"Tell me," Andres asked him after a beat. "Why are you so scared of your own girlfriend?"

Sergio's blood chilled in his veins. He paused and looked back at the door behind him, searching for a sign of Raquel. But no, she had already abandoned him in his time of need, and he would never forgive her for it.

"Well?" Andres asked again, not liking his silence. "Aren't you going to answer me?"

"W-who says I'm scared of Raquel?" Answer the question with another question. Nice strategy, you idiot.

"You're so jumpy around each other. You almost look like you're afraid to touch her."

"I touch her," he replied, a bit too quickly. "I touch her all the time."

Andres let out a short huff of breath and took a step closer to him. He cornered him between his body and the office door. "This whole thing isn't what it seems, is it?"

Sergio's back hit the door. The irony of his exit route being right behind him didn't escape his attention. He looked around it panic. Maybe he could punch Andres in the face and run? Or maybe he could just tell him the truth? He'd be too drunk to remember in the morning. Or maybe, just maybe, he could run straight into the glass walls and jump out from the fifty-second floor. Raquel would leave him alone if he was dead, right?

Who was he kidding? Raquel would kill herself out of spite, find him in hell, and stab him with a pitchfork.

"I don't know what you mean," he finally replied. "I am scared -I mean, I am not scared of her. What gave you that little silly idea?"

But there was a bright spark in Andres's eyes, and it was visible even in the darkness of the office. He gave him a curious look. "I know what's going on here."

"Andres…" he said cautiously. "If you fire me, there will be a lot of paperwork."

Andres let out a feline laugh. "Paperwork?"

"Yes, and if you do fire me, there won't be anyone to do the paperwork," Sergio argued, trying to gain leverage. However, he added quietly after a beat. "I guess I could do it before I sign my own discharge."

"Ah, Sergio!" his friend exclaimed. "Ever the hard worker! But no, I am not going to fire you."

Sergio paled. "Are you going to terminate my pension plan? Because that's worse."

"With that anxiety of yours, you'll have a heart attack before you can touch any of those funds."

"The pension plan is a matter of principle."

"Why are you changing the subject?"

God, how he wished for Raquel to be there. He could really use a sharp elbow in the stomach. She had a way of making him talk against his will.

"Andres, please," he started panting. "Whatever it is, I'm sorry."

"I know what it is."

Tears began forming in his eyes. "Please…"

He felt the familiar hysteria creeping in. Another panic attack was right around the corner. His poor heart couldn't handle this much stress in one night.

Andres closed in around him. His gaze was intense. It invaded him. Just as Sergio was beginning to lose consciousness, Andres wrapped a confident arm around his shoulder and let out a joyous laugh.

"She's got you by the balls, hasn't she?! That's why you're so scared!"

"I… uh… What?"

"Four months in, and you already worship her like a slave!"

"A slave?" Sergio looked up at his friend in utter surprise. Surely, he couldn't be that intoxicated. But no, the drunken haze around his eyes told a whole different story.

"Ah, Sergio, you're finally in love! I've waited for this moment all my life! I wanted to see the passion in your eyes, that absolute lust that possesses you when you find the woman of your dreams!"

"The lust?"

"The yearning!"

"Right," he cleared his throat. Andres was on a roll, and now all Sergio had to do was board the train to crazy land and make sure not to fall off somewhere. Knowing how his best friend could be, he knew that the rest would resolve itself. "I yearn very much indeed."

Andres was already carried off by a wave of inspiration. With another loud chuckle, he dragged his friend to the windows. In the night, the city lights sparkled like diamonds beneath their feet. The CEO surveyed the land before him and spoke with glee. "And what a woman Raquel is!"

"What a woman indeed," Sergio went along, though agreeing with him for entirely different reasons. Raquel had the unique ability to constantly have his life flash before his eyes like he was about to die any second.

"Brother."

"Yes?"

"Women are…" Andres began thoughtfully. "Women are like ripe peaches in a sunny afternoon. You must take the first bite, or the dogs will suckle the pits dry."

"Women are what?"

"You heard me."

Sergio furrowed his burrow. "Wait, I have follow-up questions on that analogy."

But Andres had already moved on. "And Raquel? Raquel is the sweetest peach of them all."

