Emilia's POV

I glance at Valeria's panicked face, her eyes wide and filled with urgency, and I instinctively reach out to calm her but I stop myself.

"In danger? I don't understand," I say softly, though my heart starts to race.

"Where is your father?" she asks, her voice sharp, almost demanding.

I blink, taken aback. "In his office, probably... Why?"

Her expression tightens, and I can see her mind working, racing through thoughts I can't follow. Valeria's never met my father, never even mentioned him. Why does she want to know about him now?

"Let's go to him," she says urgently.

"Valeria, you're freaking me out." I take a step back, trying to understand what's going on.

She fixes me with a determined look, stepping closer. "Do you trust me?"

Her question hangs in the air, and memories of that night crash into me like waves. The fear, the desperation, the moment I trusted a complete stranger to be my guardian angel. And now, here she is, no longer a stranger, standing in front of me and asking me that same question.

"With my life," I whisper, my voice trembling, lost in her hazel eyes.

"Then take me to your father," she responds without hesitation, completely unaware of the emotions stirring in my chest.

I nod, swallowing hard. Without another word, I gesture for her to follow me.

As we leave the room, we're met with Dani and Claire. Dani opens her mouth to say something, her trademark scowl already forming, but I hold up a finger, cutting her off mid-thought.

"I don't want to hear a single word coming out of that mouth of yours," I snap, not even bothering to stop.

I hear Claire stifle a laugh behind me, but I don't turn around. I keep walking steadily, feeling Valeria's presence just behind me. Her silence is heavy, almost suffocating, but I know better than to push her for answers now.

As we walk through the seemingly endless halls of my mansion, the silence between us grows heavier. I glance back at Valeria, her sharp eyes darting to every corner as if mapping her escape route.

"What is this maze?" she mutters, her voice low but laced with bitterness. "You could fit my entire neighborhood in here."

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. My steps falter for a moment, but I don't turn around. I've grown used to her comments about the difference between our worlds, but that doesn't make them hurt any less.

I want to say something, anything, to ease the tension, but what could I possibly say? She's right. This place is obscene compared to what she's known. I can only imagine how alien it must feel to her, how suffocating.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, barely audible.

"For what?" she asks, her tone sharp, almost defensive.

I shake my head. "For... all of this." I gesture vaguely at the grand halls, the polished floors, the walls adorned with expensive art. "For making you feel like you don't belong here."

She doesn't respond immediately, and the silence feels unbearable. Finally, she sighs. "You didn't make me feel that way, Emilia. Life did."

Her words are heavy, and they settle in my chest like a stone. I keep walking, trying to push down the guilt bubbling up inside me.

We finally reach my father's office door, and I stop, placing a hand on the doorknob. For a moment, I hesitate, glancing back at her. Her face is unreadable, but her eyes hold that same urgency from earlier.

"Are you ready?" I ask softly.

She meets my gaze, her jaw tight, and gives me a single nod.

Taking a deep breath, I push the door open.

We step into my father's office, and he looks up from his desk immediately. Relief washes over his face as he stands and makes his way toward me.

"Emilia," he says, pulling me into a warm hug. His arms wrap tightly around me, and he presses a kiss to my forehead.

I let myself relax in his embrace for a moment before he pulls back and notices Valeria standing awkwardly by the door. His expression shifts to one of surprise, and then to recognition.

"Valeria," he says warmly, a smile spreading across his face as he steps forward, his arms outstretched as if to give her a hug.

Before he can reach her, I gently place my hand on his arm, pulling him back. I shake my head subtly, and he stops in his tracks. Clearing his throat, he straightens and addresses her with a more formal tone.

"I've wanted to meet you sooner," he begins, his voice steady and genuine, "but Emilia told me you needed space, and I respected her wishes."

I glance at Valeria, whose expression remains guarded, though her eyes dart toward me for a moment.

"I wanted to thank you personally for what you did to save my daughter. You didn't have to, but you did, and I owe you everything." His voice softens, the sincerity in his words unmistakable. "And I also want to apologize for everything you've been through because of this. It was never supposed to happen, and it's my responsibility to make it right. From this day forward, anything you need, anything you want, you can have. You saved my precious girl, and I'll never forget that."

Valeria doesn't respond immediately, her arms crossing defensively as her gaze shifts between me and my father. Finally, she gives a small nod, though her posture remains stiff.

---

Valeria's POV

I stand there, watching the interaction between Emilia and her father, an ache settling deep in my chest.

The way he held her so tightly, kissed her forehead like she was the most important person in the world... I wonder, just for a moment, what it must feel like to have someone love you like that. To have someone see you as their precious girl.

My eyes drift to Emilia. She's standing close to him, her hand lightly resting on his arm, stopping him from coming closer to me. The movement is subtle, but I notice it. She's... careful. Careful not to push me, careful to keep me from feeling overwhelmed. It's like she's always thinking about me, protecting me in her own way.

Her father's voice cuts through my thoughts. "Emilia told me to give you space," he says, his tone sincere. "She wanted to make sure you felt comfortable before we spoke."

I glance at her again, but she doesn't meet my gaze this time. Instead, she's looking at her father, her expression calm but her posture tense, like she's bracing herself for my reaction.

