Becoming the cartel leader’s trophy

"Alright, it's all set up now," Carla said casually as we stepped back into the house.

My curiosity spiked instantly.

We climbed the stairs together, my fingers brushing the railing as my mind ran wild. I pictured glowing lights, rainbow fans, sleek screens—computers always looked like something out of a sci-fi movie to me. Expensive ones especially.

When we reached the second floor, I slowed without meaning to.

Two women dressed in crisp white uniforms passed us, their shirts stamped with a clean, minimalist tech logo I didn't recognize. They moved fast, professional, carrying empty boxes. 

Despite how composed they tried to look, their eyes gave them away—wide, alert, flicking between Carla and the hall like prey passing a predator.

I shifted slightly and glanced to my side.

Lela stood a few steps away, perfectly still, arms crossed, eyes sharp as knives. She didn't say a word—just watched them go, cataloging everything. The moment the techs disappeared down the stairs, her posture relaxed by a fraction. Only a fraction.

That's when it hit me again: nothing in this house happened without layers of control.

I looked up at Carla as we kept walking. "So... how much did you spend?" I asked, half-joking, half-terrified of the answer.

She didn't even slow down. "A few thousand," she said, shrugging like she was talking about groceries.

I almost laughed—but it came out more breathless than amused.

A few thousand. Like that wasn't rent. Like that wasn't food, security, survival for someone else. Like it wasn't something that could've changed my entire life once.

I shook my head softly, smiling despite myself, my chest warm and overwhelmed all at once. Walking beside her like this still felt unreal—like I'd stepped into someone else's future and never looked back.

"Before you enter..." Carla said, stepping in front of the door and turning to face me, her expression suddenly serious but soft at the same time. 

"You can't deny this gift. Not because it's expensive. Not because of anything. Okay?"

I swallowed, then nodded. She smiled—satisfied—and let out a small hum as she reached for the handle.

The door opened.

For a split second, my brain couldn't process what I was seeing.

Right where my normal desk was—plain, quiet, almost sad—sat two massive monitors, sleek and impossibly thin, angled perfectly like something out of a streamer's dream setup. And beside them... the PC.

It was unreal.

The case glowed from within, a soft but vivid pink light spilling through tempered glass panels, pulsing gently like it was alive. 

The LEDs reflected off the walls, painting the dim room in warm neon hues, turning it into something straight out of a cyberpunk fantasy. Every cable was perfectly managed, every component pristine, polished, intentional. This wasn't just a computer—it was a work of art.

I stepped closer without even realizing it, drawn in like a moth to light.

My knees hit the chair and I sat down slowly, almost reverently. My fingers hovered for a moment before touching the keyboard, like I was afraid it might disappear if I moved too fast. Then I pressed a key.

*Click.*

Creamy. Soft. Perfectly tactile.

I pressed another. Then another.

The sound was addicting—satisfying in a way I didn't even know keyboards could be. The board itself was clean white with pink accents, elegant and bright. I exhaled a quiet laugh.

"I would've picked purple," I murmured to myself, smiling, "but... yeah. This is more than okay."

Behind me, I could feel Carla watching—proud, pleased, arms probably crossed the way she does when she knows she's nailed something.

"Will this earn me some?" she asked, her voice low and playful, deliberately teasing.

I chuckled and glanced back at her over my shoulder. She was leaning against the bed, relaxed, confident, watching me with that knowing look that always made my stomach flip.

"If you wanted some," I said with a small smile, "you could've just asked."

"I know," Carla replied with a soft laugh, clearly amused. "I'm just messing with you."

She sat down on the edge of the bed, one leg crossed over the other, eyes following every little movement I made as I fiddled with the computer. 

I stared at the screen, suddenly very aware of how out of my depth I was. I had no idea what I was doing. Games, downloads, accounts—it all felt foreign. This was going to be my first time ever touching anything like this.

I rubbed the back of my neck, half-embarrassed, half-amused.

"No wonder games are for women," I muttered. "Us men don't know shit about this."

Carla snorted behind me.

I opened a browser and typed into Google like it might personally judge me: "how to buy games." The results flooded the screen instantly. The first thing that caught my eye was something called Steam. 

