Becoming the cartel leader’s trophy

(Elena pov)

I stared at the pregnancy test in my trembling hand.

Two lines.

Clear. Unmistakable.

The room felt too small all of a sudden, like the air had thickened. My heart pounded so hard I could hear it in my ears.

"What is it, Elena?" my mother asked, stepping closer. "Are you pregnant?"

I couldn't trust my voice, so I just nodded.

Her hand flew to her mouth. Mine tightened around the plastic stick.

Pregnant.

The word echoed in my skull—and with it, something dangerous bloomed. Hope. Twisted, desperate hope. A real chance. A reason he couldn't ignore. A tie that couldn't be cut so easily.

I sank onto the couch, forcing myself to breathe normally, to look calm. Composed. Like I wasn't spiraling in ten different directions at once.

"I don't know what to do," I said quietly. "I can't just go looking for Miguel like this." My hand drifted unconsciously toward my stomach. The timeline hit me like cold water. Months. I'd have to wait months.

Almost a whole year before everything changed.

"It'll be fine, Elena," my mom said gently as she sat beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "He'll be alive. And once he knows you're pregnant, he'll come back. That's a father's instinct."

I nodded slowly.

It sounded right when she said it. It felt solid. Logical. Like something I could build a plan around.

But beneath that fragile comfort, a quieter thought whispered:

What if he doesn't?

-

(Miguel)

A faint shiver ran through me—part anxiety, part anticipation—as I lowered myself into the chair at the dinner table. 

The plate in front of me held a thick, seared steak, its surface glistening under the warm overhead light, the rich, iron scent rising with every breath I took. I hadn't eaten red meat like this in a while, the sight of it both thrilled and terrified me. 'I could do this,' I told myself. 

I had to... I refused to let another invisible rule carve itself into my life and call it an eating disorder—though the quiet voice in the back of my mind whispered that maybe I had one already.

"I'm so glad you invited us, Carla," Camila said from the chair to my left, her voice bright and easy. 

She tilted her head toward her sister with a warm, genuine smile. Camila looked strikingly different from Carla: her hair fell in loose, almost auburn waves that caught the candlelight like burnished copper, whereas Carla's was a deep, glossy chestnut that always seemed to absorb rather than reflect the light.

Carla's other sister, Cecilia, sat directly across from me. She shared more of Carla's bone structure—the same sharp cheekbones, the same thoughtful hazel eyes—but her coloring was softer, her hair a warm honey-brown pulled into a loose braid that rested over one shoulder. 

The three of them together felt like variations on a theme, each beautiful in a slightly different key. Carla was way more beautiful than both of them though, easily.

"I've been meaning for you girls to meet my lover for a while now," Carla said, her tone casual yet possessive, the word landing like a velvet claim.

Heat flooded my face instantly. Lover. The single syllable bloomed inside my chest, sweet and dangerous and so perfectly right that I almost forgot how to breathe. 

I ducked my head for a second, lips curving despite myself, while the steak sat untouched in front of me, still steaming faintly, waiting for me to decide whether tonight I would let myself have it—and everything that came with it.

"Wow..." Cecilia murmured from my right, her voice soft with genuine delight. A warm, appreciative smile curved her lips as she cut another piece of steak, the knife gliding through the tender meat with almost no resistance. 

She lifted the bite to her mouth and closed her eyes for a second as she chewed. "This steak is phenomenal, Miguel. Seriously. Carla struck absolute gold with you."

I gave a small, shy nod, my gaze drifting to her plate. She speared a golden, perfectly roasted potato with the tines of her fork, the crisp skin giving a faint crackle as it broke. 

She popped it into her mouth and let out a quiet, blissful hum.

"So rich and fluffy..." Camila said suddenly from the other side, her tone almost reverent. She was already reaching for another bite, cheeks faintly flushed from the warmth of the food and the candlelight's on the table. 

All three sisters looked quietly radiant—eyes bright, shoulders relaxed, the kind of unguarded happiness that made the whole room feel softer. 

It was hard to believe something as simple as a meal could do that to them, could pull such open pleasure across their faces.

I felt a shy laugh bubble up. "I'm glad you guys are enjoying it," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. The words felt small compared to the way they were devouring every bite, but the sound of their contentment settled something warm in my chest.

Camila swallowed, then leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand as she looked across the table at her big sister.

 "Big sis," she said through a mouthful of steak, not even bothering to finish chewing before she spoke, "do you think I can get someone like Miguel someday?"

Carla let out a low, fond chuckle, the sound rich and easy. She reached over and brushed a stray lock of Camila's auburn hair behind her ear with casual affection.

 "I think you can," she answered, voice warm with certainty. "You'll become just like me—leading the family business with an amazing boyfriend by your side."

