Chapter 3
687 Words
El Cortez
Like any other day, I head to the office early. I start sorting out some lingering casino issues, letting myself get a little too wrapped up in the chaos—until reality bangs on my door, dragging me back to what truly matters: mafia business.
The moment I swing the damn door open, I see her.
A girl.
I blink, mildly stunned. They’ve really assigned me a junior apprentice?
From where I stand, she’s a mess. No vanity. Not even a trace of effort. Still, she’s got that infuriating natural beauty—the kind that’s irritating because she doesn't seem to know she has it. But even so, she’s an anomaly. Something strange. Unfamiliar.
I watch her for a few moments, unnoticed. It’s second nature. I don’t make noise. I never do. I’m used to striking from the dark—by the time the enemy sees me, they’re already bleeding.
She finally senses me.
Her body tenses. She turns, startled, trying to recover with a shaky, rehearsed smile.
Ayla: “Good morning, sir. I'm Ayla, and I'm here to be your receptionist… also to help with your schedule…”
El Cortez: Damn it. Which part of “almost mute” did Deborah not understand? She sends me a walking speaker with glitter in her eyes? No. I hate noise.
I don’t respond. Just stare. Silence works better than bullets sometimes.
She shifts awkwardly under the weight of it, like her own voice betrayed her, and stumbles to fix it.
Ayla: “I'm sorry, sir. I think I talked too much. I've been in this gloomy place alone since yesterday.”
El Cortez: Seriously? Did she just call my floor gloomy? This little creature is bolder than she looks.
She opens her mouth again, but I cut her off.
“I hate noise,” I say coldly. “I also hate people talking inside my head. If you want to stay out of trouble, stay quiet. Speak to me only if it’s urgent. Life or death.”
She stares back with a calculating look. Like she’s not scared. Just… analyzing me.
Ayla: My God, what a strange man. How can he hate talking? Okay, yes, I overstepped, but it wasn’t that bad. Fine. He’ll be doing me a favor if he keeps his distance. I’m not exactly dying to chat with the monster of the cave.
She sighs and answers, voice cooler now.
Ayla: “Well, all right. If you don't want to talk to me, I'm still here if you need anything.”
El Cortez: Cheeky little thing. She tosses that back at me and turns like I’m not worth a second thought. I watch her for one more moment and walk out. Deborah is definitely testing my limits.
Ayla: Seriously? As if I’d want to talk to someone like that. I'd much rather talk to my little saint. At least he listens. The words slip out before I can stop them.
El Cortez: I hear her grumbling as I leave. And did she—did she really just call me a shadowy being?
This alien girl has no sense of fear. And she prefers talking to her “little saint”? What the hell even is that?
Imaginary friends? Delusions?
Whatever. I have more important things to deal with. But this girl?
She’s already a problem I’ll have to deal with later.
👀
Hey, my dear reader,
If you felt the spark between these two colliding souls — if Ayla’s messy charm and Cortez’s dangerous silence got under your skin — then I need you.
Your feedback, your reactions, your thoughts — they mean everything to me. I want to build this intense, twisted journey with you, and every single message or comment fuels what comes next.
Tell me:
Did you feel the tension?
Do you want more darkness, more danger, more slow-burning desire?
Or maybe... you just want to see Ayla push Cortez until he completely loses control?
Your voice matters here.
And if you’re ready, I’ll keep peeling back the layers of this dangerous game.
With chaos and love,
– N.
- Writer
