*Mia's P.O.V *

My plans turn rocky after Mr. Reindorf explains how I will support him. I'm supposed to join his visits with the landowners and other stakeholders. He has already made hotel reservations and wiggled me into his entourage, much to the confusion of his board members.

"Don't worry. They'll understand once the plan is in place," Reindorf assures. I don't want to be his party pooper; I smile. He guides me back to the training centre where he's been teaching me a little taekwando. I am nowhere near good, though that can be blamed on my short stay.

"Do you really have to leave today?"

"Yeah."

"That's unfortunate." He grins nonetheless. "I guess I'll see you once the game starts."

"The 'game'?" I chuckle, "It's a game to you rich folks?"

"Of course not to me, but don't blame me if I retaliate whatever dirty play your family has in store. I heard they bought the landowners tractors."

"Already sealing their stake."

"Not on our watch." He stresses the word 'our' while maintaining eye contact. Dismissing it as decorum, my gaze rises to the clouds gathered. It's like they heard I was leaving and remarked, 'Nope'.

The 'nope' appears on the weather forecast as a competent travelling impediment. Reindorf suggests that I stay a bit, much to Desi's merit since she's enjoying the meals, the pool, and pretty much everything 'unavailable' back in our 'boring' home.

We are lounging in the hall when Reindorf questions, "What alias did Charlie use with the cartel?"

"Judas."

"Judas?"

"Charlie is a guy." Desi blurts as if anyone invited her to the conversation. I chuckle until I notice Reindorf's face. He blinks back embarrassment, causing Desi to crack up.

"Hahahaaa, show him a picture of Charlie!"

So I turn on my phone.

Instantly, Reindorf gapes at the image saved as my lockscreen: Charlie smiling with a camera in hand. It was on a trip where we kept sneakily photoing each other, only to get caught by taking simultaneous shots.

As Reindorf looks from the screen towards my face, his lips twitch. "You are that close?"

"Ur, ya." I scratch my head.

"Hmm. His face... it's quite confusing... It's not the face I'd expect of someone who could roll with cartels."

"He wasn't rolling with them," I retort.

"But you can agree he looks... a bit fragile. Naïve, even. How did he survive?"

"Fragile?" Here, I am getting defensive, but this guy and, in fact, everyone in the world needs to understand that: "Charlie is the strongest willed dude I've ever met and that's better than physical strength, if you ask me."

Reindorf scoffs again. "Damn, ok."

*

^
*
*Charlie's P.O.V*

I won't think about Mia.

My day is full of rest. It's almost like the sun and moon have a black chain dragging them to tell me what day it is. Sunday? Monday?

I won't think about Mia.

At least on Sunday, my father gathers everyone, including me, for mass. No one challenges him despite their desires to rest, so much so that I become the energetic one in our group. The service is uplifting, except for moments where people's questions remind me that I am in a wheelchair. In the end, I wish to scurry into the car forever.

I won't think about Mia.

My father, however, has other plans to introduce us to his church leadership pals. One of them asks how my father adopts such grown godly men, to which he remarks, "Ah, my sons. They are already godly men, huh?"

Harry nods and Leo restain themselves, whereas Sil spews tiny bouts of laughter.

"Behave," I whisper to her.

When the friend catches her, his daughter thankfully pops in to divert his attention.

"Aha, this is my dear Esther." The leader brings her forward. "She's heading the arts department for the youth."

"We know." Sil scoffs.

"Have I told you Esther is the head dance instructor too?"

"Wow." My father claps. "Leo loves dancing as well."

"Huh?" Leo snaps his head up. As he realises he has grabbed all attention, he clears his throat. "Er, ya."

That's when the daughter notices him, her face broadening into a toothy grin. She pulls out a flyer, which he accepts while the fathers continue talking. She shifts her weight as Leo scrutinises the flyer as if he can say no. When he looks up to her hazel eyes, he flushes. Harry has to pinch him back to his usual listless mode, by which time my father is bidding the leader farewell. We return home with the Word of God and a million ship names.

I adopt Harry's teasing tactics to get the bedroom all to myself. This time, the sleep is so sweet that I'm annoyed when Leo returns anyway, shifting me away from his beloved side of the bed.

"If I hear you say Lesther again, I will put you in a headlock," he seethes.

"Ooo. Chills." I jest.

My phone rings. As Monet's number appears, I get up, causing Leo to grunt, "Don't stand -"

"I'll be fine. Washroom." I take three long steps and say, "Right here." Then I enter. It's getting annoying how no one wants me to move on my own. For pete's sake, did the doctor say I should act crippled?

"Charlie?" Monet's voice squeaks through the line. I sit on the watercloset just as she adds,"Has the agency called you?"

