Blinded

Chapter 4

KAYLA POV

The morning sun poured through the wide windows of my bedroom, streaking gold across my cream-and-gray comforter. My eyes blinked open slowly, lashes brushing against the satin pillowcase as I stretched out like a lazy cat. My body was sore from dancing, but it was the tangle of thoughts in my head that had me wide awake.

Andre.

Even the name felt dangerous.

I'd only known him for a few hours, but something about him had sunk its claws into me—his raspy LA tone, that quiet confidence, the way he looked at me like I was already his. I hated how my body responded to it, how my chest tightened and my thighs clenched when he leaned too close. He had this energy... like he knew what you wanted before you did.

But then there was that other guy. The one who stepped in, voice low and steady, eyes scanning the crowd before landing on me. "Watch your back around him," he'd said in Spanish. (Cuidado con él.)

Why would someone risk saying that to a stranger? Why me?

I pushed the thought aside and rolled over, grabbing my cream-colored laptop and flipping it open to check my school portal. Senior year. Online school. The price I paid for freedom. It wasn't bad—I could work at my own pace, and I didn't have to pretend to care about high school hallway politics—but it made the days blur together. The only real highlight was how productive I could be when I felt like it.

After checking off an English assignment and skimming a couple discussion posts, I grabbed my phone and posted a photo from last night—me laughing, head thrown back, curls catching the flash, city lights behind me like a backdrop made just for me.

Caption: Last night was a movie.

The likes rolled in immediately, followed by the inevitable DM.

Andre:
You were the highlight. Still thinking about you, mami.

Ugh. The way he texted made me want to roll my eyes and blush at the same time. I didn't reply.

Not yet.

A buzz.

Alyssa:
Brunch. Ivy. Now. I need the tea.

I grinned. Alyssa was never subtle.

We'd met during a photoshoot I was dragged into by a brand that reposted my accidental viral TikTok. She was modeling for the same swimwear line. We bonded fast—same age, same type of pretty that got us stopped in public, same type of exhaustion from always having to prove we were more than just faces. She had been in LA longer than me, and she moved like she was made of satin and steel—soft when she wanted to be, but nobody's fool.

⸻

The Ivy was exactly what you'd expect from a bougie LA brunch spot—chatter, champagne, and at least three people at every table pretending they weren't people-watching.

Alyssa looked like a campaign in motion—silky lavender blouse tucked into tailored cream pants, gold accents catching the sun. Her long dark hair was slicked back into a sleek braid, and her almond-shaped eyes were framed by thick lashes and a smirk that could kill.

I wore a black cropped tank and pale denim shorts with frayed edges. My curls were pinned half-up, half-down, bouncing against my shoulders with every step. A delicate gold anklet winked above my sneakers, and my nails were painted a glossy nude almond shape.

"You look like you're up to no good," she said as I slid into the seat across from her.

"You look like you're about to fire someone over brunch," I shot back with a grin.