like a lullaby, and as soon as the car rolled to a gentle stop, I realized how utterly exhausted I was.

But then I glanced at Alejandro—his jawline illuminated by the soft street lights lining the driveway, his eyes still carrying flecks of twilight—and suddenly, sleep was the last thing on my mind.

Because tomorrow, we’d return to Mexico.

Back to the chaos.

Back to our real lives.

Back to me plotting his downfall.

But tonight?

Tonight, I just wanted to breathe with him.

He stepped out and circled to open my door like always. No matter how casual the moment, Alejandro always carried himself like a man who knew the weight of small gestures.

I stretched lazily, my limbs aching in a way that felt deliciously earned. “So… what now?”

He smirked slightly. “You get two choices. A cozy dinner on the beach… or a movie night under the stars.”

I tilted my head thoughtfully, catching the breeze in my hair. “Movie night,” I said. “Less sand, more snuggling.”

He chuckled as we walked inside. “Which movie?”

I paused mid-step. “Titanic.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t peg you for the sentimental type.”

“I’m not,” I replied without turning back, letting my voice trail behind me like a veil. “Maybe that’s why I want to watch it tonight."

Upstairs, the moment I shut the door behind me, reality came rushing back in.

I peeled off the day’s clothes and splashed cold water on my face, the makeup sliding off like war paint at the end of battle. Pulling on a soft nightdress, I twisted my hair into a loose bun and finally caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

And that’s when I saw it again.

The hickey.

Faint but there. A ghost of desire inked on my skin.

I stared at it, heart suddenly louder in my chest. My fingers reached for it automatically, tracing the mark like it was a bruise made of memory.

Then the thought hit me.

No protection.

No pills.

Twice.

A tight knot coiled in my stomach, not from fear, but from the sheer weight of what-if. The idea of being pregnant was laughably absurd in this moment. A child? In the middle of this twisted war we called our lives?

No.

No, I told myself. I’m a doctor. I know the odds. Two times, no birth control, yes—but conception wasn’t that simple.

Still… the possibility was there. And that sliver of uncertainty was enough to make my heart stutter.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
Not now. Not tonight.

Tonight wasn’t about panic or consequences.

Tonight was for forgetting.

Shoving the thought into the back of my mind, I smoothed down my nightdress and stepped out into the hallway, padding barefoot toward the terrace where the projector flickered to life and the night was waiting—with stars, with secrets, and with the man I didn’t want to want.

But tonight, I did.

As I stepped onto the terrace, the soft hum of the projector filled the air, casting pale light over the cozy scene—and over him.

Alejandro stood barefoot in a plain white tee and light cotton shorts, looking every bit like a man without blood on his hands. He was adjusting the last of the cushions on a makeshift bed, surrounded by scattered fairy lights that glowed like captured fireflies. A gentle breeze lifted the scent of salt and citrus, and the soft rustling of the trees whispered secrets only the night could understand.

For a moment, the cartel leader vanished. All I saw was a man who made space for peace. A man who looked heartbreakingly normal in a world that was anything but.

He looked… normal. Warm. Touchable.

So did I.

And maybe that’s what scared me the most.

Without thinking, I walked up behind him and wrapped my arms around his torso, resting my cheek between his shoulder blades.

He stilled for a beat, then chuckled softly as he took my hands in his and brought them to his lips. “Missed me already?”

“Mhm,” I hummed, tightening my hold just slightly—like I could anchor this moment in time if I just held on hard enough.

We settled into the nest of pillows and blankets, the air filled with the buttery scent of popcorn and something sweeter—chocolate, maybe? My eyes danced across the spread: a bowl of popcorn, crispy wafers, melted cheese nachos, and neatly stacked chocolate squares.

“You did all this so quickly?” I asked, genuinely surprised.

“I had Leah prepare them this morning,” he said, his voice low and warm, “just in case you picked movie night.”

I smiled. That just in casemade my heart flutter far more than it should have.

He pulled the blanket over us, tucking me under his arm. I snuggled closer, the popcorn bowl in my lap, my head resting against his shoulder as he pressed
play. The movie began, the familiar opening score of Titanic drifting into the night like a lullaby.

“I asked Leah to make lasagna for dinner,” he added after a moment. “I hope that’s okay.”

“I love lasagna,” I murmured between popcorn bites, popping one into his mouth as well. “You're spoiling me.”

He chuckled and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Maybe I like spoiling you.”

As the story unfolded on the screen, I lost myself in Rose’s fiery rebellion and Jack’s quiet courage. Leonardo DiCaprio had always been my favorite, but tonight… I kept stealing glances at the man beside me, whose eyes were fixed not on the movie, but on me every time I laughed or gasped.

Halfway through the film, Alejandro paused the projector and rose to his feet. Leah appeared moments later with steaming plates of lasagna, its rich aroma filling the terrace like something holy. We sat cross-legged on the floor, stars above us, Italy behind us, and a plate of heaven between us.

I devoured my dinner shamelessly, moaning at the first bite. “Oh my God. This is sinful.”

