It was a Thursday. Too early in the day for heartbreak, too late for surprises.
Green opened the door to her apartment and nearly dropped her coffee.
Her mother was already inside. Sitting comfortably on her velvet couch like she owned the place, her legs crossed, her pristine white pantsuit untouched by the rain outside.
"Good morning, hija," her mother said, sipping tea from Green's favorite mug.
"Jesus," Green muttered, shutting the door behind her. "You don't call. You don't knock."
Her mother smiled. "What's family for?"
Green raised a brow. "What do you want?"
The older woman set down the cup gently, like she was delivering holy news. "I have good news. An opportunity, really."
"I'm not doing this today," Green said, dropping her keys on the table.
"It's your uncle," her mother said. "Your Tío Javier. The surgery's been moved up. His kidneys are failing faster than expected."
Green's hands froze mid-motion.
"I thought he was on the waiting list," she said slowly.
"He is," her mother nodded. "But with the right amount of persuasion… we can make it happen sooner. Private hospital. Better chances."
Green exhaled. "How much?"
Her mother met her eyes. "That depends on if you're willing to have dinner."
Green narrowed her eyes. "Dinner with who?"
A pause.
Then, softly: "Don Frederick."
Silence exploded in the room.
"No," Green said immediately.
Her mother stood, calm as ever. "It's just one dinner. He's not asking for your hand. He just wants to talk. Get to know you."
"He's already made himself very known," Green snapped.
Her mother stepped closer. "You're the one who said family matters. I'm just trying to keep ours alive."
"No," Green said again, firmer. "Joseph warned me about him. He's dangerous."
"Joseph," her mother scoffed. "That man may love you, but love doesn't pay for kidney transplants. Frederick offered. He gave me the number. Said it would all be handled the moment you agree."
"Offered you?" Green said, stunned. "So you made a deal behind my back?"
Her mother's eyes turned hard. "You don't have the luxury of saying no."
Green's voice trembled. "Yes. I do."
By the time Joseph found out, the storm had already started.
He showed up at her apartment the next morning—early, fast, and colder than she'd ever seen him.
"I got a call," he said, walking past her like a man marching into war. "From a hospital in Chiapas. Tío Javier's name is flagged for an accelerated transplant."
Green shut the door. Her stomach turned.
Joseph turned to her slowly. "You didn't tell me."
"I didn't think you needed to know," she said quietly.
His face darkened, voice even and sharp. "You told me you needed nothing from Frederick. And now your mother is selling you off to him like a—"
"Don't you dare," she said, voice rising.
Joseph stalked forward, his gaze burning. "If money is the problem, tell me the number. I'll triple it. I'll fund the hospital. I'll buy the damn organ if I have to."
"No!" Green yelled. "You can't solve everything with a bank account!"
He stopped.
Like she'd struck him.
She pressed her hands to her face. "You don't understand. It's not just about the money. It's the fact that my mother—she chose him. She gave me a price tag, Joseph."
He said nothing.
Green stepped back. "I'm tired of being someone's leverage. Even yours."
The silence between them was thicker.
Joseph's jaw clenched. "I never made you leverage. I made you my world."
She shook her head and turned to the couch.
"I didn't come here as a billionaire," he said.
She stared at him.
"I came here as the man who will break if you ever choose him."
Green's breath caught in her throat.
Joseph stepped closer.
"I don't care what he offered. I don't care what you owe. If it's about your uncle, I'll fix it. But if it's about us, then please—don't let anyone else decide."
A single tear ran down her cheek.
And just as she was about to speak—
Her phone lit up.
A message.
From Don Frederick.
"Thought you should know. Your mother already accepted the down payment. Dinner is in two days. Wear something red."
—
She sat beside him. Close, but not touching. Not yet.
Green hesitated. "You said you'd break if I ever chose him. That wasn't just words, was it?"
Joseph's throat moved, like he was swallowing something sharp.
"I had a sister," he finally said. "Catalina."
Green's heart clenched at the name.
"She was younger," he went on. "Brighter. Kinder. She ran one of our smaller refineries in Veracruz. Smart as hell. But she didn't believe in playing dirty. I did."
His voice dropped, bitter. "Frederick wanted the land. I told her to stay quiet, to let it go. But she didn't listen. She called him out. Exposed his bribes to the local board. Made it public."
He paused.
Green's voice was barely a whisper. "What happened?"
Joseph leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clutched so tight they trembled. "Three weeks later, her car went off a cliff. No witnesses. No camera footage. They said it was an accident."
He laughed once, empty. "But there was no brake fluid in her system. None."
Green's breath caught.
Joseph turned his face to her, broken edges barely held together. "Frederick didn't kill her with his hands. He just moved the pieces until she was gone."
Green reached for him.
Touched his fingers.
And for the first time, Joseph let someone see him without the armor.
"You're my only peace," he whispered, looking at her like she was the only light left in his war-torn world.
Her voice cracked as she replied. "You're my only danger."
Silence.
Then movement.
He leaned in, hesitating.
Their lips met — raw, trembling, unfinished.
Not the kiss of lovers who had time, but of people who knew time could be stolen from them at any moment.
Green's hands curled into his shirt. Joseph cupped her face, like if he touched her too hard, she'd disappear. They kissed again—deeper this time—and she felt the way his breath caught when her fingers slid beneath his collar.
She pulled back first, but not far.
"I should stop you," she whispered, breathless.
"Then do it," he challenged softly, eyes locked on hers.
Her heart pounded.
But she didn't.
He kissed her again. Slower. With meaning. His hands gripped her waist, and he pulled her gently into his lap, the storm inside him now tangled with hers. His lips found her neck, and she gasped, arching slightly into his warmth.
The touch wasn't demanding. It was reverent. Worshipful.
"You're shaking," he murmured into her skin.
"I know."
"I'd never hurt you," he said.
"I know," she breathed.
His hands slid up her back, under the hem of her shirt. Her pulse stuttered as his mouth kissed down her collarbone, and she held on tighter. Her breath caught as their bodies aligned, pressed chest to chest, her thighs wrapped around him, the world falling away.
She was no longer thinking.
Only feeling.
But—
Outside, across the street, a black car sat quietly in shadows.
Windows tinted.
Engine off.
Watching.
Don Frederick's assistant lifted a camera.
And snapped the shot.