Two weeks into working at Lumen, the glass palace stops feeling like a trap designed to expose me. At first, every surface reflected my doubt back at me, every mirror whispering that I didn't belong, that I was a fraud rehearsing lines in a play where the audience waited for me to choke. But the fear dissolves. The receptionist desk no longer feels like a stage. My hands don't tremble when I touch the polished marble.
I learn the rhythm here. Luxury has its own pulse, faint but insistent. It smells like money and vanilla, leather briefcases and perfume that lingers long after its owner disappears into the elevator. Clients look at me before they speak, their eyes calculating, measuring if I'm worth their time. I let them measure. I let them underestimate me. It makes winning sweeter when they realize too late I'm not the girl they dismissed.
By the time Camilla shows up, my life has settled into a routine I didn't know I craved. Which is exactly why she ruins it.
"Alma."
Her voice slices through my concentration. I look up, ready to glare at whoever dares interrupt me, but my brain disconnects from reality.
She stands there like a hallucination I forgot to schedule. Sunglasses tangled in her hair, confidence dripping from her posture, a smile already forming because she knows exactly what she's doing to me.
"Camilla?" My mouth still works even if my logic doesn't.
She opens her arms. I abandon all professionalism and crash into her like a missile. She smells like airports, perfume, and home. The kind of hug that reminds me that before survival mode, there was softness.
"You didn't tell me you were coming," I say into her shoulder.
She laughs, loud and unapologetic. "Please. As if we don't talk every other day. I came straight from the airport."
I pull back to look at her properly. Sharp nose. Brown eyes that always seem to know something I don't. Black hair streaked with red that catches the light like trouble. Her smile is perfect, almost arrogant, daring the world to disagree.
On her chest, the familiar tattoo sits quietly. A flower. Beneath it, Maria. A name that never leaves her, even when she pretends she's moved on.
"You were going to surprise me at my apartment," I accuse.
She shrugs, unapologetic. "Obviously."
I shake my head, smiling despite myself. "You're impossible."
"And you missed me," she says, smug.
"I tolerate you," I reply.
Her grin widens. Victory.
That night, she moves into my apartment like she owns it. She claims the couch, judges my pantry, steals my clothes without permission. She fills the air with noise and opinions and laughter so loud the walls feel offended.
When she asks about my life, I tell her everything except one name. She notices. She always does.
The next day, she insists we go to the beach. Camilla believes healing requires sunlight and saltwater. I wear a simple black bikini. She wears red, because of course she does.
We lie on our towels laughing at nothing, arms flailing dramatically as if the world might be watching.
The ocean breathes in and out, steady and eternal. The sand clings to our skin, hot and stubborn. The sun paints everything in gold. For a moment, I forget the weight of survival. For a moment, I am just Alma, laughing with Camilla, alive in a way that feels dangerous. For a moment, I am back in Colombia. She carried the whole town with her to Spain, and I can't even tell her how happy I am to have her here.
The beach is alive with noise. Children shriek as waves chase them back to shore. Vendors wander with baskets of fruit, their voices rising above the crash of the tide. Somewhere nearby, three men swim like overgrown children, splashing each other with exaggerated bravado.
At first, I don't notice them.
Juan notices us. His eyes lock on Camilla's red bikini, the way she stretches like she owns the sun. Diego squints, shading his face with one hand, curiosity flickering. And Gael, Gael stops moving.
He stares too long. Long enough for something sharp to settle in his chest. Long enough to see a man drift closer to me, too close, close enough to speak into my space as if he belongs there.
Gael moves before thinking. Ego does that.
His shadow blocks the sun. I sigh internally. Of course.
"Hey," Gael says, voice calm but edged with warning. "She said no."
The man scoffs, false confidence dripping from him. "Relax."
Gael steps closer. His smile is gone, but authority remains intact. "Go."
The man leaves quickly, muttering under his breath.
I stare at Gael, unimpressed, humiliated, irritated by how effective he is without even trying. His presence is overwhelming, his body carved by discipline. Tall, broad shoulders, abs defined like stone beneath the sunlight. His blonde hair catches the breeze, his baby-blue eyes sharp enough to cut.
It's the first time I truly see him. The first time his body is revealed without the armor of clothing. And it's the first time I don't trust myself. If I get too close, I'll regret it.
