This Means War

9. - LUIS -

nine

- LUIS -

M ornings after a fight always felt surreal, like the world shouldn’t move forward so easily. I sat at my kitchen table, staring at my untouched coffee as the early sunlight crept across the floor. The events of yesterday kept replaying in my head—the fight, the media frenzy, Raf, and Miss Monica May.

I checked my phone, scrolling through the news coverage. Headlines ranged from factual to sensational:

· Attack on U.N. Staff Sparks Security Concerns

· U.N. Advisor Monica May’s Heroic Calm After Harassment

· Love and Loyalty? Speculations Surround U.N. Official’s Personal Life

The last one made me grit my teeth. They didn’t know her. Monica wasn’t the type to engage in that type of thing. Still, the world loved stories, and people twisted things they saw. The thought of her being reduced to tabloid fodder made my stomach churn. Then again our names being mentioned at all could blow our cover… or glue it permanently as things were.

There would be worse things than being stuck with Monica. But there was only one spot by her side.

By the time I arrived at the U.N. office, the tension in the air was palpable. Staffers moved with purpose, clutching files and laptops, their conversations hushed but intense. I walked through the halls, nodding at the occasional familiar face.

Near the elevators, two junior staffers were talking just loud enough for me to overhear.

“She didn’t even flinch yesterday,” one said, her voice tinged with admiration.

“Hardly a surprise,” the other replied with a knowing smile. “But did you see how both of those guys looked at her? No wonder the press is eating it up.”

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to keep walking. People loved to gossip. Still, their words lingered. Was it really that obvious, the way Raf and I hovered around her? Well, Rafael’s behavior was. But mine too?

Monica’s office door was slightly ajar when I walked by. Inside, she was seated at the head of a desk, surrounded by her team.

“No distractions, no leaks,” she was saying. “Security footage has already been submitted, but we’re not giving the press anything else to speculate on. We are here to do work, not be involved in online drama. Understood?”

The group murmured their agreement, shuffling to gather their materials before filing out. A staffer caught the door just as it was about to click shut and turned to me. “We’re finished if you want to go speak with her.”

I was committed now. “Thanks,” I replied, offering a friendly smile. As I stepped inside, I added, “You’re running a tight ship.”

Her head snapped up, and for a moment, surprise flickered across her face. She composed herself, before speaking. “Luis. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I wanted to check in,” I said, moving further into the room to sit across from her. “So yesterday was… a lot.”

She shrugged, picking up a stack of papers. “It’s part of the job.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s easy,” I said. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine,” she replied, almost distractedly. “Here I was wishing people would focus and not speculate on that murder, and now this has everyone’s attention. I guess you should be careful what you wish for.”

“Maybe,” I said, suddenly concerned about that backstory, “but that doesn’t mean you have to shoulder any of it alone.”

Her hands paused mid-motion, hovering over the papers. “I’m fine,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction.

“Monica,” I said gently, “I saw the way you handled everything yesterday. You don’t just manage the chaos—you become the calm in it. That’s a heavy burden to carry by yourself.”

She let out a dry laugh, shaking her head. “If I stop to think about it, the whole thing falls apart.”

“That’s not true,” I countered.

“Oh?”

“Well one,” I started, smiling softly, “I know it’s not because I do the same thing. And two, I think you are even better at it than me.”

Her gaze met mine then, and for a brief moment, I thought I saw something crack. As if she might be about to confess something. But just as quickly, the walls went back up.

“Thank you,” she said, her tone polite but distant. “I do have everything under control.”

Before I could respond, her phone buzzed on the table. She glanced at the screen, her expression tightening. “I need to take this,” she said, already reaching for it.

I nodded, standing. “You know where to find me.”

She didn’t reply, her attention already on the call. As I stepped out of her office, the bureaucratic buzzing halls swallowed me. The world kept moving, and so must we.

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I dialed a familiar number. It rang twice before a voice answered.

“Luis? Didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”

“It’s about yesterday,” I said. “I need a full debrief on what the agency has on this.” There was a pause on the other end, before an objection came I continued. “Let’s just say I have a vested interest.”

The voice sighed. “I’ll send you what I can.”

Hanging up, I looked out the windows, scanning the street. Something about yesterday didn’t sit right with me. The attackers were sloppy, almost amateurish, but they’d had enough nerve to act in broad daylight. That kind of recklessness usually meant one of two things: desperation or a distraction.

It was a scary day when you were rooting for desperation.

By late afternoon, the building had settled, the morning’s buzz gave way to the steady hum of life as usual. Online, though, the topic had exploded. Alerts I’d set up for my name—rarely triggered and never without warning—now flooded my inbox.

There was even fan cams on social media. Most of them had Raf spliced together with dramatic pop music, making him look both heroic and slightly unhinged. He looked hotter for it. Unfortunately.

By lunchtime, I didn’t dare step outside, and opted instead to order delivery. When the food arrived, I grabbed the bags and headed back up to Monica’s office. “Bought extra,” I said, holding up the bag like a peace offering. “Figured we’re safer eating in.”

