“That’s bullshit, and you know it.” Her hand found mine, squeezing it tightly. “You’re Alejandro Emiliano Ignacio-Vasquez, a brilliant leatherworker and my best friend. If that’s not enough for those stuck-up jack-holes, they can kiss your perfectly tailored butt.”
Despite myself, I laughed. “You’re always blowing smoke up my ass.”
“I’m honest,” she countered with a grin. “Now, are you going to text your smoking hot boyfriend and tell him you’re backing out, or do you need me to kick your butt into gear?”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “Fine. I’ll tell him myself.”
I pulled out my phone, staring at the blank message field. What was I even supposed to say? ‘Thanks for the twenty-thousand-dollar tux, but I’m too much of a screwup to be seen with you in public’? ‘I’d rather keep this thing between us in the midnight hours where it belongs’?
Before I could type anything, a new message from him appeared.
Kronos: Car will pick you up at 6:45. Looking forward to showing you off tonight.
My throat tightened. Showing me off. Like I was some kind of prize pony. Or worse, like I was one of his possessions, to be displayed when it suited him. The familiar panicky feeling clawed its way up from my stomach.
“I need some air,” I mumbled, pushing past Twyla and heading for the back door. I heard her call after me, but I was already outside, gulping down the frigid January air like I was drowning.
The alley behind the shop was quiet, the world muffled by the snow that had fallen in fat, lazy flakes. I leaned against the cold brick, trying to get my breathing under control. This was too much. He kept pushing past the careful boundaries I’d set up. He was getting too close, digging too deep, and eventually he was going to see the truth: that I wasn’t worth any of this.
I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the cold ground, snow soaking through my jeans. My breath fogged in front of me as memories flooded back—my father’s voice, cold and dismissive:“You’ll never amount to anything, Alejandro. Why can’t you be more like your sister?”I’d been twelve when Penelope’s powers had first manifested—dazzling illusions that had transformed our living room into a kaleidoscope of color and light. My gift—that insidious charm that made people want to please me and occasional bursts of light—had seemed pathetic in comparison.
They’d all but forgotten I existed after that. Penelope got the attention, the praise, the special training sessions. I got the leftovers—hand-me-down clothes, cold dinners, disappointed glances. By the time I turned eighteen, the message was clear: I wasn’t worth the space I occupied in their home. My father hadn’t even looked up from his newspaper when he’d told me to be out bymorning. Mother had done nothing to stop it, though I’d heard her crying in her room as I packed my bags.
Two years on the streets had taught me how little my charm was worth when I couldn’t afford to keep myself clean, couldn’t manage that smile that made humans want to help me. Then Michelle had found me huddled in an alley outside a restaurant that handed out leftovers to the homeless. She’d seen potential where my parents had seen only failure.
“You’re too pretty to waste,”she’d told me, offering me a job tending bar. At first, it felt like salvation. A warm place to sleep, a steady income, and people who looked at me like I mattered. Until the night she’d caught me using my charm on a customer for extra tips. I thought I’d be fired for sure.
“You’ve been hidin’ things from me, darlin’,”she’d purred, her fingers digging into my arm.“That gift of yours is too valuable to waste behind the bar.”
I didn’t know what she meant at first. It didn’t click for me until I was on my knees for a sweaty CEO who’d whispered another man’s name as he finished. The first time I’d been the dirty secret, the shameful indulgence. I’d been good at it. I’d learned to read what they wanted before they even knew, and shaped myself into their perfect fantasy.
Kronos could dress me up in all the expensive tuxedos in the world, but it wouldn’t change what I was. Who I was. The snow fell harder now, melting against my feverish skin, but I barely felt it through the cold emptiness spreading through my chest.
I wasn’t the kind of person Kronos needed in his life. I was the fuck up who’d ruined every good thing that came his way, because that’s what my father had always said I’d do. He’d been right. Eventually Kronos would see it…and he’d leave me too.
My phone vibrated in my hand. Another message from Kronos.
Kronos:Should I be concerned about the panic attack Twyla tells me you’re having in the alley?
I scowled, typing back furiously.
Alex:Tell your spy to mind her own business.
The reply was immediate.
Kronos:She’s worried about you. So am I.
Alex:I’m fine.
I watched the three dots appear, disappear, then reappear.
Kronos:If it’s too much, we can do something else.
The reasonable response just made me angrier. I didn’t want him to be understanding. I wanted him to be the asshole I could walk away from without a second thought.
Alex:It’s not the gala. It’s all of it. The tux, the car, the tickets. I’m not your charity case.
There was a long pause before his response came through.
