For three damn years, Alonso and I shared a bed, but I never once slept in his master bedroom. Until that one night when things got unexpectedly intense.

I woke up nestled in his arms, letting myself dream things I had no right to.

I worked up the nerve to call him, hoping to ask if we could, you know, actually become a real couple.

But instead of Alonso's voice, Colette's laugh came through the line.

The next day at the promotion meeting, Alonso voted for Colette. It was down to the wire—one vote—and I lost everything. I signed my resignation and left for somewhere far away.

Later, at a gala, someone nodded toward the calm, collected Alonso on stage and joked, "Cecelia must know him pretty well, right? Dude used to be your brother, after all."

I forced a tight smile. "Not really."

Alonso was suddenly right behind me, his voice icy. "Really? Three years and you don't know me that well?"

His words silenced the room instantly. My nails dug into my skin. I barely managed to keep a smile.

"Well... yeah, a while back, I did crash at his... my brother's place for a bit."

Thank God for our messy family ties—they gave me just enough cover for a lame excuse. Alonso didn't add anything else, but I caught the faintest smirk on his lips. He pulled out the chair beside me and sat down all casual.

My spine went rigid, as if a live wire had just jolted through me, even though he didn’t say a word to me.

The others at the table quickly recovered and started chattering away with the big shot in their midst. Me? I was in a daze, completely thrown that Alonso was even here at what I'd thought would be some boring, run-of-the-mill industry summit.

Had I been naive enough to hope he wouldn't show? Or did some twisted part of me actually want to see him again? I honestly couldn't tell.

I made up some excuse and bolted, hiding out in a bathroom stall, completely spaced out.

Our whole "relationship" had been nothing more than three years of me deluding myself.

Then, from outside the stall, two girls started gushing, 'Oh my God, how the hell did they get Alonso Hunter to come? And him and Cecelia...?'

"You don't know? Before Alonso's dad lost his company, he'd remarried Cecelia's mom."

"Wow, Cecelia's got serious connections, being Alonso's sis and all. So why'd she dip from New York to Chicago?"

"Please. Alonso doesn't even acknowledge her."

I was dying for a smoke, but my pack was empty.

The day we had to identify the bodies at the station, I cried disparately.

Alonso didn't say a word, didn't shed a single tear—just pressed his lips into a thin line.

I clutched his sleeve so tight I probably ruined it. "Alonso... we don't have any family left."

He just peeled my fingers off one by one, his words cutting like ice. "Catalina, I'm not your brother."

Catalina.

That was the soft, affectionate name my mother used to call me. Now he was the only person left in the world who still used it, but he wouldn't even give me that.

I splashed cold water on my face, and when I stepped out, there he was—Alonso, leaning against the wall with a lit cigarette dangling between his fingers. I froze.

Back in the day, when I was drowning in data and about to snap, Alonso would make me a cup of coffee, then totally deadpan, confiscate my stash of smokes and lighter.

He'd be all stern. "Catalina, nicotine's trash for you. There are way better stress relievers."

Then he'd scoop me up and toss me onto his huge, king-size bed. My face would burn as I reached for his chin, but he'd frown. 'Smoke again, and I'm definitely not kissing you.'

Now he held that cigarette like a pro, totally at ease. He chuckled. "Three years at Misfit, and you're still stuck as a data analyst. Ian hasn't done much for your career, huh?"

I pressed my lips together. "Can I bum a smoke?" My voice came out so hoarse I barely recognized it.

In that dim hallway, Alonso studied me for what felt like forever before he moved in. I took the cigarette he offered, but he kept the lighter out of reach. I hesitated, leaning closer to his hand. A soft click, and a tiny flame flared between us, lighting our faces so close our breaths nearly mixed.

My heart pounded like a drum.

The flame didn't flicker out, but his breath got closer.

For a split second, I swore I saw my own reflection in his cold, clear irises. Then his eyes dropped to my hand, and his whole expression shifted.

In the next heartbeat he yanked back, as if biting down on a curse. "I must be out of my damn mind."

Then he turned and walked away without a backward glance. I looked down at my hand—the tiny ring on my ring finger. Wearing a fake band and claiming I was taken was the easiest way to avoid awkward advances and after-work mixers. I'd kept up the act for three years.

I didn't run after him. Just felt this crushing exhaustion hit me. I lit the cigarette but fumbled it like a total newbie, coughing till tears stung my eyes.

