Page 47 of The Marriage Debt

I'm disgusted, though I'm not surprised. They want to look into this situation but they won’t get anywhere. Maybe that's the point. Maybe that's why Mateo let this humiliating parade go on. He knows he's got it covered already or something, just like before. I am getting worked up for no reason.

Marcella says, "Thank you, your honor," and my mother leans back like the whole thing has gone exactly how she expected it would. Marcella still won’t meet my eyes.

When they adjourn, I don’t wait for a word from anyone. I walk straight out of the courthouse, fists clenched so tightly the nail beds go white. Outside, the air is cold and sharp. I breathe it in like I need it to cut something loose inside me. The driver opens the car door without speaking, and I climb in before he can say anything.

The city moves past the window in blurred shapes. My vision’s too tight to see much of the landscapes. All I can think of is my face—half-lit, caught on some grainy frame, used to build the case that I'm faking a marriage to Mateo, all to keep my mother from getting Lev. It's true, but they don't actually know that.

I picture Lev sitting in his room, humming to himself while he draws one of his maps, not knowing that somewhere downtown, a stranger just suggested that he might be taken away. I picture Mateo, still armed with that calm, unreadable expression, as if the threat doesn’t touch him unless he lets it.

I sit still the entire drive back. I don’t speak. I don’t even blink. When we pass the outer gates of the estate, I still can’t feel my hands.

We pull up to the house, and I step out before the car fully stops. No one’s waiting on the steps—no security team, no Mateo. Just the door, slightly ajar like someone didn’t finish closing it.

I cut through the foyer and take the stairs past the second floor, straight up to the roof. My coat’s still half-open, fingers cold around the railing when I push through the door. The wind hits first—sharp, full of smoke and stone dust. Mateo’s already there, leaning forward with one forearm resting on the iron bar, a cigarette burning slowly between his fingers.

He doesn’t look at me. Not when the door shuts, not when my steps echo behind him. His eyes are fixed on the trees past the perimeter wall, like he’s watching for movement that hasn’t come yet.

“They called it a ruse,” I say. “Said the marriage doesn’t count. That I'm using sex to manipulate you so I can keep custody. That I’m dangerous for him now.”

Mateo doesn’t answer. He flicks ash off the edge, jaw grinding slowly like he’s chewing on the restraint it takes not to speak. His other hand curls into a fist on the railing. I don’t know if he’s angry at them or me.

“They showed a video,” I say. “Of me going into your room. Four nights in a row. It was just me checking on Lev and coming back to bed. I don't understand.”

That gets him. Not visibly, not all at once—but the cigarette stops halfway to his mouth. He finally turns to look at me. He lifts one eyebrow in nonchalance and breathes smoke out his nose.

“They’re trying to shame you because they’ve got nothing else,” he says. “That means they’re losing.”

“Don’t say that like it’s strategy,” I snap. “They’re talking about taking my son. That’s not a game you win easily.”

His mouth pulls tight, but he doesn’t argue. I take another step forward, close enough to see the exhaustion around his eyes. He hasn’t slept. He’s still in the same shirt from yesterday morning, sleeves rolled up like he’s too busy holding the house together to bother changing.

“Why do you keep doing this?” I ask. “Why haven’t you walked away?”

He turns back toward the railing, drags on the cigarette again, then exhales like he’s weighing the cost of telling the truth. The smoke curls past his jaw, carried off by the wind.

“I’m not doing this for you,” he says. “I’m doing it for him.”

“You’re lying.”

He crushes the cigarette under his heel, slowly, deliberately. Then he steps into my space and grabs my jaw with his hand, not rough but firm, thumb angled beneath my chin. His fingers are warm, his eyes colder than the wind around us.

“Then stop asking why I’m still here.”

His eyes haunt me as he leans closer, pressing his mouth to mine in a fierce kiss that takes my breath. A groan rises from my throat, muffled by his lips. Mateo deepens the kiss, angling my head back with the hand at my jaw, the other slipping underneath my jacket to linger over my heartbeat. His knuckles graze my skin, sending goosebumps across my arms.

Despite the cold wind whipping around us, heat engulfs me. I clumsily unbutton his shirt, the fabric falling away to reveal taut muscles and the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes just as heavily as I do. He pulls me closer, pushing me against the wall as if I weigh nothing at all. Our bodies press together, seeking solace and friction and contact that burns away the hurtful words and implications of the day.

Mateo's kisses trail down my neck, along the curve of my collarbone, reeling me in deeper into this lie we've created. His hand fists in my hair, tilting my face back to meet his intense gaze. "This," he whispers against my lips. "This is why I'm still here."

His words have a bitter edge, but I lean into his kiss anyway. I know it's twisted, both of us finding comfort in each other's arms when I should be trying to get away from this mess. But for just a moment, I want to pretend that this is real. That my feelings for him aren’t unrequited and he's not protecting us out of some misguided sense of duty.

My hands roam over his bare chest, desperate to feel his skin against mine. Mateo's grip tightens as if he's afraid I might slip away. He hoists me up, my legs wrapping around his waist, and pins me against the wall more firmly. His hands grip the backs of my thighs tightly. I use his shoulders for leverage.

The chill of the brick bites through my thin pants as he holds me there, already grinding against me. His lips trail down my jawline again, his hand closing around the hem of my skirt and hiking it up. I gasp, both from the suddenness of it and from how much I crave this recklessness from him.

My thighs chafe against his belt and slacks, but I squeeze him firmly between my legs as he unleashes his dick and rubs it against my center. Mateo watches me with an intensity that borders on feral. He’s always been in control, but now there's something primal about his movements. As if he’s a beast with no self-control. His hands grope me greedily. I feel his cock push against my entrance, and I let myself sink.

His thrusts are hard and punishing as he continues to lean into the wall, driving into me with an urgency that matches mine. The wind whips around us, and he's consumed by animalistic lust. I run my nails down his neck as he hammers into me from below, his grip on my ass tightening.

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