Brewing Storm

Brewing Storm
Sofia’s POV

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

After Leandro showed me that picture, the warmth in the room had slowly been replaced by something colder. Not with his hands, he still held me like he wasn’t ready to let go but with his mind. I could feel him pulling away already. Not physically, but mentally. Emotionally. Like some invisible wall had started rising between us, brick by cautious brick.

He hadn’t spoken since, and I didn’t push him. I knew better.

Leandro wasn’t the kind of man you tried to drag words out of. He spoke when he was ready. And when he was quiet like this, still, brooding, distant—it meant he was calculating something.

Planning.

Protecting.

Or maybe both.

I laid there a few more minutes beside him, watching the way the light slowly crept in through the curtains, brushing his cheekbone and jaw. His hand was still on my waist, but it wasn’t moving anymore. Not tracing circles. Not holding tight. Just… resting. Still.

Eventually, I sat up, pulling the sheet with me. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

He nodded without looking at me. Still staring at his phone. Still reading between the lines of a text that said everything and nothing all at once.

I wanted him to say something. Anything.

“We’ll figure this out.” “It’s nothing.” “I’ve got you.”

But he didn’t.

And maybe I should’ve known this wouldn’t be a fairytale. That sex doesn’t erase shadows. That even after a night wrapped in his arms, I was still tangled in something far more dangerous than desire.

I took my time in the shower. Let the steam soak into my skin, rinsing away last night’s emotions but not all of them. Some still clung to me. Especially the ones I wasn’t ready to name.

By the time I came out, wrapped in a fresh robe, Leandro was dressed. Black slacks. A black t-shirt that hugged his chest. He stood near the window, phone pressed to his ear, voice low and sharp as he spoke in Spanish.

I didn’t interrupt. I didn’t ask questions.

But I watched.

His tone was clipped, the kind of voice you used when people’s lives were hanging in the balance. The kind of voice I imagined he’d used long before I ever entered the picture. The side of him I was only beginning to meet.

When he hung up, he turned toward me.

And for a moment, I thought he was going to say something. Apologize for going cold. Reassure me. Invite me back into that space we’d built in the dark.

But instead, he said, “Something went down at the Veracruz branch.”

I blinked. “What kind of something?”

“There was a violent raid. Two men injured. One arrested.”

My heart picked up speed. “The police?”

He nodded, jaw tense. “Someone tipped them off. Gave them internal documents. Names. Records.”

My stomach dropped. “Wait… names?”

He met my eyes, and I could already see the guilt building behind them before he even spoke.

“Your name was on the list.”

I froze. “What?”

“Just your name. Not your photo. Not your ID. But your name was listed under temporary staff for an event night two weeks ago.”

“I wasn’t even there two weeks ago,” I said, shaking my head. “I haven’t worked at that branch—”

“I know,” he cut in. “Which is why it looks like someone’s trying to drag you in. Frame you. Use you.”

I stared at him. “Why me?”

He looked away. “Because they know you’re close to me now.”

And just like that, the warmth in my chest cracked open, and something sharp and cold slid into its place.

I crossed my arms over the robe. “So what happens now?”

“I’m going to handle it,” he said. “Clean it up. Make sure nothing touches you.”

“And what am I supposed to do? Hide here while everything burns?”

He walked toward me, slow, measured, controlled. “You’re supposed to stay out of it.”

I hated the way that sounded. Like I was being pushed to the sidelines of a war I never signed up for. Like he was already trying to shove me into a corner where I couldn’t fight for myself.

“I’m not going to sit back and pretend none of this affects me, Leandro.”

“I’m trying to protect you, Sofia.”

“By shutting me out?”

“I’d rather shut you out than bury you.”

The silence between us went heavy. Thicker than before. And for the first time since last night, I didn’t know what to say to him.

I didn’t want to fight.

But I didn’t want to be treated like some glass doll either.

“I can help,” I said, softer now. “You don’t have to do all of this alone.”

His jaw ticked, but he didn’t argue.

Instead, he ran a hand down his face, like he was already exhausted. “I have to go to Veracruz. Handle this personally. It’s not safe for you to come.”

“And I’m just supposed to wait here?”

“Yes,” he said, too quickly. “For now.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but something in his eyes stopped me. Not coldness. Not anger.

Fear.

Not for himself.

For me.

And so I nodded. “Okay. For now.”

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my forehead. Not lips. Not cheek. Forehead. And somehow, that felt even more intimate. Like something unspoken passed between us.

When he pulled away, he gave me one last look—sharp, unreadable, conflicted then turned and walked out the door.

And I stood there in the silence that followed, robe clutched tight, heart hammering, realizing…

Something had changed.

And nothing was going to be the same after this.