"About what?"

"Check your socials."

"What are you on about?" I grumble as I check my Instagram, only to see people calling me an addict.

"What is this?"

"It's gonna get worse if you don't react, you know."

"You started this. Why are you telling me how to fix a problem you created? You better admit that it's a lie."

"I will." Her note drops to an octave. "This could ruin my chances, though. No one would like to work with me, and I just got into the new agency -"

"The one I -"

"Rejected." She cuts me off. "You rejected their offer. Don't fault me on that. And since you are having challenges with the cops, my proposition may help."

"How?"

"Just come to my place tomorrow. I'll explain."

*

I don't want to be here, but I think talking in person to Monet is best. I even dressed nicely, as if to prove nothing is wrong with me.

She opens the door after my third knock, clad in a silk cocktail dress.

"We have an interview," she explains by confusing me further. Before I can object, she shoves her phone in my face, playing what appears to be a CCTV footage.

Mastro comes to view in his room. He says something to his sister and drags something in. Me. I lie, passed out between them as they argue before finally carrying me onto the bed. Then, Mastro takes his shirt off -

"What is this?" I glower. Monet gulps as though scared, but I know better.

I yeet her phone and she blasts, "What is wrong with you?!"

"WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?! I SHOULD BE ASKING YOU THAT! WHERE DID YOU GET IT -"

"STOP YELLING, CHARLIE -"

I can't. I want to run into the street and get knocked down. I want to wring my neck. I want this to be a nightmare. I want.

Clutching my chest, I utter, "Do you have a duplicate video?"

"Yes."

"Show me."

She scoffs to my request and kneels to my level, picking her cracked phone with a vexed look on her face. It's nothing like my rage, though. I grip her wrist, but she pushes hard, making my wheelchair squeak.

"Be my boyfriend," Monet says.

"What?" I grimace.

"Today, we'll go out there as a couple. You'll explain that everything I said was well meaning, misplaced concern for her lover."

If there's a word to describe my emotions, it will be very, very long. I don't know where to begin or end. The middle is a steep, dark vacuum.

"Please." My hands clasp. "Who gave it to you?"

Instead of answering, she models to her car. A gloomy look cascades her face, but she quickly makes it to say, "Come."

What can I do, if not oblige?

*

The interview works out fine, though I don't see the point. Even Monet's announcement of us dating falls on deaf ears as the host was more intrigued by their poor baby's back injury.

When did my family let these weird hosts adopt me?

I brush off such questions since the FBI let me off the hook by the stroke of a luck I don't want to run out of. That said, I refocus attention to our perfume ambassadorial contract, which is almost through.

When that's done, I may technically be jobless - who knows if I can return to the accounting firm after Jackson's demise? And how can I model with my family's 'restaining order' over my head?

But that's the least of my problems.

The video.

The video.

The video.

I wanted to know.

I don't want to anymore.

It's past. It's a nightmare.

"Charlie," Monet perks as we exit the stage. "Shouldn't we live together now that we are official?"

I won't even listen, let alone reply. She goes on about this, whereas I rub my temples. No one needs to tell me my family is blowing up my phone at the moment. If they watched the interview, they would have seen me stand occasionally.

They may send me back to the hospital or lock me in my room. Their concern is well meaning, but I can't take it.

So I agree to stay with Monet just tonight. I maintain a room separate from hers, but by morning, this girl is climbing into my bed with a phone and ring light.

I appease her wants so long as she doesn't touch me. Few intrusive pictures later, and I go about my daily routine to the best of my abilities. Making breakfast turns out to be harder since she keeps her cerals on the top cupboards, and her fridge is dryer than the Sahara desert. I manage a bowl of fruit loops to be able to take my medication.

Speaking of my medication, where is it? I carry it with me everywhere, so it should be in my duffle bag. When the bag turns up on another top shelf, I beckon her to grab it for me, but she prefers to watch me.

The bag falls with a crash indicative of broken medicine bottles. Watching red liquid soak the bag, I hear Monet yelp, "You are so clumsy."

"You could have helped."

"Whatever." She turns away, ranting about a photoshoot for which she can't let me visit a pharmacy.

Once her photoshoot starts, I'm relegated to seat warming, set directing, and water-provision tasks. It is nice being in familiar waves of fashion, even if I am not the one under the lens. I swim through these waves until I remember the video.

I excuse myself.

"Where do you think you are going?" She catches me outside.

I'm just ... breathing, but am I alive? I look across the street before us, knowing it is no freedom, but it's a quick end.

