CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Ruben
The faint buzz of my phone pulls me from sleep, and I roll over, squinting against the glare of the screen. A text from Lennon flashes, and the words make me pause.
Lennon: You need to stop being so awesome.
I blink, my brain still wrapped in the fog of sleep. What the hell does she mean by that?
Ruben: Eh?
She doesn’t leave me hanging. The reply comes quickly.
Lennon: My friends think you’re perfect.
Ria from the hospital and Nikki both say they’re in line if I ditch you.
I smirk, fully awake now. She’s cute.
Ruben: Jealous?
Lennon: A little bit.
In my mind, I can see her biting her lip, trying to hide that grin that drives me insane. I take a second to enjoy the mental image before I type back.
Ruben: I only care what you think.
Lennon: Well, that’s reassuring.
Ruben: I don’t share, Lennon.
There. Let’s just put that out in the open. We haven’t had the talk yet—no labels, no rules—but with Lennon, it’s not even a question. She’s mine, and there’s no chance I’d let anyone else even think otherwise.
Her reply comes fast, and damn if it doesn’t hit me in the chest.
Lennon: I won’t share you with anyone either.
I grin.
Ruben: Calling dibs?
Lennon: Yes!
Ruben: I think you need to lick me first.
There’s a long pause, and I can almost feel her shock through the phone. Then, just when I think I’ve got her cornered, she sends a sassy remark.
Lennon: Do I need to remind you of my intentions last night?
Hell. The way she looked at me last night, the way her voice dropped just enough to set my blood boiling… Yeah, I remember. I groan, my body already reacting to the memory.
Ruben: You’re going to kill me.
Lennon: No one has died of blue balls, Ruben.
Right now, I really think it’s possible, I think as I type back.
Ruben: I beg to differ.
Lennon: My break is over, I need to get back now.
Ruben: Run while you can, Chispita .
She sends back a kissy-face emoji, and I laugh. She’s playing dirty, and I love it.
I toss the phone onto the bed, running a hand over my face as I stare at the ceiling. I’m not just falling for her; I’ve already fallen hard. This is what happened to my siblings, wasn’t it? I used to watch them tumble one by one like dominoes, teasing them from the sidelines. Now it’s my turn.
But, God, it feels good.
The phone buzzes again. I glance at it, half-hoping it’s her with one last jab, but it’s not. It’s a reminder of the day ahead—documents to review, calls, responsibilities. Right.
Still, there’s one thing I need to handle before any of that, and it’s currently pressing against the front of my boxer briefs.
I shake my head, grinning like an idiot as I head for the shower with the image of her naked and tangled in my sheets taking over my mind. Lennon’s going to be the death of me, but what a way to go.
? ? ?
It’s 6:00 a.m., and the VIP lounge hums with low voices, the soft rustle of newspapers, and the clink of coffee cups at the long bar. My flight hasn’t been called yet, but I’m already in motion. Sitting still has never been my strength, and it won’t start now.
The man I’m up against isn’t just cunning; he’s ruthless. Aiden Fisher doesn’t lose. He’s built his reputation on it and worse, he’s built my career on it. For years, I was the perfect protégé, climbing the ladder he set against the walls of his empire. But I’m not climbing anymore. I’m here to tear down the whole damn thing.
My laptop sits open, the glow of the screen illuminating the mess of documents and hastily scribbled notes spread across the table. Aiden Fisher’s world is a labyrinth of shell companies, offshore accounts, and paper-thin alibis. He’s precise, almost obsessive in the way he covers his tracks. But no man is flawless.
“Follow the money.” His voice echoes in my mind, one of the countless lessons he drilled into me when I was a wide-eyed law student, desperate for a shot. “Money leaves traces, no matter how cleverly you try to hide it.”
And Aiden? He’s arrogant. He thinks he’s untouchable. That arrogance is going to cost him.
The flight to Miami is five hours, and I’ve barely looked up since we left the runway. The first-class cabin is quiet, the hum of the engines a soothing backdrop as I dig deeper into the rabbit hole. I scan property records, tax filings, and bank transfers, each piece of data connecting like threads in an intricate web.
