Becoming the cartel leader’s trophy

I gulped as I stared down at my desk.

The remaining white powder sat there, uneven across the dark surface, the contrast making it impossible to ignore. The room was quiet around me, the faint hum of the house barely reaching this far.

"I can't keep doing this..." I muttered under my breath.

The words felt hollow even as I said them.

Ever since Miguel disappeared... everything had started slipping again. The sleepless nights, the constant fear, the silence in the house where his voice used to be—it had all pushed me back into habits I thought I'd buried for good.

Using again had felt like the only way to quiet my mind. Just enough to make the panic stop. Just enough to get through another night without breaking apart.

But now he was back.

And somehow that made it worse.

I brushed my nose with the back of my hand, wiping away the faint dust that had clung there. The motion was automatic, almost mechanical.

"Miguel would hate this..." I whispered.

My eyes stayed fixed on the desk.

The rest of the powder was still there. Still waiting.

"...so why do I keep doing it?"

The question hung in the air unanswered, heavy with the kind of guilt that settled deep in the chest and refused to move.

"Damn it!"

My fist came down hard against the desk, the sharp thud echoing through the quiet office. The small pile of white powder scattered slightly from the impact.

I dragged my hand across the surface of the desk, brushing the remaining dust away in one frustrated sweep. The powder smeared and fell to the floor, disappearing against the dark wood.

"Bullshit... absolute bullshit," I muttered through clenched teeth.

The anger bubbling in my chest wasn't just about the drugs. It was about myself—about how weak it felt to fall back into something I thought I had already beaten.

I pushed the chair back roughly and stood up, running a hand through my hair as I walked toward the door of my office. My heart was still pounding faintly in my chest when I grabbed the handle and pulled it open.

The hallway outside was quiet.

And standing a few steps away near the large window was Miguel.

He hadn't noticed me yet. He stood there calmly, looking out at the view beyond the glass—the distant green hills stretching across the horizon, bathed in the soft light of the late afternoon.

For a moment, I just watched him.

After everything that had happened... he was still here.

Still safe.

I walked over to him quietly, my footsteps soft against the floor. When I reached him, I slid one arm around his shoulders and pulled him gently closer to me.

He settled naturally beside me, leaning slightly into my side as we both looked out through the window together.

"I feel like something bad is gonna happen," he muttered suddenly.

His body stiffened slightly beside me, the change subtle but impossible to miss. A moment ago he had been quietly staring out at the mountains, but now there was tension in his shoulders, like some invisible weight had settled over him.

I instinctively tightened my arm around him, pulling him a little closer against my side.

"There's nothing possible that could hurt you anymore," I whispered softly.

The words came out low and steady, meant to reassure him more than anything. My hand moved slowly along his back, rubbing gentle circles through the fabric of his shirt.

Miguel stayed quiet for a second, still looking out the window.

"You're right..." he said eventually, though his voice carried a faint uncertainty. "I guess it's just... after all I've been through, I can't help but worry."

I continued rubbing his back, my hand moving slowly and steadily, hoping the small motion would calm him even a little. After everything he had survived, it wasn't surprising that fear still lingered in the back of his mind.

So I just held him there beside me, letting the quiet moment stretch on while the light outside the window slowly faded across the mountains.

"Have you packed your things up yet? We're leaving tomorrow midday," I said, glancing down at him.

Miguel shifted slightly in my arm and looked up at me, a small smile forming on his face.

"I haven't," he admitted. "I should though."

His eyes drifted back toward the window for a second, the faint reflection of the mountains still visible in the glass.

"It'll be weird going back to the States," he added.

I gave a small nod at that. It had been a long time since either of us had been there under normal circumstances.

"Think that you'll wanna stay?" I asked, raising an eyebrow slightly as I studied his expression.

Miguel shook his head almost immediately.

"Most likely no," he said. "Especially when I know she's out there."

My jaw tightened slightly at that.

His ex.

Just the thought of her made irritation flare in my chest.

I bit the inside of my lip, trying to push the frustration down before it turned into something worse. That woman had already caused enough problems in his life, and the idea of her even being in the same country again made my patience wear thin.

"She's not touching you," I said firmly.

My arm around him tightened a little without me even realizing it.

"God forbid I even see her with my own eyes," I continued, my voice lowering as heat crept into my tone. "I don't think I'll be able to hold back."

The anger simmered there for a second before I forced myself to calm down, my hand returning to slowly rub his back again.

"I should go pack my stuff," Miguel said after a moment.

He gently slipped out from my arm and took a few steps down the hallway toward our room. His pace was relaxed, like he was finally getting used to being home again.

As he passed by, Lela was exactly where she always was.

Standing guard.

Her posture was straight, hands resting near the strap of the rifle secured across her chest. Her sharp eyes briefly followed Miguel as he walked past her, and she gave him a small nod of acknowledgment.

Miguel returned it with a faint smile before continuing down the hall toward the room.

I stayed where I was for a moment, watching him disappear into the room.

"I love you so much, Miguel," I whispered quietly to myself.

The words barely left my lips, soft enough that no one else in the hallway could have heard them.

Then I turned and began walking back toward my office.

There was still one last thing I needed to check before tomorrow.

I walked into my office and quietly shut the door behind me, the soft click of the latch sealing the room in silence.

For a moment I just stood there, letting my eyes drift across the desk. The surface was clean again, any trace of what had been there earlier gone. That little episode already felt distant, buried under something far more important.

I moved toward the side of the room and crouched slightly, pulling open one of the drawers I had for storage.

Inside, tucked neatly toward the back, was the small black box.

My fingers paused over it for a second before I picked it up.

"I'll need to make sure I take it," I murmured to myself.

The hinge made a faint sound as I opened it.

Inside sat the ring.

The diamond caught the light from the overhead lamp immediately, reflecting tiny flashes across the inside of the box. It was large—larger than most people would probably consider reasonable—but that had never really mattered to me. If I was going to do this, it was going to be perfect.

I stared at it for a moment, imagining the look on Miguel's face.

The surprise.

The disbelief.

The way his eyes would probably widen when he realized what it meant.

A small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.

"He's gonna be absolutely ecstatic," I said softly.

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