"Oh God," I say, rebuking my mind when suddenly my wheelchair quakes violently. I look up to Monet's eyes as her photographer yelps on arrival at the scene. "Hey, hey, you are gonna hurt him."

"He's not hurt. He's pretending," is her defence. And that's how I realised that I'd be much safer with family than a partner like her.

It doesn't take too long for Leo to come for me. We don't talk the entire ride to the pharmacy. However, as we return, I try to make teasing remarks to erase his frown. I ask about things with Esther, and he sighs, "It's not gonna happen."

"Why?"

"Brenda is pregnant."

My jaw drops. Silence eats all emotions from my friend's face, leaving in its wake a dull remark, "She's convinced it's mine."

"What about her husband?"

"She never mentioned him. It's always: 'Oh, I love you. How can you be so cruel to me. I'm carrying your kid'." Leo shrugs.

I grimace.

This woman doesn't deserve my friend.

I assure him that no matter what happens, I'll be by his side. It's not a solid promise given the dark halos of my mind, but it's worth the small smile Leo returns.

We are welcomed home by a guest in the person of the FBI agent. Before the man can say Jack, but Leo groans, "He is tired. We are all tired of you. Tomorrow, ok?"

Leave it to Leo to rebuke authority. He'll be a great father. I restrain a chuckle when the agent turns to me to mutter farewell.

*

As promised, Leo sends me to the station. I am led into an empty room to wait. As officers walk by the window in the room, my gaze skims past their faces until it lands on Joe. Instantly, I rise to my feet. The door is locked all of a sudden, so I kick it.

Again. And again.

Joe doesn't even deign to look at me. She strides out of view, so I yell after her.

The agent bursts through the door.

"She started it! She and Jackson kidnapped me -"

"Charlie, sit down."

Is this man serious?! I glower at him, and he sighs. "She is not even here for your case. Sit. Down. "

What is she doing here?

"Not your concern." The agent reads my mind. "Don't you have enough on your plate already?" He positions my wheelchair for me.

Reluctantly, I sit, never mind my backache.

Settling across from me, he opens some files and says, "We just got this today. Anonymous. I guess this you."

His tonal shift tells what 'this' is beforehand.

"We have a video and some files..."

I don't hear anything else. My brain blanks while the agent explains how advantageous the sudden evidence is for me and how sorry he is that I went through that.

"Through what?" I utter, bowing my head.

The agent gulps. "Life has really been unfair to you -"

"I have been through what?" I cut him off. "I haven't been through anything the kids go through still. To date, there are still kids in the batches enduring sexual abuse while these rich people are gallivanting in institutions supposed to protect them." Then I push my chair forward, drawing closer.

"You can apologise to them instead, Sir."

For the first time today, the agent grins genuinely.

Yet he says, "You can get into big trouble if you do things how you like it. How about we help each other help them?"

"Ok..."

"And we can protect you, rather than going on your own into the storm." He stretches his fingers.

"Are your colleagues aware you are including a civilian in your operations?" I wonder.

He shrugs. "Those who have to know will know. And we will wipe out traces of 'Judas'. We are working on a new undercover identity for you."

This catches me off guard... in a good way.

Joe was here, however, so I am sceptical. I decide to think about it, exiting with a scowl to caution the agent. He better not use me like Jackson did.

Outside the station, Leo holds out my phone as the agent lets me go.

Checking who called, I am stunned by Mr. Palviokinsky's voice mail. It's not him, though, but rather, a nurse requiring me to come to him since his family can not be reached.

"Leo, we will have to go to this hospital..." I google the address. "No, Pamela's dad is in... this hospital."

"In the UK?"

"I nod, causing Leo to grimace, "Did you just say, Pamela's father?"

"Please. Pleeeease." I grab Leo's hand. "It may be urgent."

Eventually, he agrees.

*
^
*

*Mia's P.O.V*

Now that Reindorf knows Charlie is a dude, he's been editing all the emails he sent to his old colleagues. It was funny until I realised that Charlie could be mistaken for his sister, and since she has had issues with the law, Reindorf really needs to change the pronouns to avoid complications.

Hence, I'm still in Edington. I will leave once sure Charlie is in the clear.

I am scrolling through Instagram when I see Charlie has posted. It's a reel of him sleeping. He looks so cute with his hair in a mess.

But there is someone making funny hand signs above him. A lady. She has natural makeup on, but the way she lies close to him screams some form of ... intimacy?

I sit up and check the comments. Yep. Huh. They are 'relationship goals'.

The fuck?

It takes me an exhale to process this, and aftershock is maddening. I can't believe this.

I tell you I love you. You say you don't understand. And then you go ahead to start a relationship with someone else?

I feel like this boy just ripped out my lungs.