He suppressed a scoff. There was nothing sweet or peachy about Raquel. On the contrary, if Raquel was food, she'd be the shell of a sunflower seed that jams in your throat and refuses to come out no matter how much water you drink.

"I'm glad you like her."

"Like her? I love her!" Andres exclaimed. "More importantly, I love seeing you with her. You needed this; you really did."

Now he was beginning to get offended. "I needed a girlfriend?"

"You needed someone to support you."

"I have you," he replied, turning away from him. He looked back at the city. "I had you."

Andres fell silent. "You know I'll always be there for you."

"Will you?"

His friend paused. The weight of an unspoken secret between them hung in the air. Despite everything they had been through together, despite their past, Andres had used him. He had put money before their friendship. The full moon shone bright upon them, giving them one last chance to come clean with each other. Andres did no such thing.

"I will always try."

Sergio swallowed, forcing himself to look away from him. "Sometimes, trying is not enough."

Andres swayed on his feet. He rested a hand on the glass window, supporting himself on the one surface that separated him from the city of Madrid. The streets bustled loudly underneath them. He let out a long sigh. "Everything I do, I do it for you. Look at yourself, look at your life. I do it all for us."

"I never asked for any of this."

"And yet I gave them to you," he replied, abandoning all pretense. "I wanted you to be happy."

"Happiness comes at a price."

"Let me pay for it on your behalf."

Sergio shook his head in resignation. Ambition had blinded Andres. He couldn't think straight. He was so completely unaware of the consequences of his actions that now, standing before him, he couldn't even see the reality. He couldn't see that he had risked both their lives for a nice office and a few margaritas.

"What if I wanted out?" Sergio asked after a beat.

"From the company?"

"From this life."

"Why would you want that?" Andres turned to him in shock.

"Because I'm scared. I don't want to end up in prison."

"Prison?" He scoffed. "No one's going to prison. I will protect you."

They were back to where they started again. "You can't protect me from everything."

Seconds passed by slowly. The gloom of his office weaved the darkest webs into his head. He felt suffocated. The more he tried to escape the big corporate maze, the harder it drew him in. His friendship with Andres was like quicksand. It was a little patch of land he had arrived to rest his legs only to be sucked into the void of fraud.

"I won't let anything happen to you."

It was too late for that, wasn't it? Something had already happened to Sergio the day the Spanish police came to his apartment and introduced him to Raquel.

He wanted to confront him. He wanted to grab his shoulders, pull him away from the night and shake him until he came to his senses. Why did you do it, he wanted to ask him. Why did you risk my life? Why did you forge my signature? Are we not brothers?

But doing that would compromise the investigation. If he wasn't going to jail before, he would certainly receive an expedited trial after exposing the entire operation. Sergio didn't look out for Andres anymore, no. He looked out for himself. They had grown up.

"It's getting late," he surrendered. The night had stolen their sincerity. In fact, he knew that his friend wasn't even going to remember half of their conversation in the morning. It was time for the curtain to close.

Andres nodded and headed over to the bar. "You should take your girlfriend home."

As he walked to the door, Sergio saw him pour himself yet another drink. Not again, he thought to himself.

"Andres?"

"Hm?"

"Whatever it is you're doing, please put an end to it. I won't ask again."

Andres let out a maniacal laugh. "It's just a glass of scotch."

Not on the same page then. Right. Sergio left the office in silence and shut the door behind him with a soft click.

Emerging from the office, he spotted Raquel pacing by the elevators.

She hadn't bothered to put her shoes back on. Her bare feet pattered softly on the carpet, and his heart momentarily softened at the sight. She looked up in relief when she saw him.

"You're back."

"And alive," he said, coming to a halt before her. "No thanks to you."

"He wasn't going to kill you," she rolled her eyes.

"I told you, there are worse things in life than death, like suspension without pay."

"You're not that desperate for money."

"This job is everything to me, Raquel!" he snapped all of a sudden, the tension of his earlier conversation with Andres weighing down on him. "I have nothing else in my life."

She paused, not expecting this reaction. Her expression softened. "What did he say to you in there?"

"Nothing," he stepped past her and called the elevator.

"Sergio," she followed him. "I need to know. It might be relevant to the investigation."

