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Respect adult spaces. Don't be entitled. If you see a "MINORS DO NOT INTERACT" on a blog or post, DON'T.
I remember blocking a 14 -year-old in my old account when found them interacting with a smut masterlist. (Miguelverse)
I know in this media anyone with a mail can pass an as adult. I don't care if you believe yourself "mature enough" to digest adult content, but know that if I see a number below 18 in your bio, and you interact with my blog, you will be blocked ASAP. This is non-debatable.
WARNINGS: Mutual obsession, stalking, Criminal background for reader, mentions of poison and their symptoms, gentle manipulation of corpses, product placement, cat-mouse chase vibes, Miguel is expensive but so are you. Lowkey psychopatic behaviors. Reader's POV centered, Reader knows spanish.
Summary: You're preparing the playground for El Diablo.
Previous What If? Masterlist
Chapter 2: El Diablo is in the details
…25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30.
Thirty seconds.
Thirty seconds was all he needed to disappear among the sea of cars and people coming and going.
Thirty seconds for the leftover heat to disappear under your fingers, like the sliver of his cologne still tickling your nose.
Reluctantly, your feet turned in the direction he had just come from, tracing back into his steps as you put a pair of gloves on.
Up the stairs, around the corner, dodging some people that approached with concerned faces in hopes to hear news from their relatives, and right before the room El Diablo had been not so long ago.
Your chest puffed, thrilled as your hand itched towards the doorknob, and turned it.
Nothing but a monotonous, vexing beeping and a gust of cold and filtered air welcomed you. It enhanced the plethora of smells in the room: the chemicals still pumping into the deceased man you had lunch with, almost sixteen hours ago; the new filter musk from the ac, and… His scent. A new favorite.
Your tongue swiped over your lips upon the latter as your chest swelled with the remains of his perfume. Strong, but not too overwhelming. Expensive, like his world and everything he touched. And tempting, like the devil he was.
Enigma Pour Homme. Roja. Of course it had to be that one.
Or so you remembered from the receipt log your hackers had extended. Each perfume Miguel had bought was engraved in your lungs, so the day you’d cross paths you’d identify his favorite. And he did not disappoint. He never did.
Maybe until now.
The sheets half covering Allen’s body were crumpled with evident signs of struggle. Something that you didn’t doubt El Diablo was unfazed with. And his eyes, wide with this fear, many mistook as joy stared right back to you. Like meeting his doom all over again.
“I told you that salad was trouble, Allen.” Your eyes wandered over his abdomen, fuller than the others. Probably thanks to those diuretic smoothies he swore by and promised to make you one someday after your second date with him.
But it was perfect, as it created the right amount of fold to cover and hold things.
Your hands searched your pockets and pulled a sterile piece of paper sheet from a small manila folder, then took a disposable pencil and placed it over Allen’s chest to act as a table, since the rest of surfaces would only unnecessarily contaminate your note.
Your teeth sank into your lower lip as your hand wrote a simple message in it, never stuttering once. Then, gently, folded it and air-kissed it before placing it beneath the soft pouch of his abdomen.
“But thanks for your help, mi vida. You were wonderful.”
With nothing more to do, but to take the last whiff of Miguel’s perfume, you left the room.
Soon. Very soon.
You were grateful that the hospital purposely delayed whenever mob’s henchmen were the ones in their beds. The scum, or so they called the criminals, needed to be treated the same way they treated their victims, if not worse.
Studying Allen’s habits was easier than others, so his routine came like an unchallenging recipe to you. The man had the personality of a young wannabe entrepreneur despite his thirty two years following, dreaming big while scamming people with pyramidal schemes, using Miguel’s resources as his —maybe to make up for the reduced problem between his legs.
Big mouths always do so little.
Approaching him like the new girl in town had been like a fever-dream to his naive brain. Acting impressed with the useless knowledge he had, giving him fleeting and occasional touches to keep him hooked, and laughing at his terrible jokes had prompted his eventual fall.
As soon as your insiders told you where he’d be hospitalized, you were on your way. A bribe here to the security guards, a peek on the cameras there to know when Miguel had entered and when he was leaving, lead to the exact moment you purposely bumped into him.
The clipboard had been a nice touch, as it drew the attention he did not want at the moment. And also, had given your first bite of him.
You didn’t expect to meet such a fine and large man. The pictures your team delivered were good, but meeting unknowingly the devil in persona was a completely different experience.
But one bite wasn’t enough.
Not when the main course flaunted himself like the king, and the rest his peasants. Not when said delicacy had encroached into your side of the business and expected no retaliation in return just for being who he was.
And if there was something you loved about proving men wrong, was the look on their faces upon discovering your alias. Absolutely priceless and delicious. What kind of face El DIablo would wear?
A handsome one, you hoped.
That is, if he finds the damned note.
The return to the lab had been interesting at best.
First, your mind had come up with the wildest scenarios your revenge-starved brain could muster. All leading to the same result. Nueva York rising with a new underworld ruler such as yourself.
Second, the body fetching confirmation by one of the coroners, arrived in a text to your phone.
Allen had been picked up, and if the timing your agents gave you was right, the deceased henchman would be arriving within at least forty minutes into Miguel’s forensics building.
A thrilled beam widened in your lips. The mere thought of witnessing him discovering the note either by himself or through third parties, had your heart pirouetting and jumping in utter delight.
You had to shake the sudden fantasies your brain created as they sent a pleasant flush into your cheeks.
His discomfort would be first, and your tongue almost savoured it. You imagined him there, before the body, waiting for the most relevant questions to be answered. Followed by that lovely divot in his brows whenever he focused or pondered on something.
Would he think about me?
A silly question you knew, since, he still traced the ABC’s of clues you had been feeding him with.
The fantasy continued.
You could picture him there, standing before Allen with a stern and critical gaze, examining and looking for clues where none paid attention. You trusted in his keen eyes and prayed for him to find the note, or else an assistant would ruin his surprise.
The scene replayed vividly behind your eyes as you indulged your imagination. For a second you could hear his voice, mistrustful, ever commanding and demanding for answers his eyes asked alone.
Who did this? Why? What are they after? Why now?
The second and latter were your favorite. Vendetta would be too simple to put it, but effective to describe the main dilemma. All revolving around betrayal or even a more simple yet, loyalty. Or the lack of it.
Not only in your veins flooded the cursed blood of a fallen scientist and father, unfairly convicted for a crime he did not commit, and eventually killed in prison.
The System’s lack of pressure towards the investigations to reach closure had been deliberate. A bit too intimate perhaps, since the judge seemed particularly engrossed with delaying your father’s trials to returning him to freedom. As though they all awaited his death.