I clicked it, and suddenly I was staring at a massive storefront packed with images, titles, prices—way more than I expected.

"So many games..." I murmured, overwhelmed.

After a second of hesitation, I started setting up an account, fingers hovering uncertainly over the keyboard, the soft clicks echoing in the quiet room while Carla watched, amused, patient, and very clearly enjoying seeing me like this.

After a few minutes of clicking around and fumbling through menus, I was finally in. Ready to buy something. Anything.

"Carla," I said, scrolling slowly through the endless wall of game covers and trailers, "do you have any recommendations?"

Everything looked flashy and loud, explosions frozen mid-frame, titles screaming for attention. I had no idea what any of it meant.

She hummed thoughtfully from behind me.

"No idea," she admitted. "Last game I played was Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3 back in... what, 2011? Yeah. I was like nineteen."

My eyebrows lifted before I could stop myself.

Damn.

I didn't say it out loud, but the thought crossed my mind anyway—I know she was older than me, but damn.

"Well," I muttered, mostly to myself, "I guess I'll just get the latest Call of Duty then." I typed it into the search bar, the letters appearing one by one as I leaned closer to the screen.

"No—don't."

Her voice cut in sharp and sudden, close now. I felt her presence behind me before I even turned. She'd gotten off the bed and stepped right up to my side, one hand braced against the desk as she looked at the screen.

"They don't make good Call of Duty games anymore," she said firmly. "It's all slop now."

I paused, then nodded slowly, canceling the search.

Carla—drug queenpin, weapons collector, international ghost—having strong opinions about the decline of Call of Duty was... weirdly charming.

"Okay," I said with a small smile. "I'll trust your judgment."

"I think something like—Minecraft," she said casually.

I frowned a little, my fingers still scrolling. I knew that one. Everyone knew that one.

"Something else," I murmured, half to myself, half to her, as I kept browsing.

Then my eyes caught on a softer-looking thumbnail. Pastel colors. A cozy little farm.

Stardew Valley.

"What about this?" I asked, clicking on it.

The page loaded—pixel art, cheerful music playing faintly from the preview. Fifteen dollars. That didn't seem bad at all. It actually felt... reasonable.

Carla leaned in slightly, reading over my shoulder. "That's perfect, actually," she said. "Most men seem to like this game."

I chuckled under my breath, then clicked Buy.

The checkout screen popped up, bright and unavoidable.

That familiar, uncomfortable feeling crept into my chest. I hesitated, fingers hovering uselessly over the keyboard. I hated this part—hated needing, hated asking. I was just about to say something, to stumble over an apology or a protest—When I felt it.

A soft tap against the desk.

I looked down.

Her black debit card lay there between us, sleek and heavy-looking, like it belonged everywhere except a gaming setup glowing pink in a bedroom. 

She didn't even look at me—just watched the screen, calm and patient.

"Are you sure?" I asked quietly.

She nodded once. Nothing dramatic. No explanation.

I swallowed, then picked up the card, carefully typing the information in. My hands felt strangely warm as I did. When the option popped up asking if I wanted to save the payment method, I hesitated again.

"Just keep the info on there," she said easily.

I checked the box.

And just like that, it was done.

"So what else do you plan on doing?" Carla asked as she moved back toward the bed, stretching out comfortably like she owned the room—which she did.

I yawned, letting my chair spin lazily to the side. Outside the window, the sky was deepening into shades of black, the last hints of daylight slipping away over the mountains. Evening always felt slower here, heavier, like the world was telling us to rest.

"I wanted to try streaming," I said, cracking my fingers absentmindedly. "But... I don't know. That feels like a lot right now."

Carla hummed, clearly unconcerned.

"Think about it longer," she said softly. "You don't have to figure everything out tonight."

She tilted her head, eyes meeting mine with that familiar spark—the one that always made my chest feel warm and light at the same time.

"In the meantime," she added, patting the space beside her, "why don't you come here and..."

I smirked, pushing myself up from the chair and crossing the room toward her. The glow from the PC faded behind me as I climbed onto the bed, settling against her warmth.

"Be gentle," I murmured, half-teasing, half-serious.

She smiled, arms already wrapping around me, and the rest of the night quietly disappeared into closeness and lovemaking.

——

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