He was lying on the cold ground, barely breathing. And I was the one who saved him.
Rain poured down like a curtain, soaking through his shirt, washing the world in gray. My hands were trembling, pressed against his wound, but I didn't stop. I couldn't.
"Alejandro… please stay with me," I whispered, my voice breaking. "Don't leave me… not like this."
The ambulance arrived, the paramedics shouted, and I stayed with him until they lifted him away. Until the doors closed.
Then I vanished.
No one knew it was me.
The next day, the world celebrated a different hero.
"Camila saved him," they said. The news said it. Alejandro said it.
And Alejandro believed it.
Camila Duarte—the beautiful, flawless, effortless Camila—stood beside him in the hospital, holding his hand, whispering just enough to seem terrified, to seem real. And he looked at her like she had literally saved his life.
It wasn't her.
It was me.
But I didn't say a word. Not then. Not ever.
Years passed.
Camila left town, "for work." Alejandro waited. Supported her. Loved her. But I knew the truth. She hadn't left for a job. She had followed another man—one who abandoned her. And now she was back, smiling at Alejandro like nothing had happened.
And me? I was invisible, standing on the edges, watching.
The party was crowded, lights sparkling, music soft and sweet, but I couldn't focus on anything but him.
Alejandro Castillo. Tall. Impossibly perfect. Untouchable. And beside him… Camila. Always Camila.
"She's back," Sofia whispered beside me. "You see it, don't you?"
I nodded. I saw it. The way he softened around her. The way he smiled like she was his miracle.
I clenched my fists.
Three years. Three years of silence. Three years of loving him from afar. Three years of holding the truth that could have changed everything… and did nothing.
But tonight…
Tonight, I wouldn't stay silent.
Even if it broke me.
Even if he didn't believe me.
Even if I lost him forever.
Because this time…
I wasn't going to let someone else take what was mine.