And when the news and his corpse were delivered to you, the line between being a system’s neglect victim and a victimizer blurred faster than Papa’s obituary and media impact.
You were sure that if alive, your father would disapprove of your career’s choice.
But it wouldn’t take you long to convince him to join you if you made the right ‘Please’ eyes he couldn’t say no to. And maybe the lack of boundaries was the main reason his dearest possession still remained in your power like a family heirloom.
Poison Diaries.
The epitome of sneaky toxicology. A little project Papa had been working on before his fall. His lessons with you on a Sunday evening were still missed from time to time.
Initially, the ‘how many drops would you need to make a man sick?’ question served no purpose, as there was none to explain you the whys, or show you the hows. What was to be done with all of that dangerous knowledge some people would kill for?
Let them pay in order to have it, of course.
And so, time made sure you went from a renown toxicologist’s assistant to an anonymous but prolific consultant. All thanks to Papa’s morbid fascination with natural toxins that crowned you as Nightshade (Your favorite poisonous plant) in the felonry map.
And what better way to honor his legacy by finishing his research with El Diablo's men?
Originally, the man that haunted your dreams and business, was another don you had to avoid as many people had told you that Nueva York was his playground. So you looked elsewhere, away from his territory to avoid any unnecessary turf wars.
While your Diablo walked and pranced through the streets and made appearances from time to time into the exclusive social circles, anonymity remained on your side like a trustworthy ally. It was your signature. Because, God forbid the men in charge to find out if a woman outmatched them in felonies.
Or else, the unhealthy competition and abrupt market of creating customised poisons would skyrocket, and your father’s legacy would be damned.
This niche was yours. You had earned it. No kings, no queens, just Nightshade. Poisonous and deathly until it was too late to see it coming
Like Miguel.
Little by little his connections led him towards your territory, and with promises of quality drugs and protection, a rift in your balance left you at the brink of getting sent to the retirement bench too soon.
Most of your clients cut ties, as this new provider was not only faster in response, but the protection service was a plus. They weren’t only paying for their tax to operate in his lands, but the man also protected them, thus, feeding this self-sustainable illusion of mutual help.
But you knew what a deal like that would require. He didn’t get that nickname for shits and giggles after all. Mostly didn’t read between the lines and just squeezed his hands like they had done the best deal of their wretched lives. It was almost poetic.
Miguel would seduce and lure his victims like mighty and possible associates, worth of his time. Then, he’d take them to a lavish meal, implicitly bragging about the benefits a pact with him would bring to the table.
He made the fools feel special, cherished and important even to his business, that by the end of those first fifteen minutes of subliminal brain washing, they were already giving up their souls to this helpful man without questioning.
You, however, had witnessed how that help was reaped if they failed. There was a time that irrelevance shrouded you like a safe blanket, and prevented you from joining the news’ insecurity statistics, just cause The King had decided to collect his souls.
But what turned your vendetta’s direction against him, was witnessing not only through pictures and your own eyes how one of your most trustworthy and remaining allies, shook hands with him after a five star meal in his favorite club. All in the very same day they’ve told you they needed to “expand their wings”.
The rest of your black list quickly resumed into one man.
And so, your Diablito had turned into the main subject your brain lived and breathed for.
Studying him was just the start, until it turned boring. Watching him from afar wasn’t enough, frequenting the places he went to had become routinary, learning his ways of pulling the invisible threads he had all over the city sure proved thrilling for a time. But again, a bite wasn’t enough.
He fascinated as much as he angered you. Some days you couldn’t decide whether to praise him for his wicked brain, or to curse him for that.
Your father had been a fierce believer of ‘an eye for an eye’ philosophy. And naturally, as his daughter the same convictions applied into your everyday life.
Miguel had wiped your resources? You’d kidnap his cargo.
Miguel encroached your allies? You hit him in precise moments where his credibility would shake like a building previous to its collapsing and leave him to deal with the mess before expectant and judging eyes.
El Diablo took over your territory? You’d start a cleansing and target his men, with the intention of reducing his workforce. No person in the business could do everything by themselves, could they?
But, Miguel was a walking paradox. You could swear the man was a genius, but proved to be a man through and through when it came to understanding subtleties, and reading in between lines within lines.
At first, you suspected he believed the death of his men were nothing but casualties meant to happen in open shootouts against the police. You could confirm it when a new group of his men were offed, and your team had purposely planted a fake police scene to see if he had taken the bait.
He wanted his cargo back, sure. Millions worth in coke packages coming from the south, rested in a safe, underground an old cathedral. Untouched.
But he wasn’t looking in the right direction. Or rather, he refused to acknowledge you.
So gently, you guided him towards you by changing physical evidence such as bullets, to something more personal, unique and completely yours. Poison.
And the willing blindfold he sported finally vanished.
Now that you had his attention, it was time for the next step.
“Did my shoes come in the mail today, Max?”
Maximilian, your right hand, nodded and pointed towards a neatly packed box from Prada second to a Tom Ford dress box before resuming his pruning on a cowbane's leaves.
All you had to do was wait and let your intel team give you the green light so your next move came into play. Your hands rummaged through the layers of paper packing, just to feel the incrusted lace in the dress. Hoping his hands would somehow feel it too.
This time, you’d make sure he never looks away again.
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@deputy-videogamer
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Summary: Being a father is not easy, and even less so when he is single. This is Miguel O'Hara's life, who has raised his daughter Gabriella alone after her mother's abandonment. Everything has been extremely difficult and challenging, especially now that they have to start over in a new neighborhood. Miguel barely has time for anything else besides his daughter and his job… everything changes a bit when he meets his daughter's teacher: you.
CW: different POV, distress, mild angst, not use of Y/N, only last name, Miguel being sweet with Gabi, kinda OOC (Let me know if I forgot something, pls)
Divider by: @cinemabeans
A/N: Hello there! It's been a long, long time since the last time I was there 🥲 I've been through a lot of things, and I was drained of... well, everything HAHA! First of all, thank you to all of you that you kept giving likes or reposting :') today, the third chapter is ready and I really hope to be more frequent from now on :'D Take care and I'll see you next time!
And before to proceed, I have to express my gratitude to @miss-tarja, who has been helping me all this time to get this chapter done—it was incredibly difficult for me to write. And yet, she was there, being very patient and offering me encouragement and advice <3
5:25 am...
He was dreaming... dreaming of something sweet.
No, it wasn’t a dream…
Miguel opened his eyes abruptly when he caught a faint smell of something burning. As he had a spring in his butt, Miguel jumped out of bed and rushed downstairs —without even putting on his slippers— where he saw the kitchen light on… and Gabriella standing on a stool before the stove and with her back to him.
