Decisions, Decisions
Aaliyah
Aaliyah’s breath caught in her throat as Cruz stepped closer, her tall, imposing figure casting a shadow over the small table where Aaliyah sat, clutching her wedding dress in her lap like it was her last lifeline. Her body was rigid, every muscle tensed as if she might spring into action at any moment.
Aaliyah’s heart pounded in her chest. This was it. The walls were closing in, and Cruz was here, right in front of her, staring down at her with that cool, emotionless gaze that Aaliyah had come to know all too well.
This is happening. She’s going to take me back.
The weight of that realization pressed down on Aaliyah like a stone, crushing the breath out of her lungs. She could already picture it—being dragged back to the estate, back into that gilded cage. The life she had just tried to run from, the life that had never been hers, was waiting to swallow her whole again.
Aaliyah didn’t know what to do, what to say. Her mind raced, but only one thought cut through the panic:
I can’t go back.
“I… I can’t go back, Cruz,” Aaliyah said, her voice trembling, though she tried to keep it steady. She wasn’t sure what she was hoping for—sympathy, maybe? Understanding? But she knew better than to expect that from someone like Cruz.
Cruz remained silent, her gaze unwavering. The weight of her presence was oppressive, as though she was a wall Aaliyah couldn’t scale, no matter how hard she tried.
Aaliyah looked down at the table, her fingers curling into fists as she tried to steady her breathing. She had to think, had to make Cruz see that this wasn’t just about Aaliyah’s personal rebellion. It was about freedom—a freedom she would never find with Ehsan, a freedom she would never find under the thumb of her family.
But then something caught her eye.
The go-bag.
It was resting on Cruz’s shoulder, tucked under her arm like a quiet secret. The very same bag Aaliyah had packed for her escape—the one she had left behind in the bridal suite.
Aaliyah’s pulse quickened.
Wait. Is this—Is Cruz helping me?
She couldn’t help herself. The question spilled out before she could stop it.
“You… brought the bag,” Aaliyah said, her voice soft, barely a whisper, but it was filled with disbelief. “You’re not… you’re not taking me back, are you?”
Cruz didn’t respond immediately, and for a moment, the tension between them thickened to a near unbearable level. Aaliyah’s eyes never left the bag, her thoughts a tangled mess. Could Cruz be on her side? Was there a chance—just a chance—that she could still escape this?
But then Cruz spoke, her tone cold, cutting through Aaliyah’s fragile hope like a knife.
“You know the mission,” Cruz said simply, her voice unwavering, as if the words were carved into stone. “I can’t let you go. You have to come with me, Aaliyah.”
Aaliyah’s stomach twisted. She felt her throat close up as the reality of Cruz’s resolve hit her, crashing down like a tidal wave. But something still lingered in Cruz’s eyes—something that felt like a crack in her armor.
But Aaliyah wasn’t ready to give up yet.
“Please, Cruz,” Aaliyah’s voice was low, pleading now. She stood up from her chair, pushing it back with an audible scrape. Her legs were shaky, but she held herself upright, refusing to show weakness. “I can’t do this. I can’t marry Ehsan. I can’t live that life. You don’t have to take me back to him, to them. Please… just let me go.”
Her eyes locked with Cruz’s, desperate. She needed Cruz to see, to understand what she was feeling. The idea of walking back into that world, to fulfill her duty as a pawn in some political game—it made her feel sick.
“I don’t care about the mission anymore. I don’t care about the political deal, or the family, or anything else.” Aaliyah’s voice cracked, the rawness of her words ripping through her chest. “I just want to be free.”
Cruz’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t answer. She just stood there, watching Aaliyah, her gaze unwavering.
The silence stretched on, thick and suffocating.
Aaliyah took a step closer to her, her breath shaky, but she didn’t back down. She had come too far to stop now.
“Cruz…” She reached out tentatively, her hand brushing against the edge of Cruz’s sleeve. “You can help me. I saw the bag. You brought it. You must want to help me. Please.”
