A woman straight from the dream world and onto a battlefield.
Her long, straight locks of black hair glistened beneath the fluourescents, framing her porcelain face with something that was so pretty, it was almost creepy.
They were black, deep enough to drown in, sharp enough to shatter glass. Her face, unaltered by time or stress, featured classic and distinct lines—symmetrical, graceful and entirely captivating.
A fragile diamond necklace glistened her neckline, it looked like a mark of ownership on something divine.
Enrique blinked. His breath caught.
"Who… are you?" he asked, recovering himself at last, his voice a little too low.
She didn't speak. Didn't smile.
Didn't even blink.
But before she could reply, the door banged against the wall.
Mauricio burst in—panting, anxious, sweat collecting at his hairline.
"Ms. Gutierrez? What are you doing here? The office is over there." he said, with an effort in a voice, not yet fully recovered of his breath.
Suzzanne didn't glance at him.
Her eyes were on Enrique and Enrique alone.
Enrique stood confused, now. "Why do you look so pale?" he inquired Mauricio, with a frown.
Mauricio tried to laugh—but the sound was thin and grotesque. "I—uh…"
"It will only take a moment." Suzzanne broke in again, still not looking up. "If you'll excuse us."
"But—"
"It'll only take a moment." she repeated, softly. "I insist."
Her voice came down like an anvil. There was no arguing with silken steel. Mauricio paled more, and nodded, backing out with a nervous "Y-yes, of course," before leaving the room.
Silence returned.
Now it was only the two of them.
Suzzanne took a step forward, her eyes staying on his.
"Suzzanne Gutierrez," she spoke finally, her voice even and calm and slow. "Nice to finally meet you."
She extended her hand.
Enrique eyed her with disbelief, and admiration. He made an effort to extend his hand and shake it.
"I own half percent of the shares of this club, in case you wondering how I got here." She added, as though that explained her being there.
Enrique's mind clicked. Of course. He'd heard the name before. Whispers in the boardroom. Power. Mystery. Whispers.
Their hands stayed locked—too long.
Her skin was soft. Warm. Her grip firm. And something passed between them — a flash.
He didn't want to let go.
Neither did she.
But eventually, she did.
"Congratulations on your victory," she said.
"Thank you." he murmured.
Then, quietly, she stepped closer.
Too close.
She smelled faintly of cedar and something exotic. Her whisper was low, her lips next to his ear.
"We'll meet again.' she murmured.
"Until then… take care of yourself."
His spine shivered.
He tried to speak but no words came. He couldn't form words.
She retreated only far enough to meet his gaze again, and for a moment he forgot where he was.
"You're bleeding." she said, nonchalantly gesturing to the small cut by the collar of his shirt.
He looked down instinctively.
When he glanced up — she was already gone.
The door clicked shut behind her, and Enrique found himself standing in the middle of the locker room—bewildered, panting, and with a heart that didn't want to calm.
His mind was spinning.
What the hell just happened?
Enrique's Penthouse
The city glimmered beyond the glass like a sea of wavering stars.
From the top of Enrique Velasquez's penthouse, down below everything seemed almost to be standing still — cars sailing like toy figures through streets, city craziness muffled by distance and glass.
His bedroom was a play of shadow and light, an exercise in minimalism. The walls were bare black matte. The furniture — all sleek white with silver touches — was in sharp contrast, everything placed with purpose.
The floor-to-ceiling window ahead looked out over the skyline, moonlight pooling atop the foot of the bed like a mystery begging to be solved.
Enrique stood in front of the mirror, straightening his black jacket sleeves. Dress code: His all-black wardrobe was understated yet sharp. The black jacket fit him like a second skin; the cut was perfect, slim and sleek.
Beneath it, a white crew-neck shirt lent the look against a clean contrast. Black slim fit bottom and shiny black boots finished the look for him.
His hair, usually a bit tousled, had been tamed to perfection for today — slicked back with just the most restrained of gleams; not a hair out of place.
He gazed at himself briefly — stoic. Sharp jawline, serene hazel eyes, but there was also something in his gaze.
Expectation? Hesitation?
Maybe both.
He was about to turn and head back outside when his phone vibrated in the back pocket of his pants.
The noise was soft in the quiet of the room.
He pulled it out and glanced at the screen.
Mamá.
The name continued to blink for several more rings before he finally picked up.
"Hello," he said, pressing the phone to his ear as he rested one hand on the dresser.
A familiar voice washed over her soft and warm. "Congratulations, love."
He softened slightly.
"Thank you," he said, the voice deeper yet now relaxed.
"How are you doing?" she asked gently.
Enrique's lips parted in a quiet sigh. "I'm good."
He paused, glancing toward the window.
"Now if you're done checking on me, I'm headed somewhere."
A short, teasing chuckle came from the other end. "Oh, sorry honey. Go on then. Just be sure you're taking care of yourself," she said, her tone a mixture of banter and concern.
"Come on, I'm not a kid mom," Enrique retorted with a a sigh escaping his lips.
"You'll always be a boy to me, Enrique." There was a pause.
"Love you. Enjoy the night."
The call disconnected.
He looked at the screen for a moment, that smug smile hanging there — less self-satisfied than relieved.
He pocketed the phone.
Without another thought he angled around and the baseball cap was pulled down enough that Polly couldn't make out his eyes as he snatched up his car keys from the polished metal dish on the side table.
The click of the door behind him was soft, final.
The night was waiting.
Author's Note:
Thankyou for reading<3
Have a good day/night <3<3