“Gabriella?”
The little girl flinched at the sudden sound of her father’s voice. When she turned around, Miguel couldn’t help but smile tenderly at the sight: her face dusted with flour, wearing a flower-embroidered apron, and her hair tied in a messy ponytail.
“Hola, papito…”
Miguel shook his head softly with a smile and walked over until he stood behind her.
“Care to explain what you're doing?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Well… I wanted to make pancakes for Emily, so we can stay friends, but…”
She glanced beside her, where a plate of oddly shaped pancakes sat —some undercooked, others completely burnt.
Miguel let out a small chuckle and gently stroked her head.
“Why didn’t you wake me up? You could’ve burned yourself, sweetheart…”
Gabriella sighed and nodded. Her cheeks were red from the heat of the kitchen… and a little from embarrassment.
“I didn’t want to bother you… I know you’re really busy, and I didn’t want to be a bother…”
Miguel’s heart sank at her words. The last thing he wanted was for his little girl to think she was a burden. On the contrary, he always wanted to be there for her.
“Gabi, you will never be a bother to me. Yes, I have a lot of work and I get home tired, but I’ll always have energy for you. And what you’re doing is a beautiful gesture,” he said, smiling warmly.
His little girl was growing up so fast.
She smiled brightly, showing all her teeth.
“Gracias, papito…”
Miguel sighed as he looked around the kitchen: dirty bowls, eggshells, flour on the counters…
“How about you go take a shower while I give you a hand in here?”
The little girl gasped and looked up at her father with her big brown eyes, full of hope.
“Really?” she asked, her voice bubbling with excitement, eyes sparkling with joy.
“Of course. Now go get ready for school. You have to make a good impression today, especially after what happened yesterday, señorita,” Miguel said, his tone a mix of seriousness and teasing.
Gabriella puffed out her cheeks in mock protest, but quickly dashed out of the kitchen, leaving behind her apron… and the culinary chaos.
Still, he shook his head with a small chuckle. Though yesterday’s incident was still fresh in his mind, it made him genuinely happy to see her so eager to start a new day at school. Gabriella was truly a wonderful girl… and that other little one, the one with the braids and slightly sad eyes, seemed just as special.
With a sigh, he started preparing a fresh batter of pancake mix.
“Now… do they prefer blueberries or chocolate chips?”
In contrast to the cheerful– albeit early– atmosphere at Miguel’s place, on the other side of town, an alarm shattered the silence inside a modest apartment. Your eyes flew open at the sound of your phone’s abrupt, jarring ring. It was already 5:30 am…
You’d barely slept a couple of hours and you were exhausted… you turned off the damn alarm and, after stretching your limbs, got up with no enthusiasm at all.
Your morning routine always began the same way: opening the curtains. From your room, you could see the other buildings in the complex and a few lights on.
What all those people were doing…
Ordinary people getting ready for work, students just going to sleep after studying for an exam, restless souls unable to fall asleep. Who would have thought that each little illuminated square was a completely different world under the same sky.
You still had an hour before Emily woke up, therefore the next thing on your busy to-do list was a hot shower. You've had that habit since you were very young. Cold showers were unbearable for you, even on the hottest, most stifling days in New York. As the water ran over your body and the steam filled the air, you went over in your head all the things you had to do, like a child studying for a history exam.
After your shower, you decided to put on something comfortable. Comfy shoes and clothes that allowed you to move around easily were essential for a job where you spent most of the day on your feet. A pair of jeans, a T-shirt, a light cardigan, and matching sneakers.
Once you were ready, and with your hair still damp, you walked to Emily’s room. Her door was decorated with drawings that she’d made over the time. You opened it softly, and once inside, you opened the curtains.
“Good morning, sleepyhead!” you said, and all you got in response was a muffled groan from the little girl, who pulled the pillow over her head.
An amused chuckle escaped your lips as you pulled off the pink blankets, making Emily let out a high-pitched scream.
“You’re so mean!”
“I don’t care, little miss! Go and wash up – breakfast will be ready soon,” you replied, placing your hands on your hips.
With pouty lips, Emily got up. Her long hair was messy, and yawning, almost dragging her bare feet, she walked to the bathroom of the apartment.
“You have fifteen minutes!” and you only got a grunt from your sister.
Breakfast was almost a sacred ritual in both of your lives.
While you waited for the water to boil in the kettle, you started preparing Emily’s breakfast and lunch. A soft smile touched your tired face as you picked up her lunch bag – a lovely pink one decorated with her beloved My Melody. Your little sister had bought it with her own money, which she earned by taking care of the neighbour's cat while the young woman rushed her mother to the hospital after a minor household accident.
That’s why she carried it proudly.
For breakfast? Toast with raspberry jam, some fruit, chocolate milk for Emily, and berry tea for you. While you set everything on the small kitchen table, you made a mental note to stop by the supermarket after work.
For lunch? Sandwiches made with yesterday’s leftover chicken, a bit of salad, and a big red apple for dessert – all neatly packed inside the pink lunch bag along with a box of orange juice.
“Emily? Are you done?” you asked aloud, placing the lunch bag next to her backpack.
“Coming! Coming!”
You sighed and sat on the stool while you took a sip of your steaming mug. You really’d hoped for a better day than yesterday’s. Even though you tried your best, you had gained enemies.
The sudden buzz of your phone brought you to reality. Taking another sip, you picked up your phone and focused on a specific notification – last night's live show had raised almost $200, which would be sent to your account at the end of the month.
You couldn't help but smile. It was money raised to make ends meet and give Emily everything she needed and the occasional treat.
Bzz bzz*
Behind the wheel, Miguel glanced briefly at his phone over his sunglasses. It was probably a message from work. He looked in the rearview mirror, but he had already dropped Gabi off at school –both before walking her to the very entrance and telling her he loved her very much.
He felt nervous, like he was about to throw up the coffee and toasts.
“Focus, you idiot. She's fine. She knows she can trust you, and you have to trust her,” Miguel told himself, without letting go of the steering wheel.
As he stopped at the red light, a few blocks from the massive, modern building, he glanced briefly at his phone. He had a message from Lyla, the receptionist.
“Mr. O’Hara, you have an important meeting at 10am. Please, bring something to take notes and don’t be late.”
Great.
The man hadn’t even had the pleasure of meeting his colleagues –his new colleagues. Because of yesterday’s incident, he’d had to leave early and hadn’t been able to meet them or try the cafeteria food.