Alejandro laughed, genuinely and deeply, the sound echoing through the open air. “You eat like you’ve been starving for years.”

“Maybe I was,” I said without thinking, “for something that felt this simple."

His smile faltered for a heartbeat—but only just. He looked at me like he wanted to say something, but instead, he just reached over and tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “You deserve more than simple, you know.”

I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. Because tomorrow, we’d return to a world where words like
deserve didn’t mean much.

But tonight?

Tonight was ours.

After we finished the last bite of Leah’s heavenly lasagna, Alejandro gently set the plates aside. Leah appeared, silent as always, and whisked them away, leaving us wrapped in the soft silence of the stars. He popped open two cold beer bottles, the faint fizz echoing between us as he handed me one, the amber catching the fairy lights like molten gold.

Then, he hit play again.

I curled back into his arms, my head tucked beneath his chin, the blanket warm around us as the flickering screen brought the sea back to life. I knew how the story ended—Titanic was carved in the bones of cinema—but watching it here, with him, felt like I was seeing it for the first time.

Each touch between Jack and Rose made something ache inside me.

When the passion unfurled across the screen—their kisses, their surrender in that fogged-up car—I shifted awkwardly. Not because of what was playing, but because of the memory of his hands, his breath, his lips. I snuck a glance at Alejandro, expecting him to smirk, but instead, I caught him looking up at the stars—like they were telling him secrets he longed to remember.

“Don’t act like a child,” I teased softly, elbowing him, “We’ve done far more than that.”

A slow smirk crept onto his lips. “So… are you hinting at something?”

Heat bloomed in my cheeks as I looked away. “Focus on the movie,” I muttered, sipping from the beer bottle to hide the sudden smile tugging at my lips.

The laughter faded with the movie’s final act.

And then the iceberg came.

And Jack started to shiver.

And my heart, damn it, started to break all over again.

Even though I knew it—knew that he wouldn’t survive, that the door would float while he’d sink—still, tears welled up and spilled, tracing silent paths down my cheeks. I clutched the blanket tighter, my throat tight with emotions I couldn’t name.

“Hey,” Alejandro whispered, turning to me. “Stop crying. It’s just a movie.”

But it wasn’t. Not to me.

He pulled me into his chest, one arm holding me close, the other brushing away my tears with the softest touch. “You’re such a crybaby,” he teased, but his voice was tender, reverent, like he knew the tears meant something more.

I sniffed. “I’m not.”

“I know,” he said, so gently that my heart cracked open.

And then he pulled me into his lap.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, burying my face in the warm curve of it, inhaling him—salt and firewood, the sea and something that already felt like
home. He caressed my back slowly, and I let myself breathe.

The projector clicked off. The stars blinked above us. The soft sound of waves crashing against the shore was the only soundtrack now.

I should’ve felt peace.

But all I felt was the slow unraveling of a dream I shouldn’t be dreaming.

Because like Jack and Rose, we were a tragedy dressed in silk and stolen time. A cartel heir and a woman born to destroy him. We were too much and never enough. Sun and moon. Sky and sea. Lovers meant to meet—but never stay.

He doesn’t know who I am.

He doesn’t know the blood on his family’s hands, the bones buried beneath his empire—my family’s bones.

He doesn’t know I came here to ruin him.

Then why does my heart ache like this?

He is my enemy—his bloodline painted in the ruins of my past.

It was his family that stole my mother’s laughter,

that silenced my brother’s dreams,

that turned my small, bright world into shadows.

I should feel nothing but fire when I look at him.

But instead… I feel warmth.

Love, in all its quiet treachery, has crept in where hatred was meant to live.

How do you hate the man who holds you like you’re something sacred?

Who kisses your scars as if they were stars meant to be worshipped?

How do you destroy someone

who has only ever given you tenderness and the illusion of peace?

But love built on lies is a house made of glass.

And mine is already cracking.

He loves me—but he loves a version of me that isn't real.

When he learns the truth…

when he sees the blade I hide behind my smile,

our story will shatter like the sea meeting stone.

Because this love…

this fragile, doomed love…

was never meant to survive the truth.

And that truth is coming.

Soon.

And still... I cherished the feel of his arms around me. I cherished the rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his body, the way he held me like I was fragile and powerful all at once.

I let myself stay in that moment.

Just for a little longer.

Because tomorrow, the ship would sink.

And tonight, I wanted to pretend it wouldn’t.

“Let’s go to bed,” I said, trying to gather the scattered pieces of my emotions before they crumbled all over the floor.

Alejandro only hummed, his breath brushing against my hair like a whisper he wasn’t ready to say aloud.

I stood, detaching myself from his warmth like peeling away from a dream. He followed quietly, our steps soft beneath the moonlit hush of the house.

In the bedroom, I turned—and found him lingering at the door.

His fingers ghosted over the knob, his stance unsure. “You want me to stay?” he asked, his voice low, laced with a vulnerability I rarely saw.

I gave him a look, half amused, half exhausted. “We crossed that line a long time ago,” I said

A crooked smile curved his lips, and he entered, closing the door behind him with a finality that echoed in my chest.

