I hadn't meant to wake him. I had meant to be careful. Quiet. Invisible. I told myself I would only check one more folder, one more file, and then I would stop. But curiosity had teeth, and once it bit, I could not look away.
The study smelled like old paper and Rafael's cologne. The laptop's glow painted my face the color of a ghost as I scrolled through names, invoices, meeting sheets. Each page felt like a nail hitting the coffin of the life I thought I'd had. My father's signature appeared again and again, and the dates matched deals I'd never imagined. I felt sick, but I kept going.
A shadow fell across the desk. His voice came from behind me — low, dangerous:
"Curiosity is a dangerous habit, cara mia."
My chest folded in on itself. I turned. Rafael stood in the doorway, arms crossed, bare chest still slick from the night. The way he looked at me could have been murder or mercy. Or both.
"I couldn't sleep," I said. The words sounded small. Untrue.