Finally, Miguel arrived at Alchemax. When he saw it yesterday, he thought it was a building from another dimension or time, as if he’d taken a journey through space and time, like those movies Gabi liked to watch.
Parking the car on his stop in the parking lot, he grabbed his things. His day had officially begun, and he hoped it would be better than yesterday.
Once he had clocked in at work, Miguel sat down at his desk and reviewed the emails and documents he needed to read. There were only a few minutes left before the meeting Lyla had mentioned by message –and once he arrived as well.
As Miguel made a mental list of the things he had to do that day, his eyes glanced at the framed photo of Gabriella beside the screen. It was a picture from her sixth birthday, wearing a princess crown in front of a white cake with blue details and soccer balls made of fondant.
A soft smile relaxed the tense muscles of his face.
“Everything will be alright soon, mi amor…”
The clock in the corner of his screen announced 10 a.m., and he left a Post-it note that read, “IN A MEETING. BE BACK SOON.” with bold letters. Steady steps headed him toward the meeting room, with his glasses on the bridge of his nose and his tablet in hand.
The meeting room wasn’t far. According to Lyla’s instructions, he had to go to the third floor, in the genetics department. Miguel took the elevator, and once he arrived on that floor, he looked for the room. The hallways were white and lit with cold light, giving them a clean appearance.
Finally, Miguel reached the room. A glass door with large letters indicated that it was the room he was looking for. He pushed it open and went inside.
In the middle, a long table was already occupied by three people– a black woman, a blond man with his blue eyes focused on some documents, and finally, another man with a bit of one- or two-day stubble and noticeable dark circles under his eyes. Apparently, they were some of the many scientists working in that enormous building.
Clearing his throat, he greeted them.
“Good morning.”
The three looked up and returned the greeting with a welcoming smile.
“Hey there, partner! Are you Miguel O’Hara?” greeted the man with the stubble.
Miguel nodded and sat down next to the woman, who greeted him in a more… “distant” way, yet not cold.
“It’s a pleasure to have you join the genetics department. My name is Jessica Drew. This is Peter B. Parker, and Ben Reilly,” Jessica introduced the team.
Miguel’s first impression was that they weren’t very serious people compared to him. He had always considered himself a serious person, with little desire to share information outside of working hours. It would only be a matter of time before he could tell whether these people, so “different” from him, truly were– or if it was just his own prejudices.
And, of course, his problem with trusting people…
His colleagues, his new neighbours, you…
“All right, gentlemen, let’s begin this meeting,” Jessica started, lowering the blinds and blocking out the light. Then, her fingers pressed a button of a controller, the curtain lowered and pressing another, the projector turned on.
On the curtain, appeared the Alchemax logo along with the phrase “School of Science”.
“Over the next few months, we need to carry out a recruitment process for students in their final year of school who are interested in a future related to science and genetics,” the woman explained, while the slide changed and showed previous photographs of different activities of previous years. “The goal is to offer them a scholarship to attend university and, later on, to complete their internships at Alchemax’s facilities.”
Miguel nodded and, adjusting his glasses, began to write on his tablet. Ben did the same, only on his computer. Parker followed suit, with the difference that he used a paper notepad and a pen.
“I was thinking we could organize events to attract these students’ attention and showcase their potential. Any suggestions?”
A silence fell between them, and Miguel stopped writing to look at the photos. Children and teenagers were lined up for the picture, holding diplomas and smiling brightly. It reminded him a little of his own school days– except he didn’t have any photos or records from those moments…
Of course, his mother hadn’t even bothered to show up for the school events that mattered to him… and he wouldn’t have asked his little brother, Gabriel, to take a photo or skip class just to see him.
His thoughts were interrupted by the voice of that Peter man, who scratched his chin with the back of his pen.
“When I was in school, my teachers always had us do the typical ‘science fair’. It could be a good option,” Parker said in a relaxed, yet still serious tone.
Miguel raised an eyebrow, surprised that Peter had mentioned something similar to what himself had been thinking. But the idea was good and interesting, he had to admit it.
Jess nodded. “How would we go about it?”
This time, Ben spoke up. “We could make it a kind of competition. The most creative and innovative experiments of each school would have the opportunity to submit their résumé.”
“And eventually be selected to receive a scholarship,” Peter added.
Miguel rarely intervened. He saw himself as an attentive listener rather than someone who needed to speak. However, he missed no detail: he took notes on everything, preparing to offer comments, ask questions, or contribute when the right moment came.
“Yes, that could work. That way, we would have several applicants competing for the scholarship,” Jessica commented while taking notes on her computer, which was decorated with a motorcycle sticker. “But to make it happen, we need everything to be well organized. That way, we could start the events before winter break at schools.”
The group worked throughout the entire morning, exchanging ideas and drafting an outline of the possible activities. They had a lot of work ahead of them.
And Miguel had a lot to learn about his colleagues– and how they would work together throughout that time.
Gabriella’s second day had begun quite normally, far more peacefully than the previous one. Emily seemed genuinely happy to be doing her assignments alongside her, carefully following your instructions and listening with attention as you taught the lesson.
Despite having slept only a couple of hours, your energy was almost endless – whenever it came to your students. You moved around the classroom with ease, thanks to your comfy sneakers. Explaining concepts, answering questions, and being kindly patient with those who were still struggling to understand was part of your routine.
A few minutes before class ended, you stepped in front of the whiteboard. Its surface was already covered with notes and little drawings you had made throughout the morning.
“Alright, students. One, two, three, all eyes on me!” you sang out, clapping for each beat.
“One, two, all eyes on you!” the children replied in unison, mimicking your claps.
A smile spread across your face. They had remembered the little call-and-response chant you had taught them the day before.
“Very good!” you praised before pulling a stack of flyers from your bag. “Before we head out for recess, I’m going to give each of you a pamphlet. It’s important that you take it home and show it to your parents or guardians,” as you spoke, you began handing out the colorful sheets of paper. “Remember that these activities are part of your school year.”
Gabriella glanced at the flyer she received. Across the front, large letters read “School Fair”, surrounded by doodles representing different activities: a paintbrush, a basketball, a ballet shoe, a musical note…
And her eyes immediately lit up when she spotted a soccer ball.
“As many of you already know,” you continued while distributing the last few flyers, “all students are expected to participate in extracurricular activities in addition to their regular classes and assignments.”
Once everyone had received one, you returned to the front of the classroom and held up a copy.
“This fair will take place on Friday after the school day ends. Make sure to tell your parents or guardians so they can come with you. Talk to them at home and think about which activity interests you the most.”
The moment you finished speaking, the bell rang throughout the building, announcing the beginning of the long-awaited recess.