"That man in there," he pointed at the office he came from, the door now shrouded in darkness. "That man is my family."

She nodded, looking up at him with kindness in her eyes. He opened his mouth to speak again but stopped himself. Raquel didn't know about the forged signatures. She didn't know about the fabricated evidence. She didn't know that the only thing that waited for her at the end of this investigation was his own culpability. He closed his mouth, stopping himself from uttering another word.

"Tell me," she urged him on.

"I just can't believe he embezzled all that money behind my back," he said instead, a version of the truth. Because yes, he wasn't over that particular fact as well. "We founded this company together, and he ran it to the ground with just a couple of sticky deals. And now he drinks and parties like nothing even happened. It infuriates me."

The elevator doors opened with a gentle sound, and Sergio stormed inside. She followed close behind, opting to stand closer to him this time.

"I understand," she said. The doors closed.

"You don't because you left me alone in there."

She turned to him. "He's your friend, and he needed to talk to you. I didn't think it was going to be a big deal."

"When are you going to understand that I can't lie like you do! I can't be myself one minute and be in love the next. I don't know how to do this."

"It will get easier, this was just the first night."

"And I already screwed it up…" he said and leaned back against the elevator wall.

Mimicking him, she too rested her back on the wall. They stared straight ahead, waiting for the elevator to carry them all the way downstairs. With their mission accomplished, they didn't have any desire to return to the party. "All of your friends believe us, Andres believes us. That's what matters."

"It just goes to show that they don't know me that well," he replied. "I could never date someone like you."

She was quiet for a minute as she stared straight ahead, then she turned her head to him. "I could never date someone like you either."

That comment, spoken in passing, bypassed his ears, skipped his brain, and went straight to his heart. He felt a pang in his chest and looked down onto the ground in disappointment, though he wasn't sure why a few words he already knew came as such a big blow. Obviously, Raquel would never date someone like him.

She was busy, that was for certain. She was put in charge of one of the most important financial investigations in the country. Her capabilities were undisputable. Sergio's ability to calculate four-digit figures off the top of his head paled in comparison to the elegance he witnessed in the way she held a gun. The last thing she needed in her life was a nervous wreck of a man. No, Raquel would assuredly never date someone like him. She was a striking woman, and he was nothing more than a well-groomed poodle.

He fixed his glasses and threw her a brief look. When they made eye contact, they both looked away.

"You hate me that much?" he asked.

"Hate is a strong word."

"So, you don't hate me?"

"I didn't say that."

"For someone who's excellent at lying, you're not that good with words," he remarked quietly.

She looked at him in irritation. "Maybe I just don't want to talk to you."

"You'd be glad to know that the feeling's mutual. However, the elevator etiquette requires that we make polite conversation to avoid incivility."

"Does the elevator etiquette also mention what happens to accountants who piss off their pretend girlfriends, or am I going to have to show you?"

"If you're going to ruin my suit, make it quick and painless," he looked down at his jacket and bid it farewell in agony. "It's a Hermes."

"I don't need to ruin your suit, that tie already ruined it for you."

The elevator came to a strong halt.

"What's your problem with polka dots?!"

"My problem is not with polka dots. It's with you!"

Before Raquel could finish executing her insult of the day, the elevator doors opened to the ground floor, and they came face to face with a very nervous Anibal Cortez. From the mortified look on his face, it was obvious that he had heard the last bit of their conversation.

The two of them stood frozen in front of the young man, who looked back at the couple in shock.

Panicked, Sergio pushed himself off of the wall. His hand reached aimlessly for Raquel's, who pushed it away only to try to wrap an arm around his body. Not expecting the sudden physical touch, he jumped at the contact. She jumped with him and groaned in frustration. They were already screwing this up.

"Stand still," she whispered to him threateningly.

"Don't provoke me," he whispered back.

Anibal watched the exchange in confusion. Finally, the couple decided on an awkward pose. Sergio draped a tentative hand around her shoulder, making sure to keep his elbow loose on the back of her neck. However, Raquel wrapped a tight arm around his body and pressed onto his internal organs.

"HELLO!" Sergio said a bit too loudly, feeling the strong pressure of her hand on his liver. He then proceeded to let out the most nervous laughter everyone had ever heard.

