⊰ Marcel ⊱
I stand before Mercy, taking my phone from the dresser and slipping it into my pocket. She sits on the edge of the bed, her fingers twisting anxiously on her lap, her gaze downcast. The silence between us is heavy, a tension that’s been lingering in the atmosphere since I stepped out of the bathroom just a few moments ago.
Something’s wrong.
I can see it on her face, the way she won’t meet my eyes. My brows furrow, concern mingling with a growing sense of uneasiness.
“I… I withdrew from my classes,” she confesses, her voice barely above a whisper, trembling like a leaf in the wind.
For a moment, I merely stare at her, stunned, shock and disbelief coursing through me.
She did what?
Slowly, I shake my head, irritation sparking in my chest. “Why didn’t you talk to me about it first?”
Tears glisten in her eyes, and I can see the guilt and pain etched onto her face. “I’m sorry,”
Content Advisory: Depictions of mental health crisis, substance abuse, and reckless endangerment. Reader discretion is advised. The wailing of police sirens pierces the night air as I sit frozen behind the wheel of my car, my heart pounding in my chest. I see police officers out of every window, guns pointed at me as red and blue lights flash in my rearview mirror, a dizzying kaleidoscope that makes my head spin. Or maybe that’s just the alcohol and the THC coursing through my veins, the intoxicating haze that had seemed likesucha good idea at the time. What the hell was I thinking..? The thought echoes in my head as I stare blankly ahead, my hands trembling on the steering wheel. In one hand, I clutch a bottle of my favorite cheap screw-top wine. In the other, a dab pen. I take another sip from the bottle, the sickly sweet liquid sliding down my already numb throat, before bringing the pen to my lips and inhalin
⊰ Marcel ⊱ I sit in my office, my head in my hands, the weight of the world bearing down on my shoulders. The silence is deafening, broken only by the ticking of the clock on the wall, a mocking reminder of the time slipping away, the distance growing between us with each passing second. How did it come to this..? The thought echoes in my mind as the memory of the look on Mercy’s face lingers. I can still see the fear and regret etched into every line, the tears glistening in her eyes as she confessed her betrayal. This CIA deal, the immunity offered in exchange for taking down Luciano… it’s a knife twisting in my gut, a bitter pill that I can’t seem to swallow. How could she go behind my back like this? How could she make a decision that affects us all without even talking to me about it first? Do I really want to know the answer..? Anger simmers beneath my skin, a familiar heat that threatens to con
⊰ Marcel ⊱ As I stand in the doorway of our bedroom, I take one last lingering look at Mercy’s sleeping form. She looks so fragile, so broken, curled up on the bed, her hair fanning out across the pillow. The sight of her like this, so vulnerable and shattered, it tears at something dark inside me, a painful reminder of my own failures, my own shortcomings. I pushed her to this point. The thought haunts me as I force myself to turn away, to close the door softly behind me. As much as I want to lock myself in the room with her, to lay with her, to hold her, the night isn’t over yet. With the looming threat of Luciano and now the CIA breathing down our necks, I have to reconvene with my family, to figure out our next move. But as I make my way downstairs, each step feels like a mile. I know what awaits me in the parlor—the judgment, the anger, the bitter reality of the mess we’ve found ourselves in. I’m only seconds awa
I lay in bed, my eyes closed but my mind wide awake, listening to the soft rustling of clothes as Marcel moves about the room. It’s late, or maybe it’s early—I’ve lost track of time, the events of the day blurring together in a haze of fear, anger, and desperate relief. The exhaustion weighs heavy on my body, but my thoughts refuse to quiet, racing with the consequences of my choices. I hear him approach the bed, each footstep a comforting yet terrifying reminder of his presence. The mattress dips as he slides in beside me, the warmth of his body radiating across the sheets. For a moment, I stay still, my breathing even, not ready to face him yet. With everything that’s happened, everything that could have happened, it feels like there's a physical pressure on my chest, a burden I’m not sure I’m strong enough to bear. Suddenly, I feel his strong arms around me, and he pulls me into him, his steady heartbeat thumping against my back as he holds me close. The scent of
⊰ Marcel ⊱ I sit on the sofa, the leather cool against my skin, watching the gentle rise and fall of Mercy’s chest as she sleeps. It’s been an hour since I pulled myself from her warm embrace, my mind too restless to allow me the luxury of sleep. As I sit here, the events of last night replay in my mind, a vivid reel of passion and desperation. The way Mercy clung to me as we made love at 2AM, her body molding to mine like we were two halves of a whole, finally reunited. The way she felt in my arms, so soft, so perfect, like she was made just for me. God, I love her. I love her so much it hurts, a constant ache in my chest that only eases when she’s near. She’s the light in my darkness. But as much as I want to bask in the afterglow, to lose myself in the memory of taking her, I know we need to talk. There are things that need to be said, realities that need to be faced, no matter how much I wish I could shield her from them.
I sit on the couch in my study, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my sweater as I avoid Katherine’s gaze. This is our third session this week, and I can feel my walls going up, my defenses rising with each well-meaning question. How many more of these is Marcel gonna make me sit through? “Mercy,” Katherine says softly, her voice calm and soothing. “Can you tell me about your parents?” I chuckle humorlessly, a bitter sound that grates on my own ears. “There isn’t much to say,” I mutter, my eyes fixed on the pastel yellow plush rug beneath my feet. “They’re dead.” She doesn’t flinch at my bluntness, doesn’t recoil from the harshness in my tone. Instead, she leans forward slightly, her eyes filled with a compassion that makes my chest ache. “How did they die?” she asks gently. For a moment, I’m tempted to tell her everything, to spill the secrets that have been festering inside me for so long in hopes that I’ll be left alone. But I ca
I linger on the memory for a moment longer, my heart racing in my chest. As I blink out of my thoughts, I notice Katherine is watching me closely, an unreadable expression on her face. “Levi slapped me once,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “When I was fifteen. We were arguing about money, and I said something awful to him. I told him…” I sigh, battling my hesitation as I breathe out, “I told him I wished he had died instead of our parents.” I glance up at Katherine, expecting to see judgment in her eyes, condemnation. But instead, I find only compassion, a deep understanding that makes my throat tighten. “He felt terrible about it,” I continue, my gaze dropping to my lap. “He apologized right away, and he never did it again. I think… I think that’s why I never blamed him for it. Because I knew how much it hurt him, how much he regretted it.” She leans forward, her forearms resting on her crossed legs. “Mercy,” she says gently, her voice fir
⊰ Marcel ⊱ I sit at the head of the conference table, my gaze sweeping over the faces gathered before me. Levi, Santiago, and Guillermo flank me on either side, their expressions carefully neutral. Across from us, Ben and Pablo, the two CIA agents who have infiltrated my organization, the men who used my wife as a pawn in their game. It’s been a week since Mercy’s breakdown, a week of watching her struggle through therapy sessions, of holding her as she cries herself to sleep. A week of barely contained rage simmering beneath my skin. But I keep it in check, my face a mask of calm control. I need to play this smart, need to turn the tables on these bastards who think they hold all the cards. It’s time to settle the score. “So,” I begin, leaning back in my chair, my tone deceptively casual. “Where are we with the nano-drones?” Pablo clears his throat, meeting my gaze with a confidence that sets my teeth on edge