But you still had one thing left to do.
You needed to speak with Gabriella and Emily.
After all, they still had to receive their ‘punishment’.
“Emily, Gabriella, could you come here for a moment, please?”
You sat down behind your desk and watched as the two girls slowly approached.
A small ache settled in your chest when you noticed how the bright smiles they had worn only moments ago faded from their faces.
Still, while you couldn’t simply ignore what had happened, you had no intention of being harsh.
Interwinding your hands on the surface of the desk, you cleared your throat.
“You both know that what happened yesterday cannot happen again. And to help you learn from it, the two of you…”
A pause. You noticed the girls reaching for each other’s hands.
“Will be organizing the books on the classroom shelves after school. For a week.”
You tried to sound stern though the gentleness in your voice softened the words. And of course, the girls blinked in disbelief, like they were waiting for something worse, like cleaning the playground or helping the janitor to clean the bathrooms. With a toothbrush.
Unable to help yourself, you let out a small laugh and relaxed your elbows atop the desk.
“Don’t worry. I’ve spoken with the principal, and she agrees that you were only defending yourselves. However, it still can’t happen again. We have rules to follow in this school. And I know you’re both good, well-behaved girls. I believe in you. Understood?”
Gabriella and Emily nodded at the same time.
The weight they had been carrying all morning seemed to vanish from their small shoulders in an instant.
“Yes, miss,” Gabriella replied, feeling Emily’s hand against hers.
“That’s what I like to hear. Now go and enjoy your recess. I’ll be nearby just in case.”
With your head, you gestured toward the door. Without wasting a second, Gabriella gently tugged Emily’s hand and led her out of the classroom, eager to share the pancakes that Miguel made for them.
It lasted only a moment, so brief like a blink of an eye. Yet, just before stepping through the doorway, Emily glanced back over her shoulder at you. When her sweet eyes met yours, a smile appeared on her face before she followed her friend.
Then, the room fell silent. The only sounds left were the distant laughter and shouts of children playing outside, muted by the concrete walls covered in colorful posters.
A tired smile crossed your face. It was only the second day of school, and you already felt exhausted.
In nearly five years of working at the school, you had never had a serious problem with a parent of someone in charge of your students. You had always been careful, handling conflicts with diplomacy, patience, and respect.
The title of 'teacher' is too big for you.
You took a deep breath, just as you had been taught.
Then, you stepped out of the classroom and locked the door behind you.
One step at a time.
The long-awaited Friday had finally come to an end. It was nearly one o’clock in the afternoon, and you knew it the moment the bell rang.
Your students, buzzing with excitement, quickly closed their books and began stuffing everything into their backpacks, eager to attend the highly anticipated school fair and head home to begin the almost sacred weekend.
“Remember to take all your belongings and line up by the door so we can head to the schoolyard together,” you instructed.
Several children were already waiting by the classroom entrance. As always, Emily took her time carefully packing everything into her pink backpack. Gabriella did the same, neatly slipping her notebooks into hers. Waiting for each other seemed a new ritual for the both.
Once everyone was lined up, you slung your tote bag over your shoulder and, taking your place at the front of the line, guided the group toward your destiny.
Along the way, you crossed paths with your other colleagues doing the same. The younger students shuffled along while holding onto the backs of each other’s sweater, forming an adorable little human chain. The older classes–more teenagers than children at this point– laughed and chatted about trivial things as they walked.
Students from every background, color, and culture came together to form the identity of the school.
Eventually, all of you reached the schoolyard.
The sky was clear, and the sun shone brightly, offering some of its summer warmth before the leaves turned shades of yellow and orange, and the autumn winds began to blow.
Colorful booths decorated with banners and themed displays filled the yard. Cheerful music played in the background, inviting students and families to explore the different extracurricular activities available for the coming school year.
And Gabriella could hardly contain her excitement.
She had played soccer at her old school in Mexico, and now, she would finally get the chance to play again.
Little by little, the fear and uncertainty she had carried with her were beginning to fade away. She had her Papito by her side, and Emily as her new friend.
“Wait here until your parents or guardians come for you!” you had to raise your voice, due to the music and noise from outside.
You and your colleagues had their hands full, making sure the more energetic students didn’t bolt across the yard the moment they spotted their mothers and ensuring that every child was picked up by a responsible adult.
Little by little, parents and adults came for the kids. And after saying goodbye to you, and sometimes receiving a hug from some of your students, they left.
“¡Papi!”
The moment Gabriella spotted Miguel, she took off running. Her backpack bounced wildly against her back as she stretched out her arms. Miguel, wearing black pants and his shirt rolled up to the elbow, immediately opened his own and caught his daughter in a warm embrace.
“How was your day, mi amor?” he asked, settling her onto his hip.
“Good! Come on, come on, let me down! I want to be the first one to sign up for soccer!”
The excited girl kicked her legs excitedly, silently demanding to be put down so she could race toward her goal. And it was impossible for Miguel to hide his laughter.
Understanding both her motivation and her obvious body language, Miguel set his daughter down and slipped her backpack from her shoulder, carrying it over one of his own instead.
It looked ridiculously small against his broad frame.
For a brief moment, your eyes met his. Then, he looked away, following Gabriella toward the rows of booths.
You hadn't noticed before just how beautiful Miguel’s eyes were. A rich mahogany color that seemed almost red beneath the afternoon sunlight.
They were… stunning. You had to admit it.
And perhaps it was only your imagination, but the anger you had seen there before… was gone. So was the irritation that had flashed between you during your first meeting after the incident. What remained was something else entirely…
Something you couldn’t quite identify.
“Ehem.”
A small, gentle voice pulled you from your thoughts. Your beloved sister stood beside you, patiently waiting for your attention.
“Oh, right, sweetheart. Sorry. Let’s go to the painting booth. That’s the one you wanted, isn’t it?”
A radiant smile immediately brightened Emily’s delicate features, revealing the small dimple in her right cheek. It was so hard to see her smiling genuinely…
Holding out your hand, she took it without hesitation, and together, the two of you headed off towards your own.
“You have to apologize to her!”
Gabriella declared it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, pausing only long enough to take another bite of her afternoon snack. The two of them were sitting in a small café downtown, and in front of her sat a generous slice of apple pie and a glass of fruit juice.
“What?” Miguel asked, after taking a sip of his coffee. “And who exactly do you think you are, telling me what I have to do, enana?”
“Because it’s what you always tell me,” she replied matter-of-factly. “You should own up to your mistakes.”
Miguel stared at her in disbelief.
Since when did the little girl who was afraid to go to the bathroom alone at night started sounding so mature?
