CHAPTER NINE : LINES WE CROSSED AFTER DARK
2143 Words
⸻
In Thiago’s room, Aria’s eyes widened at the gym equipment. “Wow… is this a gym or your room? And all this stuff—are these yours?” She playfully jabbed at the punching bag. “No way you take care of yourself like this… hot.”
Thiago’s brow furrowed. “Don’t touch my things.”
Aria leaned closer, mischievous. “Well… one day, I might touch more than your things.” She let her hand hover near his jaw, smiling devilishly.
He shook his head in disbelief, walking toward his desk. “Where are your study materials for the project?”
“What things?” Aria teased.
Thiago groaned. “Don’t tell me you came here empty-handed. No books, no laptop, nothing?”
“Okay, fine. I have them,” she admitted. “I just… I don’t usually bother with stuff like this. I learn fast.”
Thiago’s eyes narrowed. “Really?”
She stepped closer. “Yeah, really.”
“Stop giving me that kind of attitude,” he muttered, cold and nonchalant.
Aria smirked, teasing. “What kind huh?”
Thiago’s gaze hardened. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.
“I’m in love with your definition of danger”. She stepped more closer leaving bare space between them.
He guided her to a chair, bringing out old textbooks Luciano had used. Opening his laptop, he set up the project. “Pay attention,” he said sharply.
As he explained, Aria rested her chin on her hand, watching him—the sharp lines of his jaw, the intensity in his eyes, the controlled power in his movements. She smiled to herself, but Thiago noticed nothing. He continued, cold, calculating, utterly focused on the project.
Her eyes trace his face.
His eyes.
His lips.
His jaw.
His chest.
No, Aria. Focus. You’re here to play him. Not like him.
Thiago snaps his fingers in front of her face.
“Are you listening?”
She blinks.
“Of course I am,” she smiles sweetly. “What else would I be doing?”
That devilish smile.
Thiago sighs and continues.
⸻
LATER – AFTER STUDYING
Thiago closes his laptop.
“That’s it. You should go.”
Aria straightens.
“So you’ll send me the rest online?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes light up.
“That means you’ll finally chat with me?”
He looks at her.
“…For the project.”
She groans softly.
“Boring.”
Then she smiles again.
“One day, you’ll chat with me for something more… personal.”
Thiago looks at her like she’s insane.
He exhales, turns away, heading toward the bathroom.
“I’m taking a shower.”
Aria stands.
“Wait—are you leaving me here?”
“You know your way home,” he says calmly.
“I didn’t drag you here.”
She folds her arms.
“I’m a lady. It’s late. You’re supposed to at least escort me.”
He pauses at the bathroom door.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he says without looking back.
“I’m not a gentleman.”
He goes inside. The door closes.
Aria stands there, stunned.
Angry.
Frustrated.
She exhales sharply, grabs her bag, and walks out.
⸻
SITTING ROOM
Luciano, Rico, and Diego look up.
Aria forces a polite smile.
“I’ll come back another time.”
They exchange looks as she leaves.
Cut to Thiago under the shower, water running, eyes closed—unbothered.
⸻
Chapter 9 (Kayden’s Family)
Quiet Deals Behind Polished Smiles
The Blackwood mansion didn’t need to shout wealth.
It whispered it.
Soft golden lights washed over marble floors. Crystal chandeliers hung like frozen stars above a long dining table set with silver cutlery and untouched wine glasses. Everything was precise. Intentional. Controlled.
Kayden Blackwood sat at the head of the table, jacket off, sleeves rolled slightly—relaxed, but never careless.
Across from him sat Mr. Blackwood, calm and composed, reading the evening news on his tablet.
Beside him, Mrs. Blackwood stirred her drink slowly, eyes observant, calculating—nothing escaped her.
Dinner had already been served.
This wasn’t a family that talked while eating.
Conversation came after.
Mrs. Blackwood was the first to speak.
“Elite Academy treating you well?” she asked casually.
Kayden wiped his mouth with a napkin.
