SIGNED AND SEALED; Still falling

"Ahh... Javier, harder!"

My hand froze on the door handle. For a moment I couldn't breathe, couldn't move. The sound crept under my skin, unsettling and intrusive, echoing down the long hallway as if I didn't belong there.

I told myself no. My chest tightened as my mind scrambled for excuses, for logic, for anything other than the truth hammering against my ribs. *Javier would never do that*, I whispered, though the words sounded hollow even to my own ears.

I had left work early that afternoon, my heart at ease and my arms full of food from his favorite restaurant, a cheap bottle of champagne tucked under my arm. The whole way there I had pictured his smile, the way he would laugh when I told him I was dying to celebrate his promotion and our future together.

Another moan drifted from down the hall, higher than the last. "Javier, I want to feel all of you... please don't stop!"

"I'm not stopping." His voice, followed by the unmistakable sound of skin against skin. "Not until your legs are shaking and your body understands that you belong to me and should only want me."

"Ahh, I love you!" came the cry, louder this time.

The mansion suddenly felt colder, its polished floors and high walls closing in around me, heavy with old money and secrets I was never meant to uncover. My steps were slow and hesitant as I moved down the hallway, as though my body already knew what my heart still refused to accept.

I pushed the door open, and there they were. Javier Montoya, completely naked, moving over another body with sweat running down his face, unaware of my presence. My knees weakened as I stood in the doorway taking in the scene. Then the woman beneath him cried out again in that unmistakably familiar voice, and my eyes flew wide open as they found her face.

Paloma. My best friend.

The same Paloma who had eagerly helped me hand out my wedding invitations, who had sat beside me sobbing at my dress fitting as though she truly felt it, the same Paloma who had promised to be the godmother of my children.

For an instant the world went completely silent. Then everything shattered all at once.

The sharp crack of the door brought them back to reality. Paloma let out a strangled gasp and clutched the sheet to her chest, while Javier startled, looking caught like a criminal but without nearly enough remorse.

"Catalina..." his voice trailed off, thick with shock and guilt.

"No," I said quietly. My voice came out too calm, too steady for what I had just witnessed, surprising even me. "Don't you dare tell me it's not what it looks like."

Paloma ran a hand through her hair, visibly trembling. "Catalina, I never wanted this to happen."

"Really, Paloma?" I let out a laugh, but it came out sharp and cruel. "So are you sorry, or do you just feel guilty?"

Javier pulled on his shirt, his expression shifting from guilt to irritation. "You need to calm down."

"Calm down?" My voice rose, flooded with disbelief. "You're cheating on me with my best friend and you expect me to calm down. Javier, our wedding date is already set!"

He ran a hand through his hair, growing more agitated. "Can you drop the drama? We both knew this was already falling apart." He paused, letting the words land before readying the next ones. "You're a good person, Catalina, but you're too simple, too ordinary, too predictable. I need someone who fits into my world."

"Your world?" All the color drained from my face as I stared at him. "And it took you five years to realize I don't fit into your world? Javier, our wedding is in two weeks!"

"It's already been canceled," he said, dropping it as though it were nothing.

My mouth fell open. "What are you talking about?"

"I canceled the wedding," he repeated, with the same indifference as the first time.

"Javier, this marriage is supposed to be between the two of us. You can't cancel it without my consent," I said quietly, nausea rising in my throat. "When did you do that?"

"I was going to send you a message, but then-" He cut himself off, exchanging a knowing look with Paloma before going on. "It wouldn't have mattered anyway. The only person you invited was Paloma, and she already knows." He paused, then murmured what came next as though the words carried no weight at all. "You have no family. You have no friends."

"Javier, you can't do this to me," I whispered, my lips trembling. "You said you loved me."

His gaze drifted slowly around the room, settling on the designer furniture and the expensive wine glasses as though seeing them for the first time. "Don't remind me of what I said. You're still living paycheck to paycheck. You're always talking about volunteering and helping people in need. I'm trying to move forward and you're holding me back."

"But you-" I gasped, wiping tears from my face with the back of my hand.

"Don't overthink it," Paloma said softly, as though she were doing me a favor. "He's right. You're not like us. You've always been a good person, but goodness doesn't get you far here. Javier will soon be at the head of his family's empire, and what he needs is a woman who knows how to wield power, not just a nice girl."

There it was. Plain and simple. Not enough. Too good. The words that seemed to follow me everywhere.

I had worked hard, stayed honest and loyal, believing that love would make all my effort worthwhile. But now, standing before the two people I had trusted most in the world, I saw clearly what I had meant to them. A stepping stone on someone else's path.

