Chapter 7 : The Price of Desire
1072 Words
The next morning—
everything changed.
Catalina rebuilt her walls.
Colder. Sharper. Untouchable again.
“What happened last night—” Óscar started.
“Didn’t happen,” she cut in.
“That’s not how this works.”
“That’s exactly how this works.”
Silence.
Then—
she delivered the final blow:
“The truce stands. Nothing else.”
Óscar studied her.
Long. Hard.
Then nodded once.
“Fine.”
But as he turned away—
he said quietly:
“You can lie to the world, Catalina.”
A pause.
“But not to yourself.”
She didn’t respond.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Until he was gone.
Then—
her hand trembled.
Just once.
She clenched it.
Hard.
Because she understood something now—
Something dangerous.
Something unstoppable.
The Iron Widow had a weakness.
And his name… was Óscar.
Catalina Valverde did not believe in mistakes.
She believed in miscalculations—temporary, correctable, instructive.
And the kiss?
That had been a miscalculation.
Nothing more.
By morning, the world had been reset.
Her schedule resumed at 6:00 a.m. sharp. Briefings, reports, decisions—each executed with the same ruthless precision that had built her empire. Her assistants noticed nothing unusual. Her board saw only efficiency. The markets responded with quiet respect.
Only two people knew something had changed.
Lucas.
And Óscar.
The morning strategy meeting was clinical.
“Cruz logistics is contained,” Catalina said, scanning the projections. “But not neutralized. I want their financing channels destabilized within forty-eight hours.”
“Already in motion,” Óscar replied.
No hesitation.
No tension.
No trace of last night.
Their voices moved like synchronized blades—clean, sharp, detached.
Lucas stood near the window, watching them both.
Too smooth, he thought.
Too controlled.
That was never a good sign.
“You’re aligning too well,” he said suddenly.
Catalina didn’t look up. “That’s the point of an alliance.”
“No,” Lucas replied. “That’s the point of a merger.”
A subtle shift.
Óscar leaned back slightly, eyes flicking toward Catalina.
“She doesn’t merge,” he said.
“I don’t,” Catalina confirmed.
Lucas exhaled slowly. “Then be careful. Alignment breeds dependency.”
Catalina closed the file.
“I don’t depend on anyone.”
Her tone ended the discussion.
But her fingers lingered on the paper’s edge.
A fraction too long.
Óscar noticed.
Of course he did.
—
Hours later, Catalina stood alone in her office.
The city stretched beneath her—an empire she had carved from nothing. Every building, every contract, every alliance bore her fingerprints.
Control.
Absolute.
Her reflection in the glass stared back—composed, immaculate, untouched.
But her mind betrayed her.
The memory returned.
Uninvited.
Unwanted.
His hand at her waist.
The shift in his breathing.
The moment she had not pulled away.
Her jaw tightened.
Weakness.
Temporary.
Correctable.
She turned away from the window.
A knock.
Lucas entered without waiting.
“You’re distracted.”
“I’m working.”
“You’re avoiding.”
She met his gaze.
“Careful.”
“I’ve earned the right not to be,” he said calmly. “He’s affecting you.”
“He’s useful.”
“That’s not what I said.”
Silence.
Lucas stepped closer.
“He’s the first man who hasn’t bent.”
“That makes him valuable.”
“That makes him dangerous.”
Catalina didn’t respond.
Because Lucas was right.
And she hated that.
—
Across the city, Óscar stood in his penthouse.
He had tried to work.
Tried to focus.
Failed.
His phone sat on the table.
Her contact.
He hadn’t called.
Didn’t need to.
He knew her type.
She would run.
Not physically.
Strategically.
Emotionally.
She would rebuild her walls—stronger, colder, more impenetrable.
And that, somehow, made him want to break them more.
He exhaled sharply.
“She’s not the problem,” he muttered.
“You are.”
His phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
He frowned.
Opened the message.
“You think the alliance protects you?
You’re both already marked.”
Óscar’s expression hardened instantly.
Not a bluff.
Too precise.
Too deliberate.
He picked up his jacket.
There was only one person he needed to show this to.
—
Catalina didn’t react when he walked into her office unannounced.
She never did.
He placed the phone on her desk.
She read the message once.
Then again.
No visible reaction.
“Trace it,” she said.
“Already tried.”
“And?”
“Nothing.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Nothing is nothing.”
“Whoever sent it knows how to disappear.”
Silence.
Then—
“They know us,” she said.
Óscar studied her.
“You sound certain.”
“I am.”
A pause.
Then—
“And that means,” she added softly,
“This just became personal.”
Her phone buzzed.
Another message.
Simultaneous.
Both devices.
Same sender.
Same timing.
“Tick tock.”
Catalina’s fingers curled slightly.
Not fear.
Recognition.
This wasn’t random.
This was targeted.
Calculated.
Intimate.
And for the first time in years—
Catalina Valverde felt something she did not control.
Uncertainty.
Somewhere in the city, a man watched both of them through live surveillance feeds… smiling.
“Let’s see,” he whispered,
“which one breaks first.”
The message changed everything.
Not immediately.
Not visibly.
But fundamentally.
Catalina did not panic.
She recalibrated.
“Run parallel traces,” she ordered. “Financial, digital, satellite. I want patterns, not guesses.”
Lucas nodded and left.
Óscar remained.
“You’re taking this seriously.”
“I take everything seriously.”
“No,” he said quietly. “You’re taking this personally.”
Her gaze sharpened.
“There’s a difference?”
“There is when it affects your judgment.”
Silence.
Then—
“Leave,” she said.
He didn’t move.
“You don’t give orders to allies.”
“I give orders to everyone.”
A beat.
Then he stepped closer.
“That’s your problem.”
“And what’s yours?” she asked.
A pause.
Then—
“You don’t know when to trust.”
She almost laughed.
“I don’t trust.”
“That’s not strength,” he said.
“That’s isolation.”
Her voice dropped.
“And yet, here you are.”
Their eyes locked.
Tension—controlled, restrained, dangerous.
Then—
her screen lit up.
Incoming alert.
Both of them turned.
A security breach.
Not internal.
External.
But precise.
Targeted.
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