“Same politics. Different faces.”
Mr. Blackwood smirked faintly. “That school trains power, not intelligence.”
A brief silence settled.
Then Mrs. Blackwood tilted her head, her tone smooth—too smooth.
“And Aria De La Vega?”
Kayden didn’t flinch.
Didn’t hesitate.
Didn’t look surprised.
“She’s… exactly who she thinks she is,” he replied evenly.
Mrs. Blackwood smiled.
“Confidence is inherited in that family.”
Mr. Blackwood finally set his tablet down.
“Alejandro called me this afternoon,” he said. “New investments. International expansion. He trusts us.”
Kayden leaned back in his chair. “Because you deliver.”
“And because proximity matters,” Mrs. Blackwood added softly.
Kayden met her eyes. “I know.”
No argument.
No resistance.
Just understanding.
Mrs. Blackwood continued, “Aria is reckless. Emotional. But she opens doors most people don’t even know exist.”
Mr. Blackwood nodded. “Keeping her close keeps us closer to Alejandro.”
Kayden exhaled lightly.
“I already spend time with her.”
“Good,” his father said. “Not as an obligation. As alignment.”
Kayden gave a half-smile. “I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t see the advantage.”
Mrs. Blackwood studied him. “Do you like her?”
Kayden paused—just a second.
“She’s useful,” he said carefully. “And unpredictable.”
Mr. Blackwood chuckled. “That’s usually dangerous.”
Kayden’s eyes darkened slightly.
“I know how to manage danger.”
A silence followed—heavy, approving.
Mrs. Blackwood reached for her glass.
“Just remember, Kayden… emotions ruin strategies.”
He stood, adjusting his jacket.
“I don’t confuse the two.”
As he walked away from the table, Mr. Blackwood called after him,
“Tomorrow night. Alejandro’s charity dinner. Aria will be there.”
Kayden didn’t turn back.
“I’ll handle it.”
⸻
DE LA VEGA MANSION – LIVING ROOM – NIGHT
The front door swings open.
ARIA DE LA VEGA steps inside, heels in hand, makeup flawless, posture defiant.
The lights snap on.
MR. ALEJANDRO DE LA VEGA stands there. Suit loosened. Tie undone. Furious.
MR. DE LA VEGA
Do you know what time it is?
Aria doesn’t answer. She drops her bag.
MR. DE LA VEGA
Answer me.
ARIA
Late.
He scoffs.
MR. DE LA VEGA
Late?
You disappear. No calls. No messages. Every night it’s the same thing.
ARIA
Maybe because you only notice when Mom isn’t here.
That hits.
MR. DE LA VEGA
Don’t do that.
ARIA
Why not? She’s on vacation. Again.
And suddenly you remember you’re a father?
He steps closer.
MR. DE LA VEGA
I care about your safety.
ARIA
No.
You care about control.
Her voice cracks—but she doesn’t cry.
ARIA
You weren’t there before. Don’t pretend now.
MR. DE LA VEGA
You’re seventeen, Aria. The world isn’t safe.
ARIA
Neither is this house.
Silence. Heavy. Painful.
MR. DE LA VEGA
(lower, tired)
You can’t keep coming home late. Branching off. Putting yourself in danger.
ARIA
Then stop acting like you’re doing me a favor by caring.
She grabs her heels.
ARIA
Either be my father…
or stop forcing the act.
She walks past him, straight upstairs.
Mr. De La Vega stays frozen, anger melting into regret.
CUT TO BLACK.
The room was quiet.
Not the peaceful kind of quiet—
the heavy kind.
The kind that sat on Thiago’s chest when the lights were off and sleep refused to come.
He lay flat on his back, one arm tucked beneath his head, staring at the ceiling as if it might finally answer the questions that had followed him his whole life.
Once…
he had been a happy child.
Seven years old.
Laughter came easily then.
Smiles were natural, not something he had to remember how to fake.
He could still see it if he closed his eyes.
His father lifting him up, spinning him around until the world blurred.