"We were just about to head home," she said sweetly, in her usual tone of fake niceness.

Anibal swallowed. "Is everything okay, Mr. Marquina?"

"No," Sergio replied honestly but then felt Raquel's hand dig into his side. "I meant that as a yes."

He really didn't like the proximity of her fingers to his fragile ribs. The novelty of having her in his arms melted away when he thought about his upcoming therapy bill.

The elevator doors began to close, and this time it was Raquel who held a hand out to stop them.

She quickly put her heels back on and grabbed Sergio's hand. "We should get going."

"Did you drive here?" Anibal asked.

They replied at the same time. "Yes." "No."

Then they looked at each other with frustration. Raquel spoke on their behalf. "We took a cab."

Lies were being uttered back and forth now. Sergio had trouble keeping up with what version of the story they were telling each person they spoke to. On top of it all, he wasn't prepared for another session of public display of affection, so he stared at Anibal's confused face with a blank expression. It was all too overwhelming. He didn't know how long he could keep up with this charade before his heart seriously gave out.

Raquel was quick to grab his hand and drag him out of the elevator. He went along like a leaf in the wind.

"It was very nice meeting you, Anabel."

"Anibal," Sergio corrected Raquel.

"But I need to steal my boyfriend away now, you understand."

Sergio's heart skipped a beat every time he heard her say the word 'boyfriend'. In his lifetime, he had been called many different things by many different people. He had been called a friend, son, brother, advisor, and most often than not, a stuck-up dick. But he had never been called a boyfriend. Even in his limited romantic experience, he had never dated anyone long enough for labels. Now hearing Raquel refer to him as her boyfriend stirred something within him he couldn't quite describe.

Discomfort, he thought to himself. It must have been the unease that came from a new experience. It was bound to go away soon. Guaranteed.

Raquel didn't wait for any of the men to answer before she started dragging Sergio away. They were leaving the party in its full swing. New guests were already arriving through the big revolving doors. However, they had accomplished their goal and overstayed their welcome in Andres's office. Furthermore, if Sergio didn't sleep soon, he was going to break something (possibly his own glasses.)

Once they stepped out to the cool air of Madrid, he took in a fresh breath. Raquel let go of his hand and came to a stop in front of him.

"Congratulations, you sucked."

"You just told me in the elevator that we had everyone convinced," he countered.

"Yes, but we were almost caught because you happen to be allergic to everything that ever exists."

"And you," he added. "Don't forget to add yourself to that list."

"You can't be allergic to people."

"Then explain to me why I flare up like a pufferfish whenever you're near."

A single vein popped in her neck. She stepped closer to him in a menacing way and lowered her voice. "That's your swollen attitude to everything, and it only makes it easier for me to pop you like a balloon."

Sergio's eyes widened in utter terror. "Do you write down these threats from the night before or something?"

"No, they just come to me whenever I see your face." She gave him a tight-lipped smile, making no move to step away from him.

"I'm happy to stimulate your creativity."

"The only thing you're stimulating is my anger."

He rolled his eyes and threw her a look. "And you're welcome. Anytime you need more stimulation, I'm one phone call away."

"Thanks. I'd rather shoot myself," she replied, raising her voice.

"That would certainly be in my best interest!"

The familiar spark in her eyes was back in its full glory, but Sergio knew that there were way too many people around in the street for her to actually inflict him with pain.

She paused and gave him a smile in disbelief, the kind that did not stem from any sort of happiness. She finally took a step back from him and turned around to leave. "I hope you die in a ditch somewhere on your way home."

"There are no known ditches lying around in Madrid, but I appreciate the sentiment!" he yelled after her.

"Enjoy your next anxiety attack, loser!" She yelled back as she walked away from him.

"Won't be having any now that we're parting ways!"

He wasn't even sure if she heard his last retort since she was already at the end of the block. She turned left and disappeared into the street, leaving him alone in front of the building.

Raquel was certainly unbelievable. And lucky for him, he didn't have to deal with it anymore. Taking his first breath of the night as a free man, he turned around and headed home.

#

Sergio woke up at 6.00 am, exactly with his alarm.

Yes, even on a Saturday.