I slipped beneath the covers while he peeled off his tee. His body was bathed in shadows and soft light, but it wasn’t the sight of his skin that unraveled me—it was the way he curled around me, like this was home. My head rested against his bare chest, the rhythmic beat of his heart steady beneath my cheek.

I was addicted to this—to the way sleep came easier when wrapped in him. But I couldn’t let it last.

Because we weren’t meant to last.

We were a borrowed eternity.

Morning came dressed in golden light, slipping through the sheer curtains like a quiet goodbye. Alejandro was still asleep, lying on his stomach, his breath slow and deep. I studied him for a moment—his messy hair, the quiet peace carved across his face—and then I rose, careful not to wake him.

I packed in silence, folding away more than just clothes. Every shirt, every little object felt like a piece of our fleeting time together, boxed up and zipped away.

I chose a pair of fitted denim jeans and a soft pink shirt—something casual, something safe—and headed to the bathroom for a long, grounding shower. When I emerged in a towel, skin still damp, Alejandro was still in bed, sunlight painting soft shadows on his back.

I crossed to the vanity, toweling my hair and applying moisturizer when I heard that familiar, husky drawl.

“I could stay here forever… if this is what I get to wake up to.”

I met his gaze through the mirror. He was propped up on his elbows now, sleep lingering in his eyes, but something deeper flickering beneath the surface.

I smiled. “You should get ready. We’ll be late.”

“It’s my jet. We leave when I say,” he said, stretching like a cat too comfortable to care about time.

I rolled my eyes and started getting dressed. A flicker of self-consciousness passed over me, but it dissolved quickly. There was nothing he hadn’t already seen—nothing he hadn’t already memorized with reverent hands and whispered promises.

I could feel the weight of his stare burning into my skin as I slipped on my jeans, his silence louder than any words. He didn’t speak, didn’t tease—but the heat in his gaze traced every inch of me like a caress. My fingers fumbled for the buttons of my shirt as I turned slightly, catching the way his eyes followed every movement.

I tied my hair up into a ponytail, trying to ignore the hum beneath my skin. He finally moved—slow and languid—swinging his legs off the bed, the sheets falling around his waist.

Then I felt him behind me.

His hands slid around my waist, slow and deliberate, pulling me back into the warmth of his bare chest. The soft brush of his lips found the curve of my neck, lingering for a heartbeat too long. I shivered beneath his touch, instinctively leaning back into him.

“Good morning,” he murmured against my ear.

I smiled. It felt like a lullaby.

“I’ll go get ready,” he added, releasing me. “See you downstairs.”

The door clicked shut behind him. And just like that, the warmth slipped away.

I sat there for a breath longer, then slipped on my shoes, grabbed my suitcase, and walked out of the room—dragging the weight of unspoken truths behind me.

In the living room, I waited. Within minutes, Alejandro appeared, dressed casually yet effortlessly handsome. As usual, he made the simplest things—like a rolled-up sleeve—look like poetry.

The driver took our luggage.

And silently, we slid into the backseat of the car.

Side by side.

Heartbeats apart.

And I wondered if he felt it too—that this wasn’t just the end of a vacation.

It was the beginning of the end of us.

My eyes lingered on the beach house as it faded from view, the soft crash of waves echoing in my heart like a distant lullaby. I was already missing it—missing
us there. That house had become a part of our story, filled with laughter, stolen glances, whispered promises beneath the stars. A fleeting paradise I would forever carry within me.

We boarded the ship, and though breakfast was served, I barely touched it. My appetite had vanished, replaced by a hollow ache I couldn’t explain—an ache for something I hadn't even lost yet, but would soon.

When we docked at the mainland, Alejandro reached up from below and helped me down with that boyish grin of his—the one that always made my guard falter. With our fingers intertwined, we walked toward the waiting car, every step echoing like a countdown in my chest.

The drive to the airport was quiet. Comfortable, but heavy with things unsaid.

As we approached the sleek private jet, a familiar ache settled in my chest again. I collapsed into the leather seat with a sigh, my head tilting back. The warmth of our Italian escape still lingered on my skin like sun-kissed memories.

The plane began to hum to life, preparing for takeoff, and I looked out of the window. The city, the memories, the version of me that had existed in that bubble of borrowed time—all slowly drifting away beneath the clouds.

“Don’t worry,” Alejandro said, his voice soft as he reached for my hand. “We’ll come back to Italy again.”

His fingers squeezed mine gently, grounding me even as my heart fluttered with guilt.

I smiled, but it didn’t reach my eyes. Because in my heart, I knew something he didn’t.

My gaze fell to the ring on my finger—the one he had slipped on so casually, so meaningfully. It caught the light like a promise. My throat tightened.

Only if he knew this was our last time. Only if he knew who I really am. The truth would not just break us—it would destroy us.

And yet, in that moment, I wished I could freeze time. Live in the lie a little longer. Pretend, just a little more, that this wasn’t a tragic love story already unraveling.

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Hey my lovely readers,
A double update for you all since I'm going to take few days off writing as I am going out with my family on 10 days trip see you guys in June.