A glow from the wall clock read 2:17 a.m. casting a faint blue hue across the bare space of Enrique's penthouse bedroom.
The city below buzzed in silence, lights shimmering like a celestial constellation but inside, all that could be heard was the soft relentless clicking of keys.
Enrique leaned against the headboard, his laptop propped across his lap, sleeves pushed up past his elbows and hair damp from a late-night shower. The light from the screen illuminated his face — brows knit together in concentration, jaw clenched in determination.
He should've been asleep.
But there he was, knee-deep in curiosity.
He still lingered on the name in his search bar:
"Suzzanne Gutiérrez."
What he had typed, without a ounce of hesitation, instinctively.
The woman who had barged into his life, without warning— twice! — and somewhat had managed to stay!
Weirdly remaining in his mind, he couldn't quite name it.
He clicked through the search results — news articles, interviews, magazine covers.
She wasn't just successful, she was a force.
CEO. Philanthropist. Financial strategist. A woman who had apparently climbed the corporate food chain not with charm, but with power, precision, and strategy.
But as he continued reading, something else stood out to him.
Every article's "Personal Life" section was… blank.
No parents listed. No siblings. No partner. No affiliations.
It wasn't simply gone — it was erased. Sterile.
That couldn't be right.
He tilted forward slightly, clicking through the image tab.
And then — there they were. Dozens of photographs.
Suzzanne, in her sharp suits and sleek black hair, but not from red carpets or boardroom stages — though she was photographed with children. All different. A toddler with curly hair holding her shoulder. A preteen, smiling and mid-laugh, next to her. A girl about her age holding her hand as they walked across a street. Each photograph unique, each child unknown.
But the constant?
Her expression.
She wasn't smiling for the camera. She was smiling at them.
Not for show. Not for image. But for them.
Her eyes — typically cold, unreadable at close range — were… soft. Warm.
The sort of warmth that didn't come from posing.
Enrique's eyes lingered on one of the photographs: Suzzanne crouching down in a hallway, her forehead nearly pressed to that of a little boy. Her eyes closed. A serene smile on her lips.
It felt like such a private moment — too real for the internet.
He stared at it longer than he intended to.
Who are you really? he thought.
She had struck him — hard — from the instant she walked into that post-match meeting, composed, inscrutable and inarguably intimidating. But here … here she seemed like a different person. And the difference only intensified the urge.
There was a part of him that wanted to say it was merely curiosity.
A part of him that insisted it was a professional interest — a study of a woman who had risen to a level most only dreamed of.
But that wasn't true.
This went beyond that. Beyond admiration. Beyond coincidence.
Something about her lingered — in the corners of his mind, in the stillness of his nights.
He slowly closed the tab, exhaling out of his nose.
And yet, instead of closing the laptop, he opened a new tab.
This time, he was typing slower — thoughtful.
"Suzzanne Gutiérrez orphanage work?"
Something told him, there should be more to her.
And somehow… that only made him want to know her more.
Gutierrez and Co.
Morning sunshine shone the tall glass windows of Gutiérrez Corporation, blinding their polished marble floors and throwing deep shadows that crossed steadily over the vast expanse of the great lobby.
The familiar rhythm of the company hummed in the air — employees clacking on keyboards, low murmurs of conversation and sporadic shuffling as paperwork was handed from hand to hand.
Everything appeared normal.
Waiting at the reception desk, as composed as ever, was Maximiliano in a tailored charcoal suit with sleeves pulled back just enough to thumb through something on his phone.
He peered intently and occasionally nodded to a junior executive standing next to him, warming up with points from legal.
But his concentration was interrupted by a slight ripple in the room — not noise, not chaos… but presence.
Two men wearing nearly informal clothes strode through the main entrance, but their movement were firm and purposeful.
They did not stop at the front desk. They did not request to be announced. The way they walked was the usual air of confidence — they carried it like blades, cutting through the noise of whir and hum in the room.
They came to a halt in front of Maximiliano.
"Do you know the way to Ms. Suzzanne Gutiérrez's office?" the taller of the two asked, his tone even but freighted with insistence.
Maximiliano did not look up. His tone was clipped, distracted.
"If you have no appointment, do yourself a favor and walk out the door," he said, his eyes still glued to the tiny display in his hand.
A beat.
"We don't need that," the man said coolly.
Maximiliano's fingers paused mid-scroll.
Something about that voice — the calm certainty, the barely hidden warning lurking just under the surface.
Slowly his eyes dropped to their shoes — shiny, military-style black. Then up — black pant, gun holsters just visible beneath the jacket, badges clipped into position on their belts.
And finally — their faces.
Maximiliano stiffened. His back straightened, and for a moment his throat went dry.
It was him.
Eduardo Herrera.
The same officer from the charity event. The one who had stayed behind the yellow tape as they rolled a corpse into the frigid night.
The one who had held eyes with Suzzanne in a silence that could have broken glass.
"We're here to see Ms. Gutiérrez," Eduardo said, not raising his voice, but the demand in his words was unavoidable to ignore.
A thud reverberated through Maximiliano's chest.
"Why are they here?"
"Is this about the murder?"
"Is there… they think … she was involved....?"
Thoughts rushed through him like wildfire as his hand around the phone clenched slightly.
"No, this couldn't be. Not Suzzanne. She was ruthless, yes. Fierce. Calculated. But a killer?"
"Was this it? Were they here to arrest her? Confront her? Or... protect her?"
Maximiliano's jaw tensed. His brain scrambled for words to say.
"She's on the top floor," he eventually responded, his voice a half-octave lower than normal.
"But she's in a meeting. I'll have someone escort you—"
"No need," Eduardo interrupted, flashing a small polite smile that never quite made it to his eyes. "We'll find our way."
And with that, the two officers flanked him, walking further into the belly of the empire Suzzanne built.
Maximiliano remained freezed as he watched them walk into the elevator, feeling an enormous lump in his stomach.
Whatever peace the morning provided was over.
Something was about to shift.
And he had no way of knowing if Suzzanne Gutiérrez was about to achieve justice … or wreak havoc.
Author's Note:
Thankyou for reading<3
Have a Good Day/Night<3<3