Gabriella was only eight years old, yet she sounded more like a fifteen-year-old lecturing him.
Even the frown on her face and the stubborn pout tugging at her lips looked familiar.
They were his features, and…
No.
Miguel mentally slammed a door shut before the thought could go any further. Some memories were better left untouched.
“You’re awfully bossy, you know that?” he said with a laugh, taking another sip of his coffee.
“And you’re grumpy,” Gabriella shot back immediately. “You’re like Grumpy from Snow White, except for your height.”
Miguel rolled his eyes and laughed again. God– or whoever happened to be up there–had better not let His grand plan involve turning this kid into a teenager who was twice as bossy and just as grumpy as he was.
“And what exactly am I supposed to say to her?” Miguel asked.
And Gabi simply shrugged.
The matter was apparently no longer important enough to deserve her attention. Instead, she returned her full focus to her apple pie.
It had cinnamon on it! Yummy!
Time passed.
Most of the students and their parents or guardians had already left the school grounds, while a handful of stragglers remained behind to join the extracurricular groups that would soon become part of their weekly routines.
Emily held a piece of paper in her both hands, carefully reading and rereading through everything she could look forward to during the school year.
Her eyes sparkled with such pure excitement that you couldn’t help the fond ache that tugged at your heart.
After school, Emily would finally get to attend the painting classes she had been looking forward to. There would be museum visits, shared art supplies, creative projects and…
“Emily!”
Both of you turned toward the source of the shout.
Gabriella was running across the yard, her dark ponytail bouncing behind her and bright grin lighting up her face. Behind her, Miguel followed at a much calmer pace, still carrying Gabi’s backpack over one shoulder and a blue folder tucked beneath one arm.
The moment Gabriella reached her friend, the two girls threw their arms around each other as if they hadn’t seen one another in weeks rather than less than an hour ago.
“Guess what?” Gabriella exclaimed. “I’m finally going to play soccer again!”
Emily gasped and you smiled.
“And I’m going to painting classes!”
The girls were an endless source of energy, and seeing his daughter so excited filled Miguel’s chest with warmth. For weeks, she had been withdrawn, quiet and uninterested in the things she normally loved.
Seeing her smile again–seeing her find a place where she belonged so quickly–was more than he could have hoped for. Meanwhile, you watched them with a smile of your own, completely unaware of the bittersweet thoughts passing through Miguel’s mind.
And then, once again… your eyes met.
You felt your heart stumbling inside your chest, giving a sudden, traitorous leap that made you feel as though it might escape entirely. And instead of listening to the irrational part of your brain and fleeing like a complete coward, you simply inclined your head in a small greeting.
A simple gesture. A polite acknowledgement.
Unfortunately, Gabriella and Emily might have been young, but they were far from oblivious.
“Dad, aren’t you going to say ‘hello’ to Miss Hayes?”
Miguel immediately wished the ground would open beneath his feet and swallow him whole. On the other hand, you had to cover your laugh with a cough.
Taking a slow breath, Miguel stepped forward and extended his hand.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you properly, Miss Hayes. I apologize for not introducing myself the other day. My name is Miguel O’Hara, and I’m–”
“Gabriella’s father,” you finished for him with a polite smile. And you accepted his hand, giving it a gentle shake. “The pleasure is mine, Mr O’Hara. I’m (name) Hayes.”
Both girls giggled. And then, as expected, Gabriella immediately took matters into her own, small hands.
“You said you needed to talk to Miss Hayes, Dad. So… we’ll leave you two alone!”
Before either of you could protest, Gabriella grabbed Emily’s hand and took off running toward the grassy area of the schoolyard, where the two girls immediately began playing together.
You could practically hear Miguel’s internal screaming. The view was amusing enough that you had to fight back another smile.
It was obvious how close he and Gabriella were. She was a very sweet, well-mannered girl. A little stubborn, perhaps. But sweet nonetheless.
“Miss Hayes,” Miguel began. His voice came out rougher than intended, prompting him to clear his throat before continuing. “The truth is… I’d like to have a word with you before Gabriella and I leave.”
Oh.
Of course. Now what?
You nodded politely and glanced around the schoolyard, already searching for somewhere suitable to continue the conversation. However, before you could suggest anything, it was Miguel’s turn to read your thoughts.
“If it isn’t too much trouble,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’d rather not talk out here. Would you mind?”
The classroom where you taught was empty, so you suggested they speak there.
As soon as he stepped inside, Miguel paused. His eyes swept across the room– the small desks, the cubbies now decorated with colorful stickers, the bright posters covering the walls. It looked more like an art studio than a classroom.
“Please, have a seat, Mr. O’Hara,” you said, gesturing toward the chair beside your desk. Meanwhile, you perched yourself on the edge of one of the students’ desks.
Without a word, Miguel sat down. He was tense. Painfully tense. His heart beat a little faster than usual, and he hated that he was suddenly aware of it. How hard could this possibly be?
Clearing his throat, he finally began. “Well, Miss Hayes. First of all…” he paused, searching for the right words. “I think– no, I know I owe you an apology.”
Your eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise. If you were being honest, you had expected excuses. Maybe even another argument. Your imagination had already prepared you for a dozen unpleasant possibilities.
An apology had not been one of them.
“I truly am sorry for how I reacted on the children’s first day,” Miguel continued. “The way I spoke to you wasn’t… fair.”
But you remained silent, allowing the nervous man to continue.
“Everything’s been… complicated. For both Gabi and me.”
Miguel let out a frustrated grunt and ran a hand through his brown hair, pushing it back from his face.
“The thing is…” exhaled slowly. “As you probably know, we only moved here this summer. It’s been… so hard for her to adjust to this new life.”
His gaze dropped briefly toward the floor.
“And well… I guess part of me was scared too.” He cleared his throat again and glanced back up. You were still listening.
Still maintaining eye contact.
Still treating him with far more patience than he probably deserved.
"When I got that phone call, I swear, all I wanted to do was hold her and make sure she was okay. There's nothing I wouldn't do for Gabriella. We're just–"
"Mr. O'Hara," you interrupted gently, lifting a hand. "It's alright. You don't have to tell me anything you're not comfortable sharing."
His words died immediately.
"I accept your apology."
For a moment, Miguel simply stared. Then the tension drained from his shoulders. Just a little and you noticed it instantly.
"To be honest," you continued with a small laugh, "I would probably react the same way if I were a mother," the lighthearted comment softened some of the heaviness hanging in the room.
"As I explained before, situations like that are often beyond our control. And I should apologize as well." You intertwined your fingers in your lap and offered him a warm smile. "But please don't worry. The principal and the rest of my colleagues take our students' well-being very seriously, especially those who may need a little extra support."