My mind betrays me. I remember he has a girl. Of course he does. A redhead. I curse myself silently for thinking too much, for letting my eyes linger where they shouldn't.
Camilla tilts her head, studying him like an object on a shelf she didn't ask for.
"So," she says casually, turning to me. "Are you dating him?"
Before I can answer, Juan appears like a stray cat with audacity.
"And who are you, beautiful?" His grin is wide, his tone shameless.
Camilla smiles sweetly, the kind of smile that precedes chaos. "First, I'm a girl. Second, I like your confidence. Third, I'm Alma's ride-or-die. From Colombia."
Juan's grin spreads like he just won a prize. " Latina too. I like spice. I can give you fire."
Camilla laughs, tossing her hair back. "I like you already."
Diego blinks, bewildered. "Are you two actually flirting?"
Camilla leans closer to Juan, her voice playful. "Maybe. Depends on how good you are."
Juan presses a hand to his chest dramatically. "I'm the best. Ask anyone."
Camilla smirks. "We'll see."
I rub my temple. "Your style is weird."
Gael watches me laugh, really laugh, and something inside him tightens painfully. Because I look free.
The sun sinks lower, painting the horizon in orange and violet. The beach shifts with the light. Children are gathered by their parents, vendors pack away baskets, and the waves calm, whispering instead of roaring.
Camilla stretches lazily on her towel, her red bikini glowing like fire against the fading sky. Juan hovers nearby, grin plastered across his face, leaning closer as if the evening itself demands intimacy.
"You're dangerous," he murmurs, eyes gleaming. "A woman who smiles like that could break hearts."
Camilla tilts her head, amused. "And you think you could survive me?"
Juan laughs, rich and unashamed. "Survive? No. Enjoy? Absolutely."
Diego groans, throwing his hands up. "You two are impossible. This looks like a soap opera."
Camilla ignores him, her attention locked on Juan. "Maybe I like your style. Maybe."
Juan presses a hand to his chest, mock-serious. "Then I've already won."
Their voices blend with the rhythm of the waves, playful and sharp, a dance of words that feels both dangerous and inevitable.
I watch them, shaking my head, but laughter escapes anyway. It feels good, too good to laugh without restraint.
Gael notices. His gaze lingers on me, heavy, unspoken. He stands a few feet away, arms crossed, his body framed by the dying sun. His abs catch the last light, his shoulders broad, his presence undeniable.
For the first time, I see him not as a nuisance but as something else. Something I should not want. His blonde hair glows faintly, his baby-blue eyes piercing, and temptation presses against my chest like a weight I can't shake.
Camilla notices my silence. She leans over, teasing. "Alma, don't tell me you're looking at that blond like he's a sin."
Heat rises in my cheeks. "I'm not looking."
She smirks knowingly. "Sure. And I'm a nun."
Juan laughs, delighted. "So Alma has secrets. Interesting."
I glare at him, but it only fuels his amusement.
Gael shifts, jaw tight. He doesn't speak, but his eyes betray him. He watches me laugh, really laugh and something inside him twists painfully. He knows that freedom in me didn't come from him.
For the first time, he understands that protecting someone doesn't mean possessing them. The realization hits harder than any anger I've ever thrown his way.
The evening deepens. The sky turns indigo, stars piercing through. The air cools, carrying salt and promise. Camilla and Juan continue their flirtation, Diego mutters about being ignored, and Gael remains silent, a storm contained within his chest.
I lie back on the towel, staring at the sky, trying to steady my thoughts. But the image of Gael's body, his eyes, his presence refuses to leave. And I know, with a certainty that unsettles me, that if I get too close, I'll regret it.
The air thickens with anticipation. Diego, ever the instigator, grins as he shakes water from his hair. "There's a party tonight," he announces, voice loud enough to carry over the waves. "You should come. Both of you."
Camilla sits up, her red bikini catching the last glow of the sun. My eyes flick instinctively toward Gael. He says nothing, only watches me with that unreadable expression that makes silence feel heavier than words.
Camilla breaks it with a laugh. "My first full day here and already I see the handsome men of Barcelona. How could I say no?"
I open my mouth to refuse, but Camilla is already standing, her yes spoken with certainty. I sigh, defeated, and follow.
The party hums with music and neon light. Bodies move like waves, the air thick with perfume, sweat, and the sharp bite of alcohol. Camilla disappears quickly, claimed by Juan's easy charm. Diego finds a girl with brown hair, too cute to exist, and vanishes into the crowd with her.