“Safer?” She asked with a brow raised.

“I meant attention wise.”

“Ah,” she said and gestured to the chair on front of her. “Good point.”

“Let me guess.” She closed her laptop, leaning back in her chair. “You’re here to check on me again?”

“Can you blame me?” I said, gesturing vaguely to my phone. “The internet isn’t letting it go.”

“It never does.”For a moment, she didn’t say anything else, her gaze drifting to the street outside. The faint sounds of the city filtered in—honking cars, distant voices, the hum of a passing bus. Her fingers tapped absently on the table as if searching for a rhythm to match her thoughts. When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter. “Do you ever feel like you’re playing a role, and if you stop, even for a second, the whole world will realize?”

I frowned. “Sometimes. But that doesn’t mean you can’t take off the mask every now and then.”

She looked at me, her expression unreadable. “Do you?”

I didn’t have an answer for that.

It was past ten when I finally leaned back in my office chair, eyes tired from hours spent poring over reports that seemed more like attempts to bury the truth than anything useful.

Monica had left hours ago, but the memory of her lingering at the edge of my mind wouldn’t leave. Her words over lunch had stayed with me—fragments of something real, something beyond the usual surface.

The sound of a knock broke my concentration.

I looked up, half-expecting it to be one of the staff with another update, but instead, it was her.

Monica’s presence filled the doorway, a welcome contrast to the dimly lit room. She was dressed down now, her blazer gone, sleeves rolled up as if a document’s details literally had to be hammered out.

“Still here?” she asked, leaning against the doorframe.

I rubbed my face, tired but amused. “Was about to ask you the same thing.”

She smirked, stepping into the office with a fluid confidence. “Came to drag you out.”

I blinked in surprised. “Drag me out?”

She nodded, glancing around the room briefly before her eyes locked onto mine. “Yeah. We’ve both been here long enough to drive anyone insane. Let’s go get a drink.”

It wasn’t like her to step out of her carefully controlled routine, but I was too curious to question it. So, I smiled and pushed back my chair. “I’m not going to turn down an offer like that.”

She gave a small laugh, almost to herself. “Good. I was starting to think you might be afraid of having fun.”

“I have fun,” I said, grabbing my jacket and slinging it over my shoulder. “Just never at work so let’s quickly make our escape.”

Monica didn’t say much at first, the easy silence between us comfortable rather than awkward. She was different tonight—less guarded, less like the polished figure she usually portrayed.

We arrived at the bar after a short walk, a low-key place that seemed to welcome both casual conversations and deep thoughts. There was something cozy about it. The soft clink of glass, the low hum of conversation. I followed her to a quiet corner, and we both sat down.

A waitress came by shortly after, and Monica ordered a gin and tonic before turning to me. “You?”

I hesitated for a moment. “Whiskey. Neat.”

Monica raised an eyebrow. “Another classic.”

I smirked. “I’m just a man of simple tastes.”

She chuckled, then leaned back in her chair. “I thought you’d be more of a beer guy.”

“Beer is for casual evenings,” I replied, my eyes meeting hers across the table. “This feels like a night for something a bit stronger.”

Her smile faltered just a fraction, as if something in the way I spoke registered deeply. But she didn’t linger on it. Instead, she took a sip of her water, her eyes never leaving mine.

“So,” she began, her voice soft but steady, “what’s really going on with you lately?”

“Me?” I stared at her for a moment, unsure how to answer. Part of me wanted to joke it off, but there was a certain weight in her eyes that made me want to be honest, or at least try. “What do you mean?”

Monica nodded. “I spent enough time with Rafael that he mentioned you a few times.”

“Yeah?” I let out a quiet laugh. “What that ass say?”

She looked at me, her lips curling slightly. “You two have an odd friendship.”

I shrugged, my gaze shifting to my glass.

Monica was silent for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was almost softer than usual. “Friends don’t have to keep secrets from each other.”

The words hit me harder than I expected. I met her gaze again, and for the first time, I noticed almost a similarity she usually kept hidden beneath layers of professionalism. There was a quiet sincerity in her eyes, something real that made the air between us charged.

“That what we are?” I knew I sounded defensive, but the question seemed to have an echo. And I absolutely knew when someone was digging for information and it never felt all that friendly.

Monica studied me for a second, her lips pressing into a tight line before she spoke again. “I think in our jobs, it’s less about keeping secrets. More so about knowing when to share them.”

The tension in the air shifted. It was subtle, but undeniable. Somethingunspoken between us seemed to crackle in that instant, a shift in the dynamic, a new understanding settling between us.

“To… not doing everything alone,” I said, my voice low but sincere as I held up my drink.

Monica hesitated only a moment before clinking her glass against mine. “To not doing everything alone.”

We both took a sip, the world outside momentarily forgotten along side each other’s company and the feeling that we weren’t just colleagues, weren’t just two people caught up in the grind. There was something more now—something tangible that I couldn’t quite define, but that I knew was growing between us.

I looked at her, and for a fleeting second, I knew she felt it too.