Miguel bit the inside of his cheek. Guilt settled heavily in his chest again.
He had been unfair. Far too harsh.
And, damn it, Gabriella had been right.
Miss Hayes really was kind, patient, and far more understanding than he had expected. Not to mention...
He quickly forced that train of thought to stop.
The pink cardigan suited you, though.
"I appreciate that, Miss Hayes," he said quietly. "And... thank you."
He hesitated before adding, "It's been hard. For both of us, but especially for her. I'm raising Gabriella on my own, and some days..." He let out a tired breath. "Some days I feel like I'm making it up as I go."
The reaction was subtle.
So subtle most people wouldn't have noticed.
But your eyes widened so slightly.
A single father.
That explained a great deal, the fierce protectiveness, the exhaustion hidden behind his stern demeanor, the way Gabriella spoke about him with so much affection.
Questions flickered briefly through your mind.
What had happened to Gabriella's mother? Was she gone? Had she left?
But those questions weren't yours to ask. Not now. Maybe not ever.
Instead, you chose compassion.
"Mr. O'Hara," you said softly, "I hope you don't mind me saying this, but I think you're doing a wonderful job."
Miguel froze.
"I’ve only known Gabriella for a week. And during this week, I‘ve seen an energetic little girl with a good heart. She's kind to her classmates, she's brave, and she clearly loves her father very much."
The knot in Miguel's throat appeared without warning.
For eight years, he had lived with the constant fear that he was failing her. No one had ever looked him in the eye and told him he was doing a good job. No one.
"Thank you, Miss Hayes," he said quietly. The voice came out rough. "Yeah... she's a good girl."
The best thing that had ever happened to him.
Slowly, he stood from his chair and slung Gabriella's sky-blue backpack over his shoulder once again.
"With your permission, Miss Hayes, we'd better get going. Gabriella needs lunch, and I should get back to work."
You slid off the desk and stood as well.
"Of course."
For a brief moment, neither of you spoke. The silence no longer felt uncomfortable. Then, the tall man headed to the doorway, but he stopped.
"So," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "I guess we'll be seeing each other again on Monday."
A smile tugged at your lips.
"I imagine we will."
A faint smile answered yours.
Almost imperceptible.
But there.
"Have a good weekend, Miss Hayes."
"You too, Mr. O'Hara."
With that, he turned and headed back toward the schoolyard, where Gabriella's laughter could already be heard in the distance.
You remained in the doorway for a moment, watching him go.
Then you shook your head and laughed softly to yourself.
The first week of school had certainly been more eventful than expected.
One step at a time.
Tag list: @imamexican , @chubbyhedgehog, @ryk-mt (if you want to be tagged, let me know <3)
Thank you very much for reading this far😭✨️
Any comments or feedback with respect will be welcome ❤️
rlly like the way hoyoverse does their chibis so i tried it on no other than my serpent and eve, my crowned eagle and peregrine falcon, talonseye. i was never prepared for how difficult the process was ... it was the damn details istg 😭💥
WARNINGS: Introductory short chapter. Toxicology involved, graphic depictions of death by poisoning, suspense at the end, criminal activity, depictions of poisoning symptoms.
(Link for part 2 at the end)
Summary: El Diablo has found a problem. Nothing a problem solver like himself can fix, right?
Chapter 1: Business Meets Personal
Nueva York, his kingdom, came alive as soon as the sun died on the horizon. Lighting dreams and crowded streets with that unceasing and lively buzz, that announced the continuity of the never ending night life.
The faint honks and screens announcements through Madison Square crowded his sight, distracting him momentarily from a modern-looking building his eyes had been staring at for the past minutes.
A faint wisp of vanilla and tobacco vanished in the cool air, leaving a tinge of sweetness in his already tart tongue.
“So…”
El Diablo placed the cuban cigar in between his plump lips and took a long drag, savoring it. The smoke burned his lungs with a familiar heat, barely matching the anger simmering underneath his calm facade.
Bad news were never welcomed in his presence. In fact, he despised them. Especially when said things arrived unannounced and unplanned to retaliate, and much to his apparent bad luck streak, the same information met his ears yet again.
Another cargo shipment, missing, and some of his men found in daunting conditions.
The pictures forensics provided were everything but what his mind needed, as they often came back to haunt him in the least expected of times.
The ecstatic and borderline blissful look were the most prominent trait in his men’s photos. Looking at the ceiling, as though heaven called and awaited right before them.
And if honest, Miguel didn’t know what unsettled him the most. If the lack of expected but nonexistent gore, or that stoked appearance that became regular in the evidence his insiders in forensics sent him. He knew his men and kept them as happy as he could. But never with this sort of joy.
Sure, he indulged his subordinates' whims from time to time to keep the morale active and soaring, but this, his brain could only translate it as a pattern. Something that took him a considerable amount of productive members of his organization to realize.
A mistake that now cost him the little calm his lifestyle provided.
A little too late he noticed the dryness in the victim’s eyes and mouth. Dry as a rock, that if he wanted to, he could crumble them into fine dust. Their flushed skin, red as a beet. Their pupils wide and their lower bellies full as a drum.
“How many they’ve found this time?” The question had been reformulated a couple of times during the span of four months. Going from ‘who did this’ to ‘how many’. But the effect it left in him was always the same. Absolute powerlessness and an anger that could boil hot, if not hotter than hell.
Because, no matter how many forensics paraded before him with thousands of pictures, none of them offered the real answer. Just clues that led him nowhere, with his cargo still missing and an upcoming headache not even the strongest of whiskeys could tame.
And missed cargo meant lost money and resources. His credibility became teetering among those in the same position of power as him. And although his men didn’t question him, sometimes their skeptical gestures as he spoke of catching the bastard hunting them, spoke for themselves.
Miguel knew it was a matter of time that his reputation as the King and Soul reaper of Nueva York fell apart.
“Three.” Said the fearful man behind him, unlucky enough to be selected as the scapegoat for today’s debrief. “All the same as the others.”
But as long as there was none fool enough to try and usurp that crown away, he’d make sure to find the culprit, and teach them why only he was capable of carrying it.
“Exactly the same?” El Diablo turned and the man behind him nodded while swallowing a gulp. His trembling hand pulled a small sachet from his blazer’s inner pocket.
Maybe an important offering, or not. His boss was unpredictable like that when it came to things that pulled him to the uneasy and worried side of the story.
Miguel’s eyes followed his subordinate’s motions as he offered the only valuable piece of information he might've come across in a long while. All packed in a coke-dose sized bag.