He splashed his face with warm water, put on a clean shirt, and went downstairs to exercise. He made sure to pay extra attention to his quads in case he found himself having to run from Raquel in the upcoming weeks.

At 7.30 am, he came home. He took off his sweaty shirt and trimmed his beard. A single candle shined brightly next to his sink. He conditioned his hair and moisturized his hands.

At 8 am, he made himself a kiwi smoothie. He burned some incense and got settled in front of his laptop. The lazy morning sun illuminated his dining table. He took a sip from his breakfast and started his research.

Calmly, he typed into the search bar. 'Punishment for embezzlement.'

He spent a couple of minutes browsing through the web, reading about the definition of embezzlement and its implications. Then he typed, 'embezzlement, sentencing in Spain".

The first link he clicked on told him 6 to 8 years. He almost did a spit take on his kiwi smoothie and immediately exited the page in horror after giving the website a rating of one star along with a snippy comment about spreading false information. The second website was an advertisement for a local attorney. He found his smile unreliable and quietly ridiculed the school he went to. The third website was Wikipedia, explaining him the implications of white-collar crimes.

He tried again. 'Money laundering, how bad is it? Really?"

He browsed through various articles giving him the definition of money laundering. He read a couple of personal stories talking about how someone's uncle's cousin's sister laundered money once and was never heard of again. His eyes lingered on irrelevant yahoo answers for longer than necessary. He was then directed to a website on mafia groups in Europe. From there, he started reading about the definition of mafias. Then before he knew it, he was reading about how handguns were invented.

Around noon, he realized that he was reading about the different types of jam local to El Salvador. He promptly shook himself out of the hole he had dragged himself into and restarted his search.

'Minimum sentencing for insider trading"

After combing through dozens of irrelevant websites, he finally found an attorney's blog discussing the legal implications of financial crimes. He drained half of his smoothie and began reading.

Twenty-five years, his research told him. And that was just for one count of embezzlement. He then quickly did another search for fraud and conspiracy. The results were terrorizing. The kiwi smoothie forgotten on the table, he scrolled through countless articles telling him how utterly screwed he was. Now that Andres had forged his signature and implicated him, there was no escaping his fate.

Sergio was going to prison. No amount of begging would save him from it.

He quickly shut his laptop closed. He stared at the thing menacingly. Technology terrified him. Getting up from the table, he walked over to the big windows and let the sunshine comfort the darkest places of his mind. A few birds flew across his peripheral. Upon closer inspection, he realized that these were crows. He immediately went to the kitchen counter and burned another stick of incense, not willing to let any bad omens enter his house.

However, in a way, he envied those birds. With wings like that, he was sure that they could escape prison on any day. He wished he could fly like they did. Then he told himself that if he was a bird, he would have to poop on other people's cars, and that was not polite. He also didn't know how he felt about other people cleaning up his poop. Birds couldn't use bidets, and that was disrespectful on their part. Sergio couldn't live without his handcrafted artisan soaps, and he knew that the same formula wouldn't work on him if he had feathers.

Well, he didn't have feathers, but that didn't stop him from flying, did it? He paused and watched the burning end of his sage. A beautiful thin smoke rose from the end of the stick, and it encircled him. He watched it disappear into the air. It gave him an idea.

With newfound determination, he sat back down on the table and turned on his laptop again.

This time he tried a different search.

'Spanish speaking tropical countries'

Peru, Colombia, and Costa Rica were some of the options. Galapagos Islands also looked pleasing. The blue of the sea he saw from the pictures enticed him. His heart warmed to the idea. He continued his research.

'Flights out of Spain'

He browsed the prices for a bit, allowing himself to slowly plan his future. The police force was meager at best in these countries. He had plenty of cash in the bank. Withdrawing some money from his savings wouldn't be that difficult. He would receive his money in euros then exchange it for the worthless currency of his choosing.

The house. His house was definitely a problem. He looked around his beloved apartment. The view was gorgeous. He wouldn't be able to watch over the city of Madrid from the Galapagos Islands, but he could watch the sun set over the Pacific. With the money he had in the bank, he wouldn't have to work a day in his life. Sure, he'd have to say goodbye to his job forever, but at least he'd have his freedom. He wouldn't have to go to jail.

He could spend the rest of his life sipping coconut milk and not thinking of Raquel. He liked that plan, yes he did.

