Y/N x Nicholas Chavez fanfic ⋆ ˚｡⋆
Nicholas's role in the new series, Monster, reimagined as the third Menendez brother, Nicholas Menendez.
!SMUT INCLUDED!SMUT INCLUDED!
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THE CREAK OF the front door echoed through the stillness of the manor as Y/N stepped out into the chilling evening air. The house behind her had secrets clinging to her like second skin. The hollow ache of unanswered questions settled deep in her chest as she walked briskly to her car, her mind racing with a thousand thoughts.
She slid into the driver's seat, her fingers shaking slightly as she gripped the steering wheel. Her breath fogged the windows, the cold outside an eerie reminder of the isolation she felt. With one last glance at the house, Y/N started the car and pulled out onto the winding road leading away from the estate.
The drive back to her office was shrouded in silence, save for the soft hum of the engine and the distant sound of her radio. The weight of the investigation pressed heavily on her mind, drowning out any sense of normalcy. Her thoughts lingered on Nicholas, on the fleeting moments they had shared. A part of her wanted to cling to the memory of him, to the boy who had once made her feel invincible, but another part knew she couldn't ignore the dark reality of the situation.
When she finally reached the office, the stark glow of fluorescent lights spilled out onto the pavement, illuminating her path. She stepped out of her car, the cool air biting at her skin, and made her way inside. The sound of her heels echoed in the empty lobby, a reminder of her solitary presence.
She flickered on her desk lamp, casting a warm glow over the chaos that was her workspace. Papers were spread out haphazardly, files opened to gruesome crime scene photos and witness testimonies.
Her fingers traced the edges of a document, but her mind was elsewhere. She hadn't been able to shake Claire's words since leaving the house. The journalist's cryptic remarks, each syllable gnawing at her resolve.
Nicholas isn't as clean as you think.
Y/N clenched her jaw, her fingers brushing over a file on her desk. Nicholas wasn't a murderer. She had known him—truly known him. But still, doubt crept in, wrapping itself around her like a cold hand gripping her throat. She leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes, trying to block out the chaos.
Her mind drifted again, back to Nicholas. Dark-haired, brooding, beautiful Nicholas. She hadn't seen him in years, but his presence never left her. She remembered his laugh, the way he would sweep his hand through his messy hair when he was nervous, the way he looked at her like she was the only one in the room. The connection had been instant, undeniable, but now it was buried under layers of suspicion.
Y/N exhaled slowly, her gaze drifting back to the files in front of her. The images of José and Kitty Menendez stared up at her from the crime scene photos—faces frozen in death, lives violently cut short. She had seen dozens of cases like this before, but none of them felt as personal as this one.
