Some days you want to thank him for seeing you.
Most days, you feel both at once.
One night, after a brutal hearing, you sit on the hotel balcony and stare at the city lights.
You feel hollow.
Mateo steps out and drapes a blanket around your shoulders without a word.
“You still mad at me?” he asks gently.
You laugh once, bitter.
“You lied your way into my life,” you say. “How could I not be?”
Mateo nods, eyes steady.
“You don’t owe me forgiveness,” he says. “But I want you to understand something.”
He pauses.
“The first day I saw you, you were apologizing with your posture. The lie wasn’t about tricking you. It was about breaking the town’s obsession with your face.”
You look at him, throat tight.
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