"Thank you," I mutter finally, the words feeling foreign in my mouth.

Her father nods, his eyes warm and kind, but it's hard to look at him for too long. I felt small next to him, out of place.

My thoughts drift unwillingly to Emilia, to the way she stood between us, creating a barrier without making it obvious. She didn't have to do that. But she did.

I cross my arms tighter, nails digging into my palms, and focus on the floor. The gratitude I should feel doesn't come easily. The unease never really leaves. But for now, I let it be. For now, I just endure

I shift my weight from foot to foot, uncomfortable with the sheer luxury of the office, the warmth in Emilia's father's voice, the way they both look at me—like I belong here. I don't.

I'm about to brush off his gratitude, make some excuse to leave, but then I remember why I came here in the first place.

I take a deep breath, forcing my mind to focus. "I need to tell you something," I say, my voice steady despite the weight of the words. "It wasn't just a kidnapping."

Emilia's brows furrow. "What do you mean?"

I glance at her father. His expression is unreadable, but I can tell he's listening carefully.

"Someone wanted Emilia dead."

The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating. Emilia stiffens beside me, and her father leans forward, his hands clasped together tightly on the desk.

"How do you know this?" he asks, his voice sharp with concern.

I hesitate, debating how much I should say, but I have no reason to hide it. "César told me. He's a kid from my neighborhood, but he hears things. He told me that Dominic was paid by another businessman to kill Emilia. The kidnapping was just a cover—Dominic wanted to take the ransom and then collect his payment for the hit."

Emilia's face drains of color, and her father stands abruptly, pacing behind his desk. His entire demeanor shifts—he's no longer the warm father embracing his daughter. He's a businessman calculating threats, running scenarios in his head.

"Do you know who?" he asks, his voice low and dangerous.

I shake my head. "No. But it has to be someone with enough money and connections to do business with Dominic. That means someone powerful. And if it's a businessman..." I pause, my stomach twisting. "Then it could be one of your competitors."

Emilia's father exhales sharply, rubbing his chin. "That narrows it down, but not by much. I have enemies—people who want to see my company fall. But this... this is personal."

I nod. "That's why I thought you should know. Because whoever did this, they knew exactly where Emilia was going that day. That means someone in your circle—someone close to you—leaked that information."

Emilia looks between us, her eyes wide with realization. "You're saying... someone in our house, in our company... betrayed us?" Her face darkens. "The guards," she whispers. "They knew I was going out that day. They knew the route I was taking."

Her father stiffens. "That... would make sense." He turns to me, his gaze sharp. "What do you think, Valeria?"

I hesitate. "If Dominic got that information, it had to come from someone close enough to track her movements. The guards, the driver—someone who had access to her schedule." I pause, then add, "And if that's the case, they might still be watching."

The room falls into a tense silence.

Emilia's father moves first, pressing a button on his desk phone. "I want a full review of every security guard on staff. Background checks, financial records—everything. And I want to know who was on duty the day my daughter was taken." His voice is controlled, but there's a lethal edge to it.

Emilia, still tense, turns to me. "So you came to me because you were worried."

I scoff, crossing my arms. "Don't flatter yourself. I just don't want César caught up in this mess."

She smiles slightly, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"Valeria," her father says, his voice softer now, "I know this isn't easy for you. But I appreciate you telling us this. And I promise you—I will find out who's responsible."

His voice carries a weight that tells me he means it.

I stare at Emilia for a moment. She won't let this go. I can see it in her eyes.

I look away, pushing down the strange warmth creeping into my chest.

Emilia's POV

We walk out of my father's office together, side by side, the silence between us heavier than I'd like.

I steal a glance at Valeria, at the tension in her jaw, the way her hands clench into fists at her sides. She looks deep in thought—worried. And for a fleeting, reckless moment, I let myself believe she's worried about me.

That her panic back in the studio, the urgency in her voice, was all because she was scared for me.

But I should have known better.

She was worried about César.

Of course, she was.

The moment we shared yesterday, when she let her walls crack just a little, when she laughed, even if it was brief, even if it was small—I should've known it wouldn't last. It was just a passing moment, and now her walls are back up.

I let out a quiet sigh, staring straight ahead as we move through the hall. The excitement, the warmth I felt when she grabbed my shoulders back in the studio—it's already fading, replaced by something duller.

She's still looking for an escape.

She still wants to leave.

I keep walking, keeping pace with her, but my chest feels tight. I don't say anything. And neither does she.

That's when I hear her say it.

"Emilia..."

Her voice trails off, soft and careful, almost hesitant. I stop in my tracks, turning to face her, my heart stuttering at the way she looks at me—not guarded, not hostile, just... unreadable.

She exhales quietly, shifting her weight.

"Take care," she says.

And then, just like that, she turns away, retreating to her room.

I stand there, frozen, my eyes following her as she walks away.

It almost feels like she could sense the storm of thoughts raging inside me and—without even realizing it—chose to calm me down.

Take care.

Two simple words, yet they carry more weight than they should. More than she probably intended.

Maybe I'm reading too much into it. Maybe it's nothing.

But it feels like something.