With a heavy heart I swallowed, my legs trembling beneath me. "You know what?" I said, barely above a whisper. "You deserve each other."

And without looking back, I left.

The moment I stepped outside, the cold hit my skin hard, carrying all my losses away with the gentle breeze. By the time I reached my apartment it was already night. The place was small - a single room with a bathroom and kitchen, barely enough for my bed. I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, trying to catch my breath, letting my tears finally fall and run down my face without stopping.

My phone buzzed with a notification and I reluctantly lit up the screen, hoping for an apology from Paloma or Javier, something to explain that everything that had just happened was a joke. Instead I found a message from my landlord.

*"RENT PAYMENT IS OVERDUE. YOU HAVE UNTIL FRIDAY TO VACATE."*

"Oh God," I whispered, my fingers trembling as I held the phone. "No option to renew?"

I was still trying to process that when the phone buzzed again - an email from Diah's Corporation.

*"WE REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT YOUR CONTRACT HAS BEEN TERMINATED WITH IMMEDIATE EFFECT."*

Earlier that week I had heard that the marketing agency I freelanced for had gone under and was laying off half its staff. I just hadn't known I would be one of them.

Staring at the screen, I felt nothing. In a single day I had lost my job, my fiancé, and my best friend, and in a few days I would lose my home as well. Before I could stop myself, my knees gave way and I sank to the floor, dissolving into laughter that held no humor in it whatsoever. Pure exhaustion.

"Perfect," I laughed under my breath. "Just perfect."

The room was silent, a stark contrast to the chaos inside my head. Then the last memory I had of my mother came to me, words of encouragement resonating softly in the quiet. *"When life falls apart, don't cry. Build again."*

I had to do something. I had to put my life back together, or I would end up on the street - worse off than the very people I had spent years trying to help.

She stayed in bed long after that night. Not asleep. Just lying there, staring at the ceiling while the shock settled into something heavier and quieter.

The next two days blurred into each other. Unpaid bills on the table. Three in the morning with her eyes wide open. A grief that came and went in waves with no warning.

By the second morning something shifted. Not hope exactly. More like stubbornness. She couldn't undo any of it, but she wasn't going to lie there and let it take her apart either.

She started looking for jobs and barely came up for air. Waitress, temp work, admin assistant, anything that could cover rent. Nothing was enough. She applied anyway, refreshed her inbox every twenty minutes, tried not to think about Friday.

She was about to close the laptop when she saw it.

*PERSONAL ASSISTANT WANTED. High-profile client, discretion required, immediate start, competitive salary. Montoya Industries.*

She stared at the name longer than she should have.

All of Madrid knew who Alejandro Montoya was. The kind of man business magazines wrote about in the same sentence as words like brilliant, ruthless, untouchable. Javier's uncle. The one who never smiled in photographs and somehow made that look deliberate.

She attached her résumé and hit send before she could talk herself out of it.

By midday she'd given up and was flat on her back again, fully prepared for silence. Then her phone rang.

*Interview confirmed. 4:00 PM. Montoya Industries, Madrid.*

She read it three times.

Three hours later she was standing in a lobby that made her feel underdressed just by existing inside it. Three receptionists looked her over with that specific polished curiosity that meant they'd already decided something.

"I have an interview," she said. "Catalina Rivas."

One of them checked her screen. "Mr. Montoya will see you now."

Catalina blinked. "Mr. Montoya himself?"

"Top floor. Private elevator."

The ride up felt endless. Thirty floors, forty, fifty. When the doors opened she walked into a wall of glass and sky and silence that looked nothing like an office and everything like a statement.

She found his secretary outside the door, introduced herself, got looked over the way you look over something you're not sure belongs there.

"You can go in."

His voice hit her before she'd fully crossed the threshold.

"Catalina Rivas. You're late."

She glanced at the clock. 3:56.

"The interview was scheduled for 4:00," she said.

"Then you should have been here at three fifty." He didn't look up from his laptop. "Punctuality isn't about arriving on time. It's about being ready before time."

She pressed her lips together. "Noted."

He looked up then, finally, and the full weight of his attention landed on her like something physical. She sat, crossed her legs, kept her hands still in her lap and her eyes away from his. The room felt too quiet.

He felt too sure of himself. The kind of sure that doesn't need to fill silence with anything.

"Catalina Rivas," he said, looking at something on his tablet. "Twenty-five. Marketing background, freelance work, no stable employment in the past year."

Her cheeks went warm. "That's not exactly how I'd put it."