“Miss Drew found this in one of our agent’s upper gums.” explained the man, while his eyes struggled to meet him for more than two seconds. “Apparently there was more in his stomach.”
Miguel pulled a handkerchief from his pockets and took the satchet, seizing its insides with clinic and undivided attention. Unmistakably it was a berry, or part of what used to be one; half chewed, black and shiny.
A single quirk of El Diablo’s brow urged the man to speak further.
“And… one of them survived, sir.”
And his red eyes gleamed. Finally, one of his men that knew the true meaning of loyalty would put him in the right direction to end this targeted hunting, once and for all.
“Tell Ben to get the car ready.”
The man wasted no time and disappeared from his presence as soon as the king turned his back on him.
Miguel’s lips pursed in a thin smile, and gave his cigar a last inhale before crushing and throwing it at the void underneath him. The smoke escaped through the tiny gaps of his teeth, surrounding his head in a fragrant smog. Like a demon awaiting for his playground to be ready.
“Showtime.”
Hospitals sure held the last position in his list of places he wanted to be at the moment. Not only were they his least favorite of hideouts, but the humanity constantly lacking in the crowded halls, only reaffirmed his decision to target some of the board members inside.
Security knew better than to attempt and pull an heroic show for the rest. As soon as they saw him, their eyes became blind. They looked everywhere but in his direction as he made his way through the stairs, since elevators were always crowded.
His mind thought about the several questions he had for his employee. That if he was conscious and lucid enough to answer them.
The designated room soon appeared around a corner he turned, and the sterile stench nearly suffocated him as soon as he crossed the threshold. The door closed with a soft click behind him, making the bedridden man move his head towards the door.
And an icy chill ran down Miguel’s spine upon seeing the man’s irises completely dark.
His pupils had devoured any trace of color in it, giving him this possessed and void sort of gaze.
“Boss?” Whispered the man as his eyes searched for him in the entrance but found nothing but a hulking and blurry shape approaching. That was enough answer for him.
The machine beside him beeped, counting the irregular heartbeats and fluctuating with numbers Miguel could only make out as danger.
El Diablo sat before him, but the man wasn’t afraid. In fact, the machine registered the decrease of beatings for a couple seconds.
“I’m—” The man coughed, and Miguel’s head tilted, examining his body.
Flushed skin, blown eyes, dry mouth and swollen belly. The man hadn’t much left, he knew. And still, he stayed, observing the last moments of his collaborator with impersonal wonder.
The morbid in him had assimilated the wrongness of just watching this man's ongoing passing before him, right after Jessica’s results readings. But the analytical curiosity on his other side wanted to witness up close how these deaths occurred. He wanted to see what caused his men to look so blissed out as they left this world.
“What happened, Allen?”
“C…Club.” he sputtered in restless sighs after a minute of struggle with his tongue. “I… celebrated with others.” A difficult gulp made him groan. The machine beeped faster and Miguel’s brows pinched together. “This… —man…” He slurred.
“A man? A woman?” El Diablo pressed but all his employee could do was to gasp and grab the collar of his own robe, pulling from it as though the thing would choke him to death despite hanging loose around his neck.
The room filled with slurred syllables and soon unintelligible sobs joined the more Allen stared at him, or rather the monstrous silhouette his troubled mind created, sitting right beside him, with two burning red dots as eyes.
Blind as a bat.
Miguel thought as the man kept shaking his head, and gasping for air like his lungs were ripped apart from the inside. What had him stepping in, was Allen’s flailing arms trying to reach for him.
Miguel grabbed his hand with a grip so strong it momentarily stilled the raving man.
“N…Night…—” His ears perked. “Nightshade!” Allen groaned as his free hand slammed against his chest, trying to knock some air into whatever was left from his malfunctioning organs.
Miguel shook with him, trying to calm Allen’s panicking rage. But little could be done as the machine’s beeping skyrocketed in a matter of seconds. Shooting his readings from normal, to critical without warning.
“C’mon, Allen! Stay” Miguel held tighter but the man sobbed as no air filled him. His boiling hands delivered a couple of smacks and slaps on his boss’ head, trying to escape. “Who is Nightshade?!”
The name alone caused the man to stare at the ceiling, while his dry mouth mumbled it over and over. The machine’s beeping slowed, as Allen’s cardiac rate was nothing but a rollercoaster. Going from critical, to deathly, to decreasing in such a span of time Miguel barely had the chance to get a proper answer.
But what could he truly do, when the man was condemned from the very beginning? He was poisoned, and so were the rest of his men. Him making an act of presence was nothing but an excuse to confirm this wicked hypothesis.
The beeping stopped altogether. Echoing in a deafening and monotone key. And so did Allen, whose face stared right at him, or past him, he didn’t know for sure. But there it was. Heaven had called his subordinate, and like the obedient man he had been, Allen attended the call.
Miguel’s eyes stared at the long gone man, hoping that there would be a last symptom manifesting in his corpse, but there was nothing but an empty death. And before the nurses could rush in, he turned his phone’s lamp on and passed it before Allen’s eyes, mouth and hands.
The toxin had worked as expected. Twelve to fifteen hours later, just as Jessica’s apprentice had told him.
Poisoned.
His men were all poisoned by the same treatment over the span of four, almost five months. But now, vague as it was, he had a name.
Nightshade.
With careful hands, Miguel untangled himself from Allen’s grip and left the room, letting the medical staff deal with the mess behind.
His fingers searched Jessica’s name on his contacts, typed a brief message and pressed send.
[Miguel 2:44 p.m.]
Allen died.
Call me when you get his body. We need to talk.
His steps echoed faster as he descended through the stairs, dodging whatever person coming in his way. His long strides made him reach quicker to the door, only to collide in a sharp dodge against a masked nurse.
His hands quickly grabbed her, preventing her from falling entirely.
Some people stared at the commotion, others at the unusual placement of his hands, as they secured the woman by her neck and torso while her clipboard fell on the floor with an unnecessarily loud rattle.
Shit.
Her pulse quickened when he pulled her upwards, with such ease the nurse’s eyes just stared both in awe and discomfit at the choice of places his hands held onto. And of course, the force exerting in each muscle tensing under the sumptuous fabric.
“Disculpe.” His hands picked up the clipboard and handed it back to the woman.
Before the nurse could even thank him or someone else bumped into him, Miguel darted towards the door, leaving the place once and for all.
The king had been deep in thought enough to ignore the raring stare the masked nurse regarded him with.
A satisfied smile crept under her mask. Her fingers thrummed and clutched at the clipboard, right where his touch had been, absorbing the faint heat those gorgeous fingers had left behind.