He would definitely need to close down his house. He would pay his attorney in one large installment and have him handle the problem. The place would be sold, the commission would go to the attorney, and he'd spend the rest of the proceeds on mango juice. He let out a smile.

Yes. This was definitely not a bad plan. Not bad at all.

Of course, he would never see Raquel again. His heart skipped a beat at that, but he interpreted that to mean relief. By running off to some tropical country, he'd liberate himself from the impending doom she held over his life. That was good, he told himself. Not being threatened with death was a good thing. He ignored the pang in his chest.

There were plenty of good-looking women in the Galapagos. He definitely didn't need Raquel. She was just a scary phase of his life, and he forced himself to feel good about this decision.

With a concrete plan forming slowly in his head, he got up and found a notebook. Then he sat back down and started writing.

He spent the next couple of hours planning every aspect of his new future. If this was to be done, it had to be executed carefully. He couldn't tell anyone that he was leaving, not in the middle of an investigation he was cooperating in. Sure, the Spanish police would be furious, but once Sergio fled the country, there would be nothing they could do. The key was to never return to Madrid, but that little fact didn't intimidate him. He would rather be free in Galapagos than be imprisoned in Madrid. Furthermore, he could import his custom-made moisturizer to his new tropical hut and still maintain his skincare routine.

After he jolted down the nuts and bolts of his plan, he started focusing on the details. He wrote detailed instructions to his attorney as to how he wanted him to handle the sale of his apartment. He went over his retainer agreement and took more notes. Next came personal relationships. He could always have his mother fly out to visit him. As for Andres, he was willing to sacrifice his friendship with him after what he had done. After all, Andres was the reason he was in this mess to begin with, and he didn't owe a goodbye to him. Not anymore.

Ignoring his own feelings, he forced himself to concentrate on his future. He needed his most meticulous self for this particular plan, and he wasn't about to allow himself to be distracted.

Around late afternoon, he purchased his flight. His fingers hovered over the mouse and when he did finally click on the little button labeled "Proceed," he felt a huge weight leaving his shoulders.

He was going to do this. He was going to run away.

The flight was scheduled for midnight of the same day. He hurried to his bedroom and took out a few suitcases. In it, he loaded his sunscreen, numerous tropical shirts, and a few tones of Jane Austen. He packed everything he could think of. He didn't have much in terms of sentimental objects, but he did have a lot of perfumed deodorants he couldn't part with. He stuffed his suits in there as well, just in case. Despite his devotion to the plan, he felt wistful. He liked his life. He had a routine that he wasn't ready to part with. However, if he didn't do this, he would have to rebuild his life in prison, and he was pretty sure that he wouldn't come out of that experience alive. For starters, he would have to use the bathroom in a stall without a door. That alone would kill him.

When his bags were packed, and the necessary emails were sent to the executors of his estate, he put on his coat. He carried the suitcases to the living room and turned on his laptop to print his flight tickets.

He was just about to call a cab when he heard a knock on the door.

He paused.

Who could that be?

Never mind, he thought to himself. Whoever it was, they would leave soon.

Then a familiar voice was heard through the door.

"Open up, asshole! We need to discuss our plan for the next event!"

Raquel!

Oh no. This was not happening. Oh God, no. Oh, absolutely not. He refused this turn of events. He refused it. He squeezed his eyes closed and pinched himself in disbelief. This was NOT happening.

"I said open up. I know you're in there!" Raquel yelled again and pounded on the door. "Where else would you be on a Saturday night? You don't have a life."

Curse this woman and her entire existence! It was as if she could read his mind before he even had a chance to think.

He flailed around in panic. He didn't know what to do. Surely, he could never open the door. Half of his belongings were packed in Louis Vuitton suitcases that stood ready in his living room. His apartment was clean and empty, and it smelled of bleach. He had a coat on, for God's sake. He could never open the door. Raquel would shoot him on sight.

He was just going to have to wait for her to go away.

Then his phone began to ring loudly on the coffee table. Graham Bell be damned, he was going to get caught!

"I can hear your phone in there!" Raquel yelled again.

He rushed to the damn device and turned it off. He looked around in alarm. His heart was racing in his ribcage. His hand found his chest, and he tried to calm himself down.

