Light floods the room, golden and unforgiving.
You freeze, because this is the moment you’ve feared your whole life: someone seeing you clearly.
Mateo looks straight at your face, at the birthmark, at the place where you learned to hide your joy.
He doesn’t flinch.
He doesn’t tilt his head away.
He doesn’t search for a “better” angle.
He just looks at you like you are human.
And then he says, with a seriousness that chills your skin, “And I’m hiding one more secret.”
Your pulse pounds so loud you think he can hear it.
A secret worse than faking blindness?
A secret that will turn this tenderness into a trap?
You swallow hard.
“What secret?” you whisper.
Mateo’s jaw tightens.
He reaches into the pocket of his suit jacket draped over a chair and pulls out an envelope.
The paper looks official, heavy, like it carries consequences.
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