CHAPTER 3: "Smoke and Sparks"
"Please tell me you're coming," Isla pleaded, holding up a glittery invitation in front of Camila's face.
Camila took the card and sighed. "Isla, a charity gala? Fancy dresses, tiny hors d'oeuvres, and fake smiles?"
"Yes. And free drinks, real music, and you in something other than your detective boots." Isla grinned. "Come on. One night of pretending to be normal."
Before Camila could fully object, Mateo walked into the office, coffee in hand, casually dressed in a dark button-up that somehow made him look even more annoyingly attractive.
"What's this?" he asked, eyeing the card.
"She's inviting me to a party," Camila muttered.
"You? At a party?" Mateo smirked. "Do they serve sarcasm there?"
Isla clapped her hands. "Actually, you're invited too, Johnson."
"Even better," he said, flashing his most insufferably charming smile. "Let's dance, Wilson."
Camila rolled her eyes so hard, she nearly fell backwards. "I'd rather fight a raccoon."
---
Later That Night – Event Hall, Midtown Manhattan
Camila adjusted the straps of her sleek black dress and glanced at herself in the mirror. Not bad for a reluctant guest. Isla had curled her hair and forced her into heels two inches too high, but she had to admit… she didn't hate it.
"You look hot," Isla said, adjusting her own deep red dress. "Even your attitude couldn't ruin this look."
"Thanks," Camila replied. "Let's get this over with."
The event hall was grand, with golden chandeliers, violin music, and a guest list that screamed money. Camila felt out of place until she spotted him.
Mateo.
In a black suit. No tie. Hair still messy. And somehow, he pulled it off like he walked out of a crime drama photoshoot.
He looked up and caught her staring.
"You clean up…decent," she said when they finally crossed paths.
He tilted his head, eyes sweeping over her. "You, uh… wow. I didn't know you had legs."
She jabbed him lightly in the ribs. "Keep talking and I'll take yours out from under you."
They mingled. Isla disappeared into the crowd with a potential flirt, leaving Camila and Mateo orbiting each other—snapping back into banter every time they bumped into one another.
Then came the balcony.
Camila needed air. Mateo followed. Of course.
---
On the Balcony – 10:14 PM
The city lights stretched across the skyline. Camila leaned against the railing, breathing in the cool night air.
Mateo stepped beside her, silent for once.
"It's peaceful," she said quietly.
"Yeah," he nodded. "Shame you're here to ruin it."
She elbowed him. "And there it is."
He laughed, and for a moment, it was almost… easy.
Then, as she turned to face him, her heel caught on a crack in the tile.
"Whoa—" she gasped.
Mateo caught her instinctively, arms around her waist as she stumbled into him.
They froze.
She was chest-to-chest with him, clutching his jacket. His hands rested at her waist. His breath was warm against her temple.
"Okay," he murmured, grin tugging at his lips, "so this is how you flirt."
Camila pushed off him, cheeks burning. "It was the tile."
"Sure. Blame the floor."
She rolled her eyes and turned back toward the railing. "I hate you."
"Yet you keep falling for me."
"Trip. I tripped."
He laughed again, low and genuine.
---
Inside – Moments Later
They reentered the hall. Waiters passed with drinks. People danced. Laughter echoed.
Then, a sudden flicker.
The lights dimmed.
Followed by smoke.
At first, it seemed like a technical issue… until the far end of the hall lit up in flames.
Panic erupted.
Screams. Rushing feet. Chaos.
The fire spread quickly—too quickly. It was deliberate.
"Isla!" Camila shouted, searching the crowd.
Mateo grabbed her hand. "Go! I'll find her!"
But Camila turned back toward the dressing area where she thought she saw Isla last.
She never made it.
Thick smoke swirled in seconds, swallowing everything.
Camila stumbled, coughing, eyes burning. Her heel snapped, and she fell hard.
Voices faded.
Her vision blurred.
And then—darkness.
---
Somewhere Between Flames and Smoke
Mateo's voice cut through the haze. "Camila!"
He found her curled on the floor, motionless.
He didn't hesitate. Scooped her into his arms, holding her close. Cradled her like something breakable.
"Come on, Wilson," he muttered, pushing through the smoke with her in bridal style.
Sirens wailed outside.
Mateo burst through the double doors, carrying her as the fire consumed the hall behind them.
She coughed, barely conscious, head resting against his chest.
"You okay?" he whispered, breathless.
Her fingers curled weakly into his shirt.
"Still hate you," she rasped.
He exhaled a shaky laugh.
"She's fine," he muttered, cradling her tighter. "Stubborn as ever."
---
TO BE CONTINUED…