"I don't have time to wait for you all day. Open up, or I will break this door down!" Raquel was pounding harder down. "And it will be another thing your insurance won't cover!"

God, no… Not the oak door. Why did she have to break everything she touched?

Taking a step back, he weighed all his options. Raquel knew that he was at home. Waiting for her to leave him alone was no longer an option. And knowing her, he knew that she was dying to break down his door one way or another. If she forced her way in there, there was no escaping her.

His only other option was to open the door and play it diplomatically. He could just tell her that he was sick and that they could reschedule for the next day. He could tell her that whatever he had was contagious. It gave you diarrhea and made your gums bleed. Surely, that would scare her. Actually, on second thought, he didn't want Raquel to think that he had diarrhea. He had an excellent digestive system, and he was proud of it.

She hounded on the door, and he felt the entire building shake. He was going to have to open the door and make her leave somehow.

Right.

He cleared his throat and headed for the foyer. The silver lining was that if she did kill him, he couldn't go to jail.

He opened the door.

"Raquel," he breathed out, ignoring the flutter in his chest. "What a nice surprise. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Pleasure?" Raquel asked, taken aback. She was dressed in her usual leather jacket, finally having the freedom to forego the cocktail dress. "Our relationship hasn't been pleasuring for any of us since we met."

He let out a nervous laugh. "That's not my fault, is it?"

"Actually, it is," she remarked, then frowned upon noticing his attire. "Why are you wearing a coat? Are you on your way out?"

"This?" Sergio looked down at his coat as though he was seeing it for the first time. "I… This is a gift."

"From?"

"My…. father… who is dead…." He rambled, thinking about his father, who was very much alive and enjoying his retirement in southern Spain.

"Your dead father gave you a gift?" she cocked her head to the side.

He let out another nervous laugh. "He's always been an eccentric guy."

"But dead?"

"Gone. Toast. Totally dead."

Raquel paused and eyed him up and down with a suspicious look in her eyes. "When did he die?"

Sergio swallowed. "Wednesday."

"This week?!"

"Of last year," he corrected himself in panic. "Wednesday of last year."

"Which Wednesday?"

"The one that's past."

"Right…" she frowned and gave him a long, hard look as though she was already planning his funeral.

Then she attempted to walk into his apartment. He took a step in front of her and cut her off. "I haven't invited you in yet."

"And thank God I'm not a vampire, or else I never would have been able to enter," she remarked sarcastically and tried to walk past him.

He stopped her again. "I'm cleaning."

"That implies that your apartment was dirty to begin with, and I don't believe that."

"It's spring cleaning."

"We're in winter."

Damn it.

He tried his chances at another lie. "I have a woman in here."

She let out a joyous laugh. "Hilarious."

Then she pushed him to the side and walked into his apartment. He shut the door behind her in horror. He needed to think fast. He was quickly running out of options. If Raquel saw that his entire future was stuffed into a designer suitcase, she was going to make him eat it.

Before she could step into his living room, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the hallway.

"Let's go to my bedroom," he said suddenly.

She slowly looked down at his grip around her wrist. Confused, she looked back up at him. "Your bedroom?"

"We'll be more comfortable there."

"For what?" She frowned, though she didn't take her hand back.

"You wanted to talk, didn't you?"

She smirked. "You do realize that talking is not a euphemism for something else?"

Now it was his turn to frown. "What can it be a euphemism for?"

"N-nothing," she replied a bit too quickly. She finally pulled her wrist from his hand. With a brief pause, she gave herself a moment to look around his hallway with concern. Then her gaze found his. "Is everything okay?"

"What makes you say that?" He smiled with all thirty-two teeth.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe it's because you invited me to your bedroom and told me that your father who died Wednesday of last year came alive to give you a coat."

"It is a very nice coat."

"That's irrelevant. You see how that's irrelevant, right?"

God, they had been in this mess for a total of five minutes, and not only she wasn't showing any signs of leaving anytime soon, but she was growing even more curious. Nothing was going according to plan.

"Sergio?"

"Hmm?"

"Is Andres here?"

"No," he replied honestly.

"Then what the hell is wrong with you?!" She took a step back. "This is not your usual weird. This is something else."