I leaned weakly against the wall, slowly sliding down—until a familiar voice cut through the fog. "Cecelia? Is that really you?"

My gaze lifted to find Colette, dressed to kill in an opulent, dramatic evening gown. The group clustered behind her, and I recognized them instantly—the algorithm team from LaunchTech, my old coworkers and my college friends.

Kaitlyn stood off to the side, dismissive as ever. "Colette, why are you even wasting your breath on her?"

I frowned, genuinely puzzled. Yeah, I'd left without a big explanation back then, but I couldn't recall doing anything to screw her over.

Colette's smile turned warm, almost friendly. "It's been ages, Cecelia. I heard you landed at Misfit. I figured we'd end up crossing paths again, either as rivals or maybe even collaborators. How come we haven't heard a peep from you lately?"

I narrowed my eyes a fraction, slowly pushing myself to my feet. "I'm just a data analyst. It's pretty unlikely I'd ever be working closely with Chief Engineer Colette."

My words just hung there, freezing everyone for a beat. Nobody in that crew knew better than me exactly what Colette had pulled to claw her way up to chief engineer.

Kaitlyn shot forward, anger flaring. "Quit playing dumb, Cecelia. You ditched LaunchTech for Ian. If Alonso hadn't been so damn lenient, you’d be facing some serious consequences right now."

I stood there, stunned by the insane accusation, opening my mouth to demand an explanation when Colette cut in smoothly. "Alright, let's just drop it. Alonso's waiting for us."

Her smile stayed gentle, but she leaned in close, her whisper hot against my ear. "If I were you, I'd steer clear of making an even bigger fool of yourself."

The LaunchTech crew swept out together, leaving me alone to finish my cigarette in the silence.

Three years ago, when I walked away, I was completely crushed. Ian had reached out, telling me Misfit would open its doors for me. I turned him down flat.

Misfit and LaunchTech were the two titans of the electric vehicle world. Despite whatever had gone down with Alonso, I couldn't just hop over to a rival company the second I resigned.

Back then, Colette showed up with a bogus job offer, my signature already on it. "Alonso's idea," she explained. "You've got talent that'll make you succeed anywhere. He's wishing you well."

By that point, Colette was LaunchTech's youngest chief engineer, while I felt like a total failure after four years of grinding.

I stared at that flimsy scrap of paper and let out a hollow laugh.

Alonso was that desperate to get rid of me.

With nothing but a light suitcase, I fled the chaos of the city, traveling over a thousand miles to that sleepy coastal town. Algorithms, data, dreams—they all felt a million miles away.

Back in my hotel room, I started packing for the crack-of-dawn flight. A knock at the door made me think it was just room service.

Swinging it open, my heart nearly stopped. Alonso.

Through the gap, his eyes zeroed in on my packed suitcase. "Leaving already? So damn eager to run back to him?"

I frowned, ready to snap back, but before I could get a word out, Alonso shoved his way inside.

He pinned me hard against the door, his hand cradling the back of my head, and in the scuffle, our bodies slammed the wall switch, drowning the room in a low, intimate glow.

His fingers bit into my chin, tilting my face up as he kissed me with a desperate, hungry passion. The whiskey on his tongue was shockingly sweet. I swore I heard him groan against my lips, "Catalina, Catalina..."

For a moment, I was completely undone, like the last three years had vanished and I was lost in that familiar heat between us all over again.

It wasn't until the cold air hit my bare skin that reality crashed back in. I shoved him off me, hard.

Alonso blinked, looking disoriented, as vulnerable as a lost puppy, his eyes shimmering.

After a few heartbeats, he pulled his usual cool mask back into place. "Why can't we? We were so good together before. You always enjoyed it."

I twisted my face away, mumbling, "We're not in that kind of relationship."

"What kind of relationship?" He locked his eyes on mine, relentless.

"You were legally my brother, and I still ended up in your bed for three goddamn years. What the hell is this? It’s just wrong…"

The words died as my palm cracked across his cheek.

Fighting the wave of shame crashing inside me, I sank my teeth into my lip so hard I could taste blood, refusing to let a single tear fall in front of him.

"That filthy, unbearable mess we had—can we please just let it go, brother?"

Alonso's face went deathly pale in an instant.

Like so many campus-crush stories, Alonso Hunter was the golden senior everyone worshipped. I'd read every paper he ever wrote, stealing glimpses of him from hidden corners of the library and study halls.