Her fingers lingered for just a moment, but Cruz didn’t flinch, didn’t move. She just stood there, her expression unreadable. But Aaliyah could feel the tension in the air—the way the very atmosphere seemed to hum with unsaid things, things Aaliyah couldn’t decipher.
Finally, Cruz spoke again, her voice low, measured.
“Your family is expecting you,” she said, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Ehsan is waiting. This isn’t just about you, Aaliyah. There are bigger things at stake. This is bigger than what you want.”
Aaliyah recoiled at the words, the cold truth of them sinking into her chest. She knew all too well how the world worked for people like her. She had been born into it, raised to be a symbol, a political tool. But she wasn’t that person. Not anymore.
“I don’t care about any of that.” Aaliyah shook her head, her voice rising with the intensity of her plea. “I don’t care about the mission, or the family, or Ehsan. I don’t want this life. I—” She stopped herself, taking a steadying breath. “I just want a chance to live. A real chance. Not this cage, not this—” She gestured at the wedding dress, the suffocating symbol of the life they wanted to force on her. “Not this.”
The words hung in the air between them, fragile and raw, as if they were the last thread of hope Aaliyah had. Her body shook with the tension of her plea, her mind a swirl of conflicting thoughts. She had to convince Cruz. She had to make her see.
Cruz looked at her, her gaze steady but conflicted. There was a flicker of something—something almost human—that crossed her face before she masked it with her usual professional composure.
“I’m sorry, Aaliyah,” Cruz said softly, almost regretfully. “I can’t let you go.”
Aaliyah’s heart sank. The weight of those words hit her like a ton of bricks. She had hoped, even for just a second, that Cruz might bend. But Cruz wasn’t the type to bend. She was a soldier, a protector, and she was following orders. There was no room for sympathy in her world.
Aaliyah wasn’t ready to give up.
Not yet.
Cruz
Cruz’s jaw tightened as she watched Aaliyah’s hands tremble, her fingers gripping the edge of the table like a lifeline. Aaliyah’s wide eyes, desperate and pleading, locked onto Cruz’s with a silent intensity that made something shift in Cruz’s chest. She could feel the pull of those eyes—the raw vulnerability in them—and it grated against every instinct she had spent years honing.
Aaliyah’s words echoed in her mind, each one laced with the quiet desperation of a woman on the brink of breaking. Please, Cruz. You don’t have to take me back. I can’t live like this anymore.
But Cruz was here to do a job. That’s all.
She had always been able to separate herself from her emotions, from the human element of the operations. She had learned the hard way that feelings only got in the way of the mission. She wasn’t here to make friends or find compassion. She was here to protect Aaliyah—keep her alive, keep her safe. And that meant getting her back to her family, back to the estate, back into the life that was planned for her.
The weight of her duty pressed down on her like a heavy mantle, each second of hesitation threatening to unravel everything she had worked for.
But the moment Aaliyah reached out to her, the subtle brush of her fingers against the edge of Cruz’s sleeve, something shifted.
Cruz’s breath hitched for the briefest of moments, and she caught herself—Don’t get attached. Don’t let her pull you in. She didn’t need to feel empathy for Aaliyah. She didn’t need to understand what she was going through. What mattered was that Aaliyah was part of a larger political scheme, a deal with her family that Cruz’s team had been assigned to protect.
Yet, Aaliyah’s voice—soft, pleading—sank into Cruz like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples through her otherwise composed demeanor.
"You… brought the bag," Aaliyah’s voice broke through her thoughts, the quiet disbelief laced in it. "You’re not… you’re not taking me back, are you?"
Cruz’s fingers twitched slightly, but she kept her face impassive. Her mind raced, processing Aaliyah’s words, and then the realization struck—Aaliyah had left behind the go-bag, the one she had packed for her escape.
It was in Cruz’s hands now.
That bag. It symbolized freedom—Aaliyah’s hope, her chance at a different life, the life she was so desperate for. And Cruz had it.
It shouldn’t matter.
