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My breath hitches as he finally steps back into view. My pulse thundering in my ears.

"Now you know," he says quietly, and for the first time, there is something in his voice that might be vulnerability. "Does the truth change anything?"

I stare at him, anger and longing warring violently inside me. My voice emerges raw, betraying every conflict I feel. "It changes everything—and nothing at all."

I say it without thinking, without even caring that I’m still standing there naked, steam curling from my skin, water clinging to my body like grief I can’t wipe away. I don’t care anymore. There’s nothing left to hide. Nothing Rule hasn’t already seen, nothing he doesn’t already fucking know.

So I ask a question that’s been plaguing me.

"How did you do it?" My voice is quieter now, but laced with a sharp edge. "Cruz. The club. All of them. You took them out by yourself. That wasn’t chaos—it was surgical. They were cartel soldiers. On alert. Guarding one of Reyes’ top men. And you walked in like it was nothing."

He doesn't answer right away. Just stands there, still as shadow, the towel hanging limply in his hand like he’s waiting for something he can’t name.

"It wasn’t nothing," he says eventually. "But it was easy."

My stomach twists. "How? It was broad daylight. Not club hours. There weren’t even patrons there to hide behind. Just Cruz and his men. Locked down. Private. No reason to expect anyone."

His voice is flat. Distant.

"Porque sabían a quién servían."

The words roll off his tongue like smoke.

And I freeze.

Because I know what that means.

Because I speak enough Spanish to recognize the quiet weight behind them.

Because they knew who they served.

My eyes narrow. My heart kicks up. "What did you just say?"

Rule tilts his head slightly, like he hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

"I said I walked in," he replies instead.

"No." I take a step forward. My voice sharpens. My chest heaves with the effort of trying to contain the storm building inside me. "No more cryptic bullshit. How did you just walk in? How did they let you get that close with a weapon? And then not a single one of them raised a fucking gun?"

He looks at me for a long time.

Then he says it.

"Because they would never raise a weapon to Reyes’ son."

The air leaves my lungs like a punch. The room tilts. My knees threaten to buckle.

"What… what did you say?"

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away.

"My real name is Kingston Reyes."

It hits like a gunshot straight to my spine.

And then I move.

I launch at him, fury snapping through me like a live wire. I swing, and he catches my wrist. I twist, kick, claw, screaming without sound. My whole body fights him like it's the only thing left keeping me from shattering.