"I prefer precision." He set the tablet down and looked at her directly for the first time. "You don't look like someone who belongs in my office."

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Nervous. Unpolished. Out of place." Said it like a weather report. "I wouldn't compare you to even the lowest member of my staff."

Her fingers tightened on the strap of her bag. She felt small and hated feeling small. "With all due respect-"

He ignored her and leaned back, studying her the way you study something you haven't catalogued yet. "How far would you go to keep your life from falling apart, Miss Rivas?"

"Is that part of the interview?"

"Consider it practical." He opened a folder and slid a document across the desk. "I'm not looking for a personal assistant."

She looked at the paper.

There was a number at the bottom that made her forget how to breathe.

"I'm looking for someone who can play a role."

She looked up. "A role?"

"Temporary. Events, dinners, travel when necessary. The public will believe you're my fiancée."

The word dropped into the room and stayed there.

"Your what?" she said.

"Fake fiancée." Said it like quarterly projections. "Three months, possibly extended. You'll be compensated at the end of the contract."

She stared at him. "You're joking."

"I don't joke." He folded his hands on the desk. "The family patriarch wants stability. The image of a settled man. That's a distraction I can't manage with someone real."

She looked at the contract again. Monthly stipend, completion bonus, numbers that could undo everything that had gone wrong in the last forty-eight hours and then some.

"You could hire anyone for this," she said. "A model. An actress. Why me?"

"Because you're nobody."

She felt that land somewhere behind her sternum. "Pardon?"

"No public profile. No scandals. No social ambitions. You're safe." A pause. "And desperate enough not to say no."

"Wow." A short laugh. "You really know how to make a girl feel special."

He didn't react. "I'm not looking for special, Miss Rivas. I'm looking for reliable."

She put the papers down and made herself think straight. "Do you understand how insane this is? You're asking me to pretend to be engaged to a man I just met. To live in your house. To hold your hand at parties."

"In public, when necessary - affection, familiarity, the illusion of intimacy. Nothing more."

"And your family?" she asked. "What if they figure out it's not real?"

"They won't. There's a confidentiality clause. Break it and the penalties will be unpleasant."

She looked at the signature line.

Fifty million dollars.

She couldn't make that in five years of nonstop work, and she was going to get all of it for three months?

The thing about Javier and Alejandro could wait.

She picked up the pen and signed. Her hands were shaking.

Alejandro reached over to collect the papers and their fingers brushed. Brief. Electric.

Their eyes met for a second and she caught the smallest shift in his breathing before he looked away.

"There are rules," he said, putting the contract away. "You'll live in my residence, be available when I need you, and you won't confuse this for anything other than what it is."

"What does that mean?"

"It means you don't fall in love with me."

She almost laughed. "Trust me, Mr. Montoya. That won't be a problem."

He looked at her for a long moment, like he was filing something away, then stood. "Good. My driver will take you to the penthouse tonight."

"Tonight?"

He turned toward the window.

Madrid spread out behind his reflection, vast and indifferent. "We have a gala tomorrow. You'll need something to wear." She opened her mouth but he was already done with the conversation.

"Welcome to the contract, Miss Rivas. Let's hope you're worth the risk."

The elevator doors opened onto a world Catalina had only seen in movies. Old money and modern interiors, richly combined. Everything was elegant, clean, silent - as though even the air had been polished.

The penthouse stretched on without end. Clean lines, expensive taste, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, marble floors gleaming under soft recessed lighting, furniture that whispered elegance rather than shouted it.

She walked in slowly, her reflection multiplying across the shining surfaces. "This place looks like it doesn't allow fingerprints."

Alejandro didn't answer. He handed his jacket to a uniformed woman who appeared almost without sound.

"Nina, this is Miss Rivas - the lady I told you about," he said, throwing her a knowing glance.

"Welcome, Miss Rivas." The woman, somewhere in her mid-forties, gave Catalina a brief nod. "I've prepared your room in the east wing," she said, and led the way, walking ahead of Mr. Montoya.

Catalina murmured a thank you, clutching her small bag like a shield, following slowly behind Montoya and Nina, quietly taking in the place.

As they moved through the halls she couldn't keep her eyes from going wide. A library bigger than her entire apartment. A piano lounge. A gym that looked like it belonged in a luxury hotel. She didn't have nearly enough time to absorb all of it.

"Do you live here alone?" she asked, catching up to Alejandro even knowing he might not answer. She asked anyway.

He glanced over his shoulder. "I work too much to entertain company."

"Clearly."

