The afternoon sun poured over the courthouse steps, turning the gray stone into pale gold. Amber Gatmaitan lingered longer than she should have at the foot of the stairs, clutching her folder against her chest. Her testimony from the morning still weighed on her, every question and every objection replaying in her mind like echoes that refused to fade. She wanted nothing more than to vanish into the ordinary rhythm of the city, but the air itself seemed thick with watchful eyes.
Razel Ann del Prado stood at the edge of the crowd, notebook in hand, her sharp gaze tracking Amber’s every move. Somewhere near the steps, Ernie Cabello waved, motioning for her to join him, but Amber could not force her legs to obey. She froze halfway down the stairwell, caught between friend and predator, between safety and exposure.
And then, without warning, the door behind her opened. Chains rattled, guards barked instructions, and the accused were led out in a file toward the waiting transport vans. Amber’s breath caught when she saw him. Harry Bolaños. His hands cuffed in front of him, his white shirt wrinkled and his hair slightly disheveled from hours in the holding cell, but his presence remained magnetic. He walked with the composure of someone who knew the world was staring and refused to bow to it.
For the briefest instant, his eyes found hers. It was not supposed to happen. They were supposed to remain strangers outside the scripted confines of testimony. Yet the pull was undeniable. His gaze locked her in place and her fingers tightened around the folder so hard the paper bent.
A guard tugged at his arm, urging him forward, but Harry tilted his head slightly as if in acknowledgment. It was the smallest gesture, but Amber felt the world tilt.
Razel noticed. Amber saw the quick flicker of the journalist’s pen as she scribbled something down. Ernie’s warning voice echoed in her mind: You are spiraling. You must cut ties.
Amber descended the stairs quickly, almost stumbling. She hoped distance would save her. But fate, or something darker, did not release its grip.
Hours later, when dusk fell over the city, Amber left the courthouse through the side entrance to avoid reporters. The alley smelled of dust and old rain. Her footsteps quickened, eager to reach her car parked two blocks away.
“Amber.”
The voice froze her blood. She turned sharply, eyes wide. Harry stood in the shadow of the building, no handcuffs, no guards.
She whispered, “How are you here.”
His lips curved faintly. “Sometimes the system bends. Sometimes it breaks. I asked for five minutes. I was given ten.”
She shook her head. “This is reckless. If anyone sees you—”
“Then let them see,” Harry interrupted. He stepped closer, his movements deliberate. “You think I wanted this. No. But when I saw you today on those stairs, I knew I could not let another day pass without words between us.”
Amber’s heart pounded so hard she felt it in her throat. “We should not be speaking.”
“And yet we are,” Harry replied, his voice lower now, almost a whisper. “Do you feel how impossible this is. To stand here, inches apart, pretending we are nothing to each other when the truth is burning.”
She backed a step, pressing herself against the wall. “Stop saying that. Someone could hear.”
“Then keep your voice low,” he murmured, leaning closer.
Amber’s breath trembled. She looked away, unable to bear the intensity of his eyes. “You are accused of crimes, Harry. I am sworn to tell the truth about what I saw. That is all we are meant to be. Nothing more.”
“And yet you are here,” Harry said. His hand, still cuffed though loosely, brushed against her sleeve. “And yet you are trembling.”
Her eyes snapped back to his. “Because this is madness.”
“Madness is sometimes the truest thing,” Harry whispered.
For a moment, the world shrank to the narrow alley, to the sound of their breathing, to the dangerous space between them.
Amber whispered fiercely, “If Razel sees us, if Ernie finds out, if Judge Capiña even suspects—everything will collapse. My name, my testimony, everything.”
Harry tilted his head. “And what of me. Do you not think everything is already collapsing for me. My life hangs on every word you say in that courtroom. You could destroy me or save me. Tell me you feel nothing and I will believe you. But you cannot, can you.”
Amber’s throat ached. She forced the words out. “I feel too much. And it terrifies me.”
Silence pressed in, heavy, undeniable.
Then footsteps echoed at the mouth of the alley. Amber stiffened. A figure appeared—Razel, her notebook still in hand, scanning the street like a hunter.
Amber shoved Harry back, hissing, “Go. Now.”
Harry’s eyes lingered on hers for a fraction of a second longer, then he melted into the shadows, slipping behind a service door the guards must have left ajar.
Amber pressed her back to the wall, clutching her folder against her chest as Razel approached.
“Working late, Miss Gatmaitan.” Razel’s tone was casual but her eyes were sharp.
Amber forced a smile. “Just heading home.”
Razel tilted her head. “Strange place to linger. Almost looks like you were waiting for someone.”
Amber shook her head quickly. “No. I just needed air.”
Razel scribbled in her notebook. “Air has become quite a dangerous commodity around here.” She glanced at Amber’s flushed cheeks and faintly trembling hands. “Take care, Miss Gatmaitan. The city is watching.”
Razel walked past, but Amber knew the journalist’s suspicions had deepened.
Later that night, Amber sat in her apartment with Ernie across from her. He had brought takeout, but neither of them touched it.
“You look haunted,” Ernie said.
Amber swallowed hard. “Do not ask me why.”
He studied her carefully. “Then let me guess. You saw him.”
Amber froze.
Ernie’s jaw tightened. “I knew it. You think you can hide, but you cannot. Amber, do you understand what you are risking. If anyone even whispers that you are compromised, your testimony means nothing. You could be charged. Do you realize that.”
Amber whispered, “I know. I know all of it.”
“Then why,” Ernie demanded. “Why throw yourself into the fire for him.”
Amber’s eyes filled with tears. “Because when he looks at me, I am not just a witness. I am alive.”
Ernie slammed his palm on the table. “That is not life, Amber. That is destruction disguised as passion. You are walking willingly into ruin.”
Amber covered her face with her hands. “I cannot stop.”
Ernie’s voice softened, almost breaking. “Then I do not know how to save you.”
Days blurred into each other, each court session heavier than the last. But at night, whispers found their way to her. Harry managed to pass her notes through unseen hands, short scribbles hidden inside blank envelopes.
One note read: Meet me where the city forgets itself.
Another: Every wall crumbles in silence.
Amber burned each note after reading, but the words etched themselves into her memory.
Finally, one evening, unable to resist, she followed the directions scribbled on the third note. An abandoned library near the edge of town, its windows boarded, its gates rusted. The moon lit the broken path.
Inside, dust and silence reigned. And there he was, waiting. Harry.
Amber’s voice trembled. “This is insane.”
Harry stepped forward. “Perhaps. But it is also inevitable.”
Their voices dropped lower, softer, weaving around the cracked walls. Every sentence became a confession, every pause a risk.
Amber whispered, “If the world finds us here, it ends.”
Harry replied, “If the world never finds us here, then perhaps it begins.”
She felt her knees weaken as he closed the distance. Their hands brushed, tentative yet electric.
Amber breathed, “We are criminals already, Harry. Not of law, but of desire.”
Harry’s lips curved faintly. “Then let us commit fully.”
The silence between them swelled, fragile and dangerous. And in that silence, Amber realized she had already crossed the line.
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and then Add to home screen.