Then I stumble on something strange.
Recurrent payments.
For four years, Aiden paid someone a few bucks a month marked as “private support” before the deposits abruptly stopped.
This doesn’t fit. Aiden Fisher, the man who believes every dollar spent should return fivefold, paying child support? It’s laughable. He’s the ultimate bachelor, a man who wears his single status like a badge of honor, with a different “flavor of the month” draped over his arm at every event.
So why would he willingly part with even a dime?
I bookmark the records, making a mental note to dig deeper. Maybe it’s nothing—a calculated investment or a favor he expected to cash in on later. Or maybe it’s a thread that will unravel something bigger.
I shake my head, trying to refocus, but my thoughts drift. It’s not just Aiden’s maze of lies that keeps me going. It’s her.
I glance at my phone, the last text from Lennon a reminder of why I started the war.
Lennon : Heading to the hospital. Safe travels, Ruben.
She has no idea what I’m really doing. She knows I’m off to Buenos Aires on another business trip, and maybe that’s true on the surface, but what I’m really doing is planning a lifetime.
For her.
In Miami, I grab a coffee during the layover and find a quiet corner in the lounge to set up again. The conversations in the lounge fade into the background as I pull up more files. Aiden’s empire is vast, spanning multiple industries and continents. Real estate, luxury goods, energy investments… if it’s profitable, he’s there.
But it’s one real estate transaction that catches my attention.
One of his companies bought a block of land for triple its market value, only to sell it to a shell company two months later. On paper, it’s clean. Profitable, even. But I know better. This is classic money laundering.
It’s small, almost insignificant, but it’s a crack. And cracks widen under pressure.
I jot down notes, mentally constructing the narrative I’ll need to bring him down. This isn’t just about freeing myself from his grip; it’s about building something better.
The nine-hour flight to Buenos Aires stretches long into the night. Most of the passengers are asleep. The cabin lights are dimmed, but I can’t rest. My body is buzzing with energy.
I scroll back to the recurrent payments, my mind racing. Why did they stop after four years? Did the recipient fall out of favor? Did Aiden find a way to silence them?
Aiden Fisher’s life is like a perfectly curated gallery—polished, calculated, and hiding a collection of secrets behind locked doors. Every move he makes is deliberate. Every dollar spent is a seed he expects to grow into something bigger.
Whoever received those payments must have been part of a larger scheme. But what?
I glance at my phone again, unable to resist the pull of her. Lennon. She’s at the hospital now, probably halfway through another grueling shift. She gives so much of herself to everyone around her. She deserves more than this, more than stolen moments between shifts, more than the constant uncertainty of a man caught in a war he didn’t start but damn well plans to finish.
She deserves stability. A future.
And that’s what I’m fighting for.
Somewhere over the Caribbean Sea, the pieces begin to fit together. The evidence is piling up, and Aiden’s empire is starting to look less like a fortress and more like a house of cards. One well-placed move, and the whole thing will come crashing down.
I glance out the window at the vast expanse of darkness, the stars scattered like whispers of light. The thought of Lennon keeps me grounded, keeps me sharp. She’s the reason I’m here. She’s the reason I won’t fail.
I send her a quick text, grateful for the amenities this first-class seat provides.
Ruben : Hope your shift’s going okay, Chispita . Thinking of you.
Her reply comes just minutes later.
Lennon : Exhausted already, but I’ll survive. Miss you.
She doesn’t know how much those words mean to me. She doesn’t know how much I’m willing to fight for her.
I’m fighting Aiden Fisher.
He’s not just another lawyer; he’s a strategist. A manipulator. And for years, I was one of his pawns.
Not anymore.
As I pour over the documents one more time, a thought strikes me: What if the payments are more than just a thread to pull? What if they’re the key to unraveling everything?
I close my laptop and lean back, exhaustion tugging at the edges of my mind. But I can’t rest, not yet. Not until I have what I need to bring him down.
This isn’t just a battle for freedom from Aiden Fisher. It’s a war for the life I want with her by my side.
And I don’t lose wars.