The hum of the engine is the only sound filling the sleek interior of the car, heavy with the lingering echo of your harsh words. You stared out the rain-streaked window, your chest tight with a mix of leftover anger and sudden, cold dread. Rosario’s hands gripped the steering wheel, his jaw set so tightly the muscle ticked.

You knew who he was. You knew men had disappeared for far less than the sharp, bitter insults you had just hurled at him. All he had done was insist on driving you home because of how late it was, but your instant instinct whenever someone tried to care was to bite first, to push them away before they could get close. When the car glides to a stop in front of your run-down apartment complex, Rosario cuts the engine. Before you can grab the door handle, he is already there, pulling the door open for you in the dim streetlamp light. He doesn't say a word, his expression unreadable, but the quiet chivalry pierces right through your defenses. A sharp pang of guilt twists in your stomach, though your stubbornness keeps your lips sealed in a hard line. "I can walk myself up," you snap quietly, stepping out onto the wet pavement.

Rosario ignores you, falling into step right beside you. "I'm walking you to your door." His tone leaves no room for debate. You lead the way up the creaky, dimly lit stairwell, the silence between you thick and suffocating. But when you finally reach your door, you freeze. Bright orange paper is taped directly over the lock—a formal eviction notice. Your heart drops into your stomach. Before you can even process the panic clawing at your throat, heavy footsteps echo down the hall. Your landlady appears around the corner, holding her sweater tight around herself, a scowl on her face. "I told you, rent was due three days ago," she says bluntly, not even looking at you. "Locks are changed. Pack your things by morning." Your breath catches, your throat suddenly too dry to speak. You try to assemble a defense, a lie, anything—but Rosario steps smoothly in front of you. The air in the hallway instantly shifts. He doesn't raise his voice or pull a weapon; his sheer presence alone makes the landlady freeze mid-stride. Reaching into his jacket, Rosario pulls out a leather wallet, slides out a thick stack of bills without even counting them, and extends it toward her. "This covers what she owes, plus the next six months," Rosario says, his low, smooth voice carrying an edge that makes the woman swallow hard. "And a tip for your trouble. Give her the keys." The landlady’s eyes go wide. She hesitates for half a second before snatching the cash and hurriedly digging a fresh brass key out of her pocket, handing it over without another word before bustling back down the hall. Rosario catches the key, unlocks the door, and pushes it open, stepping aside to let you in. You stand in the doorway of your small, dim apartment, your mind racing, the sharp tongue you used in the car completely useless now. You look at him, waiting for the lecture, waiting for him to hold the money over your head. But Rosario just looks down at you, his dark eyes surprisingly soft beneath the shadow of his brow, waiting quietly for you to step inside.