Back then, I was insecure, timid—the kind of girl who blended into the background. Even after I somehow landed a spot in his research group, I never could stand beside him the way Colette Gray did. She was the campus darling, moving in effortless sync with him, while I was reduced to the note-taker, the one stuck with all the grunt work.

Everything flipped the day my mom called, practically buzzing with excitement, announcing she'd found the love of her life and was getting remarried.

At that family dinner, I found myself staring across the table at Alonso, who sat there stone-faced.

Life really had a twisted sense of humor. I couldn't treat him as my brother—not just because of the pure disdain in his eyes, but because saying that word out loud would mean slamming the door on any hope of ever standing beside him as something more.

Though Alonso mostly treated me with cold indifference, over time, he let tiny slivers of warmth slip through.

On nights when I was buried in crunching numbers, he'd leave a cup of coffee on my desk without a word. When I made actual breakthroughs in my research, he'd offer the faintest hint of a smile. Just one glance from him was enough to send a young girl's heart racing, keeping me awake and buzzing all night.

I once told myself maybe this arrangement wasn't so awful. At least I got to live under the same roof as him. At least we gazed up at the same star-filled sky.

But then came the call from the police, informing me about the accident that stole my mom and her husband.

Standing over their bodies, covered by two stark white sheets, officers murmured their condolences. Overnight, Alonso and I became each other's only family.

Once the most promising chief engineer, Alonso was forced to leave behind the simulation labs and squeeze into a ill-fitted suit as the company's reluctant CEO.

One night, after we'd both had way too much to drink, I found myself clinging to him, laughing through tears, making wild promises. "Alonso, I'll work my ass off to become a top-tier engineer. I'll make sure LaunchTech cars drive down every single highway in this country."

His eyes lit up then, and he smiled that rare smile, agreeing softly.

Things unfolded naturally after that. The only real catch was waking up before him—always hyperaware of his mild obsession with cleanliness, and the unspoken rule that no one stayed in his bed. I'd carefully slip back to my own room, still feeling the soreness in my body.

The next day, he was already dressed, his expression carefully neutral.

He said, "I have zero intentions of dating or marrying anyone. Yesterday was just… an accident."

My smile froze, but I pulled myself together, shrugging like it was no big deal. "Don't sweat it. We're both adults. Just scratching an itch, right?"

He paused, caught off guard, then nodded, a flicker of relief in his eyes. "Right, that makes sense. We do get along pretty well, actually. If you're okay with it, maybe we could be… what's that term… friends with benefits?"

Tears burned behind my eyes, but I slapped on the brightest smile I could muster. "Sure."

At twenty-two, I had nothing but a heart that was far too sincere. I was so desperately in love with him that I clung to that pathetic little title, practically worshipping the ground he walked on.

From that day forward, by day, he was the head of LaunchTech, battling a board of directors crawling with hidden agendas. I was a diligent programmer, grinding away on the algorithms team.

By night, we poured all our pent-up passion into each other, and when dawn broke, I'd silently tiptoe back to my own room.

This arrangement was fine, I kept lying to myself. It was companionship, wasn't it?

That is until that day three years ago.

Exhaustion had hit us both like a freight train.

When I woke up to bright morning light, I was still tangled in his sheets. Alonso's arm was draped heavily across my waist, pulling me tight as if lost in some sweet dream.

In his sleep, he murmured, "Don't move, Catalina."

Fueled by a reckless mix of hope and courage, I finally worked up the nerve to call him that afternoon.

I asked, voice trembling, if there was any chance we could be something real—if he felt even a flicker of something for me.

But instead of Alonso's voice, Colette's giggle chimed through the line, light and cruel. "What? Alonso's in a meeting. Is this… Cecelia?"

I hung up. My heart stopped dead.

The next day, at the performance evaluation meeting, it came down to Colette versus me. The winner would become the chief engineer at LaunchTech.

I'd bled and sweated for three long years for this moment.

Yet, in the break room, I heard Colette sweetly thanking Alonso for his support, for locking in the deciding vote.

By a single vote, I lost everything. I filed my resignation in record time. As the plane lifted into the clouds, I whispered to myself, "Goodbye."

My memories were cut short by my phone buzzing.

Ian Guzman's annoyingly cheerful voice filled my ear.

"You're not flying home just yet, Cecelia. We've got a collab project with LaunchTech—and it's all yours to handle."