Chapter 3

The officer shook her head.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Rodriguez. That's not possible."

"Given your connection to an ongoing investigation, and Mr. Rodriguez being a high-profile suspect, there are security protocols."

Her voice was firm but not unkind.

Just professional.

Like Ethan.

I was a risk. A loose end.

Not a person with a shattered heart.

I nodded, unable to speak.

When she left, I pulled the thin hospital blanket over my head.

The darkness was a small comfort.

Tears I didn't know I still had flowed freely.

I cried for my lost love, for my monstrous father, for my murdered mother.

I cried for the naive girl I used to be.

She was gone forever.

Days later, they discharged me.

My shoulder was bandaged, my arm in a sling.

The first thing I did was find my phone.

I opened the messaging app.

Our last chat.

Ethan: "See you tonight, beautiful. Can't wait."

Me: "Counting the minutes! ❤️"

My finger hovered over his name.

I wanted to scream at him, to curse him.

But what was the point?

He wouldn't care.

My thumb slipped.

Instead of typing, I accidentally hit the call button.

My heart leaped into my throat.

Panic.

I fumbled to hang up, but it was too late.

It was ringing.

He answered on the second ring.

"Cole."

His voice was crisp, official.

No warmth. No recognition.

Just like at the gala.

My breath caught.

I should hang up.

But a desperate need for information, for anything, made me speak.

"Ethan... Agent Cole," I corrected myself.

"It's Maya."

Silence on his end.

Then, "What do you want, Ms. Rodriguez?"

Ms. Rodriguez.

So formal. So cold.

"My father," I stammered. "How is he? Can I see him?"

"That's not information I can provide to you."

His tone was sharp, impatient.

"You should direct your inquiries through the proper legal channels."

"And Ms. Rodriguez," he added, his voice dropping to an icy command.

"Do not contact me on this number again. This line is for official business only."

Click.

He hung up.

I stared at my phone, numb.

Then, a notification.

A red exclamation mark next to his name.

He had blocked me.

Utterly. Completely.

No way back.

No room for even a shred of hope.

The pain in my shoulder flared, a sharp, stabbing reminder.

But it was nothing compared to the ache in my soul.

I couldn't sleep that night.

Or the next.

The image of that red exclamation mark burned behind my eyelids.

He didn't just break my heart.

He stomped on the pieces.

The detectives came back.

Daily interrogations.

Always polite, always probing.

"When can I see my father?" I asked them each time.

"He has a lawyer," they'd say. "Your visitation rights will be determined by the court."

I still clung to a sliver of hope that Dad was somehow less guilty than Ethan made him out to be.

Foolish, I know.

Ethan Cole remained a ghost.

He was everywhere in the news, the brave agent.

But he was nowhere in my life.

He had vanished as completely as the man I thought he was.

As if he never existed.

Except for the gaping hole he left behind.

A week after my discharge, my arm still in a sling, I went to the DEA headquarters.

A desperate, stupid act.

I didn't know what I hoped to achieve.

Maybe just to breathe the same air as him, to feel some connection, however painful.

The building was imposing, all glass and steel.

A fortress of justice.

Or a monument to my broken life.

Inside, the lobby was stark, official.

A wall caught my eye.

A Wall of Honor.

Photos of agents.

Smiling, proud.

Ethan's picture wasn't there.

"Looking for someone?"

His voice.

I spun around.

Ethan stood there, in a sharp suit, looking every bit the successful agent.

He gestured to the wall. "Undercover agents aren't usually displayed publicly. For obvious reasons."

His tone was matter-of-fact.

"You need to hire a lawyer for your father, Maya."

He used my first name. It felt strange.

"That's the proper procedure. They will handle visitation requests."

He sounded like he was giving advice to a distant acquaintance.

Not the woman whose heart he'd ripped out.

Not the woman who'd taken a bullet for him.

Even if he didn't know I'd done it for *him*.