That leaves me with Gael.
I try not to notice how his presence fills the space, how his shoulders cut through the crowd, how his eyes find me even when I look away.
My phone buzzes. Mateo.
I answer with a smile, my voice bright with happiness. "Mateo! You called."
But his words slice through my joy. "Alma… Dad bit Mom. She's at the hospital."
The world tilts. The music fades. Tears sting my eyes, spilling before I can stop them.
Gael steps closer, concern etched across his face. "Alma!"
I dodge him, shaking my head, refusing comfort. I march to the bar, grab a bottle of tequila, and slam it onto Gael's bill. He can afford it. I don't care. I sit, drinking straight from the glass, my sadness drowning in fire.
Gael watches, jaw tight. He promises himself he will not leave my sight. If he did, he would hate himself.
And then he sees me.
My outfit is reckless, a hot clubbing beach look that demands attention. A shimmering silver crop top clings to my skin, straps delicate against my shoulders. A short black skirt hugs my hips, glitter catching the light. My hair falls wild, my lips painted with defiance. I am chaos wrapped in beauty, and Gael cannot look away.
I drink too much, my laughter sharp, my pain hidden beneath it. I turn to him suddenly, voice loud, slurred. "You look hotter without your shirt on."
I smile, wicked and fragile, then drink again.
Gael moves, steady, taking the glass from my hand. Our eyes meet. The tension is immediate, electric, a current neither of us can escape. We stare for too long.
Daniel, my friend from campus, interrupts with a grin. "Gael! Diego said he's going to his apartment with his girlfriend."
Gael smirks, casual. "Okay. As you say so."
Daniel chuckles, eyes flicking between us. "I love whatever is happening here." He leaves, laughter trailing behind him.
The silence returns, heavier now. I stare at Gael, my voice trembling. "I can't. You have a girl."
Gael tilts his head, his voice low. "Which one?"
"The redhead. Two weeks ago. At the ice cream hub."
Gael steps closer, his hand brushing my hair back, fingers lingering as he tucks a strand behind my ear. His touch is gentle, deliberate. "That was Diego's sister. She likes teasing me because we grew up together. She used to clean my mess. And she's engaged. I don't have a girl, Alma."
I spit back, defiant. "What about Lena? Is she even here?"
His smile fades. "No. She was my fling. She moved with her sister back to Germany."
"Germany?" I ask, drunk, my eyes locked on his.
Gael sees what I'm trying to do, the way my gaze tests him, tempts him. He laughs softly, trying to ease the weight. "Yes. She's German. So I am very much single."
He shifts, his voice steady. "But tell me, Alma. Why did you start drinking all of a sudden?"
I snatch the glass from his hand, sip the tequila, and say nothing.
Gael takes the bottle away, firm. "If it's nothing, then no more drinking for you."
I glare, then give up. I pull a cigar from my bag, try to light it. Gael moves fast, snatching it, throwing it to the ground.
"Hey! What gives?" I protest.
"Not on my watch," he replies, voice sharp.
I stand, defiant. He stands too. His body blocks mine, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him. The music thunders around us, but all I hear is the silence between our breaths. His eyes lock on mine, steady, unrelenting, and for a heartbeat I forget the world exists.
I want to kiss him. God, I want to. The thought crashes through me like a wave, reckless and unstoppable. My lips part, but hesitation claws at me.
Gael leans in, not touching, not yet, just close enough that the air between us feels charged, dangerous. His hand hovers near my arm, as if he's fighting himself, as if one wrong move will tip us both into chaos.
I laugh suddenly, sharp and broken, trying to shatter the tension. "You're trouble," I whisper, my voice trembling.
His smile is faint, almost cruel in its restraint. "And you're not?"
The words hang between us, daring me to step forward, daring him to break his own control.
I tilt my head, defiant, reckless. "If I kiss you, I'll regret it."
Gael's gaze burns into me, his jaw tight. "Then regret it."
The world tilts again. My pulse races. For a moment, I think I might. For a moment, I want nothing else.
But I don't. I freeze, caught between desire and fear, between the chaos I crave and the ruin I know it brings.
We stand there, locked in a silence that feels louder than the music, both of us desperate, both of us waiting for the other to break.