The door swung open.

Isabela felt the weight of everything crash down in that moment—the heat of her decision, the inevitability of consequence, the pulse of fear in her ribs.

Her father’s men stepped inside, scanning the bookstore with practiced precision. They were professionals, trained to sniff out hesitation, to recognize weakness before it could take root.

Leon had frozen near the back exit, his fingers gripping the strap of his bag. His gaze flickered to Isabela—waiting, trusting.

She had seconds.

Isabela moved first.

She stepped forward, placing herself between Leon and the men, heart hammering against her ribs. The gesture was instinctive, reckless, a direct betrayal of everything she was supposed to be.

They noticed.

One of them—Carlos, a man who had watched her grow up, who had seen her take orders without question—tilted his head slightly, suspicion curling behind his stare.

“Step aside, Isabela.”

She didn’t.

Her breath was steady, but her fingers clenched at her sides. “He’s not a problem.”

Carlos exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. “Orders are orders. You know how this works.”

She did.

Her father never issued warnings lightly. If she failed to follow through, there would be consequences—not just for Leon, but for her.

The weight of that truth settled into her bones.

Leon spoke then, his voice quiet but sure. “I don’t want trouble.”

Carlos scoffed. “Too late for that.”

Isabela’s pulse roared in her ears. She had spent her entire life following orders, proving her place in the family, convincing herself that she was unshakable.

And yet, standing here, standing between them—between the life she had been given and the life she could choose—she realized something.

She wasn’t unshakable at all.

She was breaking.

Slowly. Quietly. Deliberately.

And maybe that was okay.

Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind: “You are Del Castillo. You do not dream of softness. You thrive in darkness.”

But what if she didn’t?

What if she refused to?

Carlos was growing impatient. “Isabela—”

She reached for her gun.

Not to fire it.

To drop it.

The silence that followed was thunderous.

Carlos stared at the weapon as it clattered against the wooden floor. His expression shifted from confusion to something dangerously unreadable.

“You sure about this?”

Isabela looked at Leon, then back at Carlos.

“Yes.”

Carlos exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “Your father won’t like this.”

“I know.”

She turned toward Leon. “Go.”

He didn’t hesitate this time. He bolted toward the back exit, disappearing into the alley beyond.

Carlos didn’t stop him.

Instead, he looked at Isabela, something close to pity in his gaze. “You realize there’s no going back, right?”

She did.

She had made her choice.

Let the flower bloom.

Even if it meant tearing out the roots.

This ending leaves space for what comes next—is she truly free, or has she just set herself up for the war of her life? Let me know if you want an even bigger emotional payoff or a shift in direction!