"I…" God damn everything. "I missed you."

"Excuse me?"

"I've missed you," he repeated again, not knowing what else to say. He had to throw her off somehow. "I haven't seen you in a while."

Raquel took another step back, growing even more confused now. "You hate me."

"I don't hate you, Raquel," he replied honestly.

But she had already stopped paying attention. She turned back to the living room. "You're lying."

Acting quick, he stepped in front of her again, blocking her path to the evidence of his escape. Raquel's let out an exasperated sigh, indicating that she was done playing games. Sergio knew that look very well, but he held on. This was his last stand. If he lost this final line of defense, his life would never be the same again.

She tried to walk past him again, but he stood tall. She stepped to the right, and he stepped to his left, blocking her path once more.

"Move," she gritted between her teeth.

"I can't let you go in there."

"What are you hiding?"

"Nothing."

However, she was faster, and she was also smaller than him. So with one swift move, she stepped to the left and ran past him.

"Raquel, no!" He ran after her, but it was too late.

Raquel came to a halt by the dining table and paused upon seeing the sight before her.

Three suitcases rested calmly by the couch, waiting to be checked into their flight. There was an airline ticket on the table with his name on it. With deadly silence, she reached over and picked up the ticket. The silence was deafening. Then she slowly turned to him.

"Raquel…" He started, not knowing how to finish his sentence.

Her eyes were like an endless void. He didn't see any emotion in them. Over the past few days, he had grown accustomed to tasting every flavor of her anger. He'd thought that he experienced her at her worst. But this? This was a kind of fury he didn't recognize.

He took a step back.

It all happened too quickly. Before he knew it, she was standing before him. She twisted his arm behind his body, and his face hit the dining table so hard that he heard his glasses crack. A sharp pain shot through his wrist. The table was cold against his skin.

"God!" he struggled under her.

"Prieto," she spoke into the radio she pulled from her jacket. "This is Raquel. I need backup now."

He tried to wiggle his hands, but she twisted his harm further against his back, eliciting a sharp groan from him. "Raquel, please. I can explain."

"Don't you dare talk to me."

"I was terrified, please!"

"I said, don't talk!"

He sensed something in her voice, something akin to disappointment. It was at that moment he regretted everything.

#

It hadn't taken long for the police to arrive. Raquel had kept him restrained the entire time and refused to neither listen nor answer his pleas. Frankly, he didn't know how to explain himself either. He had kept repeating how terrified he was like a mantra. With his face on the dining table and her pressing down onto his back, he hadn't even gotten a chance to glimpse at her face.

He hated himself.

When the police did finally arrive, Raquel was quick to step out of his apartment. As she lingered at his front door to have a few words with Prieto, he tried to lean forward to catch her eye. However, Suarez was equally sharp with his hold on him, and Sergio was immediately put in handcuffs. With the cold metal encircling his wrists, he finally understood the gravity of his situation.

He was truly screwed now.

No other officer would meet his gaze. As he sat on his own couch like a prisoner and contemplated his actions, Raquel was already gone.

So they left him in his apartment with two officers to guard him.

As it was very late in the evening, he retreated to his room and laid face down on his bed. Even his freshly washed pure cotton sheets didn't give him any pleasure. All he could think of was the rage on Raquel's face when she had found the tickets. He was not going to forget that expression his entire life. Hours had passed since she had left his apartment, but her outrage hung in the air like an unpleasant smell.

He tossed and turned the entire night. The faint voices of the officers guarding his living room tickled his ear. He buried his head under his pillow and tried to suffocate himself to end this nightmare.

After drifting in and out of a restless sleep, he was rudely awakened to the doorbell.

When he made his way out to the hall and opened the door, he saw an army of police officers carrying various things. Two of them rudely made their way into his apartment with a giant computer. Another one walked in with two suitcases. Three were carrying a large desk.

He looked at them in utter confusion until he spotted Raquel at the end of the convoy.

She stared at him with ire in her eyes. When she finally spoke, her voice was cold as ice.

"Because your dumbass tried to escape, you are now considered a flight risk. Prieto wants me to keep an eye on you."

"What? How?" he asked in utter confusion.

"By staying right here." She let out a sigh and cleared her throat. "Now, where is your guest bedroom?"