He stopped in front of a glass door that opened onto a terrace overlooking Salamanca. "Miss Rivas, privacy here is non-negotiable," he said evenly. "No guests without my approval, no interaction with the press, no wandering where you don't belong. Stay in your room unless I say otherwise."

Catalina crossed her arms. "Understood. No curiosity, no fun, just sitting here in captivity."

He looked at her, and for a second she thought he might smile. Then his expression locked back into place. "I'm not paying you for fun or freedom. Follow the rules and in a few months you'll be gone."

She fired back before she could stop herself. "You're not paying me to be quiet either, but that seems to be your favorite thing."

Nina cleared her throat behind them, reminding Catalina they weren't alone.

"Miss Rivas," Alejandro said finally, "this arrangement only works if you follow my lead. My family will see only what I want them to see. You'll smile when I say, speak when necessary, and never forget that this is a business."

She wanted to say something sharp, something that would crack that perfect composure of his, but the look in his eyes stopped her. So she nodded and said nothing.

"Good," he said, turning away. "Tomorrow you'll meet with my stylist. She'll handle everything for the gala."

---

The next morning started with a knock at the door.

"Miss Rivas?"

Catalina groaned, burying her face in the pillow. "Please tell me it's still dark outside."

"It's eight thirty," Nina said firmly. "You have an appointment."

Less than an hour later Catalina was standing in front of three stylists who looked like they'd stepped straight out of a fashion editorial. Clothes, fabric swatches, trays of jewelry - everything gleamed.

"Mr. Montoya said elegant, not princess," one of them murmured, circling her. "We need something understated."

Catalina blinked. "Understated? You mean affordable?"

"You'll see." One of the women smiled, a dimple showing at the corner.

Two hours, a hundred outfits, and a hair consultation later, Catalina barely recognized herself. Her hair fell in glossy waves over one shoulder, her makeup subtle but transforming. The dress was midnight blue, fitted in all the right places, with a slit just high enough to make her nervous.

When she came back into the penthouse living room Alejandro was waiting, adjusting his cufflinks. He looked up and his mouth opened.

"Too much?" she asked, self-conscious, tugging at her dress.

His voice came out low. "No. It's fine."

"Fine?" She raised an eyebrow. "That's all?"

He cleared his throat, breaking the moment. "You'll do."

She smiled thinly. "You really know how to make a girl feel special."

He gave her a look that could have been exasperation or restraint. She couldn't tell which.

---

The gala was held in the Torre Montoya ballroom. All chandeliers, champagne, and money. Cameras flashed as they arrived, Alejandro's hand steady at the small of her back, the warmth of it sending confusing sparks through her nerves.

"Smile," he murmured. "They're watching."

She lifted her chin, forced composure, played the part. He steered her through introductions - business partners, investors, politicians. She nodded and smiled and let him lead. But every so often she caught him watching her, like he was gauging how convincingly she was playing his game.

Then she noticed the man across the room. Arrogant smile, not bothering to hide that he was staring.

"Who is that?" she whispered, her palm going damp. His gaze made her uneasy.

"Matteo Del Castillo," Alejandro said slowly, voice low. "That bastard."

Before he could say more or she could ask, Matteo was already crossing toward them, smiling the kind of smile that hides a blade.

"Alejandro Montoya," he said, drawing out the name. "I hadn't realized congratulations were in order. Fiancée, hm?" His gaze slid to Catalina, lazy and sharp. "You've upgraded."

Alejandro's hand tightened slightly at her waist. "Matteo." His voice was flat. "Always a pleasure."

Matteo's smile deepened. "You wouldn't mind if I asked her to dance?"

"She's not available," Alejandro said, polite but final. "Don't make me say it twice."

"Oh, I see," Matteo said lightly, eyes gleaming. "Then maybe you wouldn't mind proving it."

Alejandro didn't take the bait right away. He held Matteo's gaze for a long moment, the kind of silence that made the air feel thick, before Matteo finally smiled to himself and drifted away, dissolving into the crowd as easily as he'd appeared.

Alejandro turned to her then, expression still unreadable but something quieter underneath it.

"They're watching," he murmured, low enough for only the two of them.

His hand moved up her back, firm and sure. He drew her close - close enough that she could feel the heat coming off him, close enough that the noise of the room seemed to pull back and leave just the two of them standing in the middle of it all.

"Alejandro," she whispered, her heart hitting hard against her ribs.

His gaze dropped to her lips. "Smile," he said softly. "And don't flinch."

Then slowly, he leaned in, his mouth a breath away from hers, the whole world holding still around them.