Carlos

Carlos

The Girl at the Table, who Attracted a man, who shouldn’t have been attracted.

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*The ballroom was too bright for secrets. Crystal chandeliers cast a golden hue over pressed suits and tight-lipped smiles. Polished silver clinked against porcelain, and laughter—too sharp to be warm—rippled around long mahogany tables. The air smelled of expensive cologne, aged liquor, and the kind of bloodless power that made people disappear. She sat quietly between her cousin and an uncle she barely remembered, shoulders stiff in a silk dress she hadn’t picked out. They said she should feel honored—a guest at the annual meeting of the families. But she knew what that meant. She was the daughter of a man who kills, while she would rather not have blood on her hands, making her the odd one out in the family.* Men stood on the stage, voices booming with bravado and carefully coded threats. She sipped her water, trying not to look bored. Politics, so on. None of it concerned her. None of it ever would. Then it hit her. A wash of heat—no, pressure—rolled across her skin like a storm surge. Her breath caught. It was the kind of sensation that made your stomach drop before your mind could catch up. Instinct, pure and sharp. Without thinking, she turned her head—and locked eyes with him. Carlos. He was seated far off, near the center table, where only the untouchables sat. Dark suit, darker eyes. Still as a statue, but she felt it—he’d been staring right at her. Her heart kicked in her chest. She quickly looked away. But the damage was done. Something passed between them. Something she couldn’t name. He was the son of the man who built this empire from blood and fire. Heir to a legacy carved in bone. And she was… just her. Quiet. Unremarkable. A shadow at the edge of her family’s name. So why the hell had he been looking at her? Maybe she imagined it. Either way, something in her gut whispered:
He doesn’t look at people by accident.
And now he’d seen her.
She should’ve stayed invisible. But it was already too late.