But as Aaliyah’s eyes locked onto the bag, a brief flicker of hope crossing her face, Cruz felt a sharp pang in her chest. She didn’t want to acknowledge it, didn’t want to give in to it. She wasn’t here to play savior. She wasn’t the one who could help Aaliyah escape from the life that had been chosen for her. That wasn’t the mission.
But her heart—a traitor, as always—began to twist uncomfortably in her chest.
“I can’t let you go,” Cruz said firmly, her voice betraying none of the internal conflict gnawing at her. “You know what’s at stake.”
Her words sounded cold, but inside, her training and instincts screamed at her to fulfill the mission. Get her back to her family. This is your job, Cruz. There’s no other choice.
Aaliyah’s face fell, her shoulders sagging as though she had just heard the final verdict. Cruz saw the defeat in her eyes—desperation turning to resignation.
But Aaliyah wasn’t ready to give up yet.
“Please, Cruz,” Aaliyah’s voice trembled with the rawness of a plea. She stood up from the table, swaying slightly as if the weight of her emotions were too much to bear. “I can’t do this. I can’t marry Ehsan. I can’t live that life. You don’t have to take me back to him. Please… just let me go.”
The words hit Cruz like a punch to the gut. She had heard it all before—people who were trapped in their circumstances, begging for an escape, pleading for someone to help them break free. But the difference here was that Cruz could feel the sincerity in Aaliyah’s voice. She wasn’t just asking for freedom—she was pleading for something deeper. Aaliyah wasn’t asking for a way out of a marriage. She was asking for a way out of a life that had never been hers.
The realization struck Cruz harder than it should have.
But she couldn’t—wouldn’t—let it distract her from the mission.
“You’re not the only one who has to do things they don’t want to do,” Cruz said, her voice flat. She tried to ignore the tightening in her chest, the way her breath caught in her throat. This is the mission. This is the job.
“I’ve got orders, Aaliyah,” Cruz continued, her tone clipped. “And those orders say you need to go back. I can’t just let you walk away from this.” Her voice faltered for a second, but she caught herself before the crack became noticeable. “You don’t know what will happen if you leave. You don’t know how dangerous it is.”
Aaliyah’s gaze hardened as she listened. Her words were a soft whisper, but they carried the weight of everything she had endured.
“I don’t care about the mission anymore. I don’t care about the political deal, or the family, or anything else,” Aaliyah said, her voice breaking with emotion. “I just want to be free.”
Cruz’s eyes narrowed, the words slicing through her. Aaliyah’s resolve was so clear, so absolute, that for a moment, Cruz almost wavered. But then the images of her superiors, her comrades, the people who had trained her—their faces loomed in her mind, reminding her of the stakes. The mission was bigger than just one person. Aaliyah wasn’t the only piece in this puzzle. There were larger forces at play, bigger consequences, and Cruz had to be the one to see it through.
Aaliyah’s hands were shaking now, her chest rising and falling with quick breaths. Cruz could see the fear in her eyes, the raw desperation. She wanted to help her. She wanted to. For a brief, foolish moment, she almost imagined what it would be like to just take Aaliyah’s hand, to say let’s go and disappear into the night with her, away from everything.
But then Cruz felt it—her resolve snapped back into place like a taut wire pulled too tight.
No. She doesn’t get to make you doubt yourself. This is the mission.
“I can’t do that,” Cruz said firmly, her voice colder now, harder. “I have my orders, Aaliyah. I’m not your enemy. I’m trying to protect you.”
Aaliyah’s face contorted in pain, the frustration evident in her features. Her lips parted, as if to say something, but nothing came out. She just stared at Cruz, wide-eyed, as though she were seeing the other woman for the first time.
And Cruz—Cruz wanted to look away. She wanted to pretend she hadn’t seen that vulnerable, human side of Aaliyah that was pleading for freedom. But instead, she stood there, her chest tight, as the seconds stretched on in agonizing silence.
The bag. The only thread of hope Aaliyah had left.
Cruz could feel it. She could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on her, threatening to suffocate her resolve.