Charlotte's POV
"It's not about culture, Charlotte," Thomas had whispered earlier. "It's about profit margins." The champagne had turned to rust in my mouth.
Now, watching him charm the crowd with talk of "sustainable development," I felt sick. Mother beamed from across the room. Everything exactly as she'd orchestrated.
I couldn't breathe.
"Excuse me," I whispered, weaving through designer gowns toward the valet stand.
"My car, please."
I drove without destination, letting Beverly Hills melt into something grittier. My evening gown felt ridiculous here, like wearing a costume. I parked beside a grocery store with barred windows and started walking.
Three blocks later, my phone died.
Panic hit. Lost in an unknown neighborhood, wearing a dress worth more than most people's rent, no cash, no backup plan.
"O yeah, guapa! You lost?"
The voice cut through the night air like broken glass. My heart lurched, and I quickened my pace, my heels clicking frantically against the concrete. Every shadow seemed to move, every sound amplified.
"I'm talking to you, beautiful."
My hands were shaking now, fingers clutching my purse like a lifeline. The footsteps behind me grew closer.
"She's with me."
I turned toward the new voice, relief flooding through me so fast my knees nearly buckled. It was Mateo. He stood under a flickering streetlight, and for a moment, the harsh light caught the sharp angles of his jaw, the dangerous glint in his dark eyes. His voice was low but sharp as broken glass, carrying an authority that made the men back off without question. The men backed off.
"You okay?" His eyes swept the street one more time before finding mine.
I nodded, still shaking.
"Next time, don't walk alone dressed like you're heading to the Met Gala, okay?" He tried for a smile, but I caught the tremor in his jaw. He'd been scared too.
"What are you doing here?"
"Getting spectacularly lost," I laughed shakily.
"You're pretty far from Beverly Hills now."
"I wanted to see something real." I gestured at my ridiculous dress.
"Your phone?"
"Dead."
"Cash?"
I shook my head.
He pulled out his phone. "Uber's ten minutes away. Want to wait somewhere warmer?"
"No. Here's okay."
He guided me to an alcove between buildings. From here, the city looked almost magical—twinkling lights scattered like diamonds across the valley, so different from the sterile perfection of Beverly Hills. This felt real, alive.
"Better?"
"Much." I was surprised by my laughter. "I've never just... run away before. Without a plan, without permission." The words felt strange on my tongue—I could almost hear eight-year-old me asking May I please be excused from the table, Mother? before every single meal, even when I was sick.
"How does it feel?"
"Terrifying. And amazing."
We stood in comfortable silence. I was acutely aware of everything—the warmth radiating from his body, how close we were standing, the way moonlight caught the curve of his lower lip. My eyes traced the line of his throat, wondering what his skin would taste like.
"Charlotte."
"Yes?" The word came out breathless.
"I'm glad you got lost."
My heart flipped. This was dangerous territory.
I didn't care. I was tired of playing it safe.
His phone buzzed. "Your ride's here. Two minutes."
I could see the car approaching.
"I should go," I whispered.
"Yeah," he agreed, but neither of us moved.
The driver honked.
"Charlotte."
"Mateo."
Mateo leaned in, his breath brushing over my lips—hot, unsteady, electric. For a suspended heartbeat, we hovered in that breathless space between decision and disaster. I could smell him now, really smell him—something clean and warm and entirely him that made my head spin. His hands came up to frame my face, fingers trembling just slightly, like even he was surprised by the force of what was happening between us.
And then, finally, his mouth found mine.
The world didn't just go still—it shattered and reformed around us.
This wasn't a gentle kiss. It was hunger made manifest, a wildfire that had been smoldering beneath the surface finally allowed to consume everything in its path. His lips moved against mine like he was trying to write something into my soul—something he hadn't dared say out loud. Every motion was layered with frustration, longing, and a desperation that mirrored the ache I'd been carrying.
And I kissed him back like I was drowning and he was air.
At first, it was tentative—a slow, trembling surrender. My lips brushed his like a question I didn't know how to ask, uncertainty warring with want in my chest. I hesitated, caught between the girl I'd been taught to be and the woman I was discovering I could become.
But then he exhaled against me, a soft, almost broken sound that made something inside me crack wide open.
I pressed closer, answering him with a fuller kiss, more certain this time. The careful walls I'd built around myself crumbled like paper in rain. My fingers found the front of his shirt, clutching the fabric like it could anchor me to this moment, to him, to this new version of myself that was emerging from the ashes of everything I thought I knew.
He responded instantly, deepening the kiss, pulling me into him like he couldn't bear even an inch of space between us. My hesitation didn't just vanish—it was burned away by the heat surging between us, leaving only pure want in its wake.
What began as a whisper of contact became an earthquake. I melted into him, knees weak, lips parted, heart reckless and wild. The brick wall caught my back, grounding me even as the rest of me slipped out of control. Something tugged at my ear—gentle, barely noticeable—but I was too lost to care.
He kissed me like I was the only thing he'd ever wanted, ever needed.
And I kissed him like I'd just remembered how to feel alive.
I knew I shouldn't. This was too much, too fast, too dangerous. Every rational thought screamed warnings I couldn't hear over the rush of blood in my ears.
I couldn't do this. I shouldn't want this.
But God—
I wanted to do it again. Again. And never stop.
His hands found my waist, warm and sure, pulling me closer until there was nothing between us but breath and heat and the terrible, wonderful knowledge that I was falling and I didn't want to be caught.
The kiss deepened, turned darker, more desperate. His mouth moved against mine with a hunger barely restrained, and I matched it—tentative no longer. Every press of his lips sent lightning through my veins, igniting something primal and fierce that I'd never known lived inside me. His fingers splayed against my back, possessive, trembling just slightly, like even he was surprised by the force of it.
I let myself go completely, my body leaning fully into his as if the last threads of my control had finally snapped. My knees gave a delicate tremble, and I didn't fight it—I let myself be weak, let myself need, let myself want without apology.
All I knew was this: his mouth on mine, his heartbeat thudding against my chest, and the glorious, terrifying sensation of desire unleashed like a caged animal finally set free.
Every nerve in my body sang yes, yes, yes.
I should've stopped. Should've remembered who I was, where I came from, what this could cost.
But instead—
The car door slammed.
"You coming or what?" the driver called, and his voice cutting through our bubble like a blade.
"I have to go." The words felt like betrayal.
He stepped back, hands falling to his sides, but his eyes never left mine. "Be safe, Charlotte."
I walked to the car on unsteady legs, slid into the backseat. As we pulled away, I turned back. Mateo was still watching, still standing in that pool of flickering light like a beautiful, dangerous dream.
I touched my lips, still tasting him—salt and heat and possibility. My whole body trembled like it had been struck by lightning, rewired, changed at the cellular level.
Stop, Charlotte. Stop thinking about it.
But I couldn't. The way he'd looked at me in that flickering streetlight—like I was something precious he'd found in the dark. The way his voice had cracked when he said my name. The way his body had trembled against mine, like he was fighting the same losing battle I was.
At a red light, I checked my phone. Seven missed calls from Mother.
Tomorrow I'd slip back into the performance of perfect daughter.
But tonight had ruined me for pretending.
I touched my earlobe—cold, empty. My earring was gone. It must have fallen when we kissed. Maybe that's the price. When I kissed him, I lost something—more than just an ornament.