His mother’s voice—soft, warm—calling him inside before it got too late.
That boy didn’t know what loss felt like.
Didn’t know what abandonment meant.
Then everything broke.
His father died.
And just like that—
his mother disappeared.
No goodbye.
No explanation.
Just absence.
The day they left him at the orphanage, Thiago didn’t cry.
Not because he was strong—
but because he didn’t understand yet.
He was seven.
Too young to know that some wounds don’t bleed.
They just stay.
⸻
The orphanage was not a home.
It was survival.
The older kids noticed him immediately.
Quiet.
Small.
Different.
That was enough.
They gave him names.
Pushed him around.
Took what little he had.
Cold showers that lasted too long.
Work that was too heavy for a child his age.
Orders barked at him like he wasn’t human.
Even the adults—the ones meant to protect him—looked away.
If he complained, they reminded him of one thing:
“You’re an orphan. You have no rights.”
So Thiago learned something early.
Silence kept you alive.
By the time he was nine, the laughter was gone.
By ten, his eyes had hardened.
By twelve, hope felt like a joke people told to weaker kids.
That was the year he tried to run.
He didn’t get far.
They caught him before sunset.
Dragged him back.
Locked him into the life he was trying to escape.
That night, sitting alone, cold and shaking, Thiago made a promise to himself:
If no one is coming to save me…
then I’ll become someone who doesn’t need saving.
⸻
The day Don Marco walked into the orphanage, no one knew who he really was.
He didn’t look like a monster.
Didn’t look dangerous.
Just a man in a tailored coat, calm eyes scanning the room.
The children reacted instantly.
Smiles appeared.
Postures straightened.
Everyone suddenly behaved.
Everyone—
except Thiago.
He sat on the floor, sleeves rolled up, quietly washing clothes that didn’t belong to him.
No excitement.
No begging eyes.
Just a child who had already learned disappointment.
That was when Don Marco noticed him.
Not the loud ones.
Not the ones performing happiness.
The silent boy.
When the caretakers spoke, they spoke badly of him.
“He’s difficult.”
“He’s not bright.”
“He causes problems.”
Excuses.
Warnings.
Don Marco listened—
then looked back at Thiago.
A boy too calm for twelve.
Too detached.
Too broken to pretend.
“I’ll take him,” Don Marco said.
The room froze.
The protests came quickly.
Reasons piled up.
But Don Marco didn’t change his mind.
Because he didn’t see a problem.
He saw potential.
At twelve, Thiago learned a different kind of childhood.
Not cartoons.
Not playgrounds.
Not warmth.
Don Marco believed survival was a language that had to be taught early.
So while other boys learned how to laugh freely, Thiago learned discipline.
How to stand still.
How to listen without speaking.
How to move with intention.
Don Marco never raised his voice when teaching him. That was the part that stayed with Thiago the most.
“Control first,” Don Marco would say calmly.
“Strength comes later.”
Thiago was taught how to defend himself, how to stay alert, how to read danger before it arrived. He learned how to handle weapons—not recklessly, not with excitement—but with restraint. With respect. With rules.
Every lesson came with one reminder:
“You don’t use power because you’re angry.
You use it because you have no other choice.”
Those lessons hardened him—but they also saved him.
Because for the first time since the orphanage, someone wasn’t hurting him.
Someone was preparing him.
And even though Thiago never called Don Marco “father,”
that was the moment his life quietly shifted—
from abandoned
to claimed.
⸻
That night, as Thiago lay in his bed years later, the memories faded slowly.
The orphanage.
The cold.
The boy he used to be.
Don Marco hadn’t just taken him away from that place.
He had given him something Thiago thought he’d never have again.
A familia.
Not perfect.
Not soft.
But loyal.
And that was how the boy who once needed saving became the man who trusted no one—
except the family that chose him when the world didn’t.
That was how Thiago was made.
Cold.
Controlled.
Unbreakable.
And that past?
It was the reason no one ever truly got close.
from abandoned
to claimed.
- Writer