Amazing boyfriend.

The words landed like sunlight on skin—flattering, almost embarrassingly so. I felt heat creep up the back of my neck again and dropped my eyes to my own plate, suddenly very interested in the swirl of rosemary butter pooling around the piece of steak. 

I didn't think I was anything close to amazing. Not really. But the way Carla said it, so matter-of-fact, so proud, made me want to believe her—even just for tonight.

I finally lifted my fork and knife, cutting into my own steak with deliberate care. The blade slid through the meat like it was barely there, revealing a perfect medium-rare center that gleamed rosy under the low light.

I brought the first bite to my mouth and closed my lips around it. The flavor bloomed instantly—charred crust giving way to warm, iron-rich tenderness, laced with the faint smokiness of rosemary and garlic butter I'd basted it with earlier. 

For a moment, everything else faded: the clink of silverware, the soft murmur of conversation. Eating something I'd cooked myself still felt strangely foreign, almost vulnerable, like tasting a piece of myself on the plate. 

But as I chewed slowly, savoring the melt against my tongue, I felt something loosen inside me. The old, quiet love for food—the one I'd buried under too many rules and skipped meals—was stirring again, tentative but real...

"So, any parties planned soon, sis?" Cecilia asked, her tone light and teasing as she swirled a last bite of potato through the juices on her plate. 

"It's been a while since the last one." She popped the forkful into her mouth and raised an eyebrow at Carla, clearly fishing.

This wasn't the first time "parties" had come up. From the casual way Cecilia said it—and the knowing little smiles that passed between the sisters—I was starting to piece it together: Carla was known for throwing extravagant, almost legendary gatherings. The kind people talked about for months afterward.

Carla took her time answering. She speared another piece of steak, brought it to her lips, and let out a soft, appreciative hum as she chewed, eyes half-closing for a second in pure enjoyment. Only then did she swallow and glance my way, a small, private smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"Maybe..." she said, drawing the word out like she was tasting it too. "But we still have to talk about it... me and Miguel."

The way she said my name—low, deliberate, possessive—sent a fresh flush of warmth across my chest. Her foot, under the table—gave my knee a gentle, reassuring nudge, brushing once in a slow circle before she let go. 

The casual claim of "we" felt bigger than the word itself, like she was already folding me into the rhythm of her world: the business, the family, the glittering nights she apparently orchestrated so effortlessly.

I met her eyes across the candle flames. She looked quietly pleased—both with the food and with whatever unspoken plans were flickering behind her gaze.

"I've been needing a party," Cecilia sighed, leaning back in her chair. "All this security, all the constant movement... it wears on you."

She really did look tired. Not physically weak—but stretched thin. Like someone who hadn't had a moment to just exist without calculating risk.

Still, the moment she tasted the food, her expression softened. A faint smile tugged at her lips, and some of that tightness left her shoulders.

Carla noticed.

"We'll see soon enough," Carla replied calmly, lifting the glass of wine I'd poured her earlier. The red liquid caught the warm afternoon light as she took a slow sip, composed as always.

The mansion felt peaceful. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, casting golden streaks across the long dining table. For a little bit, there were no reports, no guns, no urgent knocks at the door.

Just dinner.

Just us.

Just the soft clink of silverware and low hums of satisfaction filled the dining room.

"God," Camila laughed lightly, dabbing the corner of her mouth with her napkin, "this food is making me want to settle down and find my own man."

A few amused glances passed around the table.

"You got any brothers, Miguel?" she added teasingly.

I smiled faintly. "Unfortunately, no. I don't have many people left connected to me."

My eyes dropped to my plate as I said it, the weight of that truth settling quietly in my chest. For a second, the room felt bigger than it was.

Almost alone.

Almost.

But not entirely.

"I'm happy though," I added, looking up again. "With Carla. She's enough to last me multiple lifetimes."

I turned toward her, and she winked at me—slow, confident. My stomach fluttered instantly, warmth spreading through me in a way that made the rest of the table blur at the edges.

"CJNG has really been pushing our buttons lately," Cecilia said suddenly, her tone shifting the atmosphere like a draft through an open window.

Carla coughed softly, but there was nothing accidental about it. A warning.

"We're here to have dinner," she said, her voice smooth but edged with steel. "Not discuss business."

Cecilia straightened immediately. "Of course."

The tension dissolved just as quickly as it had appeared.

"Darling," Carla said, her tone softening as she turned to me.

I looked up at her at once.

"Would you be kind enough to bake some cookies when you're done?"

I nodded without hesitation, picking up my fork again and cutting into my steak. I tried not to rush, tried to look casual—but I definitely ate a little faster than before.

Anything she asked, I'd do.

And the thought of her enjoying something I made? That was a reward enough for me.

——

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