Emilia's POV

The next day, I find myself in an unusually good mood.

There's no real reason for it, or at least none that I'm willing to say out loud. But I know. Valeria and I seem to be making progress—if I can even call it that.

She spoke to me. She told me to take care.

It was such a small thing, but it lingered in my mind, playing over and over like a song stuck in my head.

Now, I'm back in my element, camera in hand, the world fading away as I direct the two women draped in silk robes before me. The lighting is perfect, the fabrics catching the glow in a way that makes the models look like moving art. Claire adjusts a light while Dani lingers nearby, watching me with that look she always gives me when she's waiting for an opening.

I focus on my work.

And then, out of the corner of my eye—I see her.

Valeria.

She's standing far away, near the entrance to the studio, half-hidden in the shadows. She's watching me.

My fingers twitch on the camera.

I don't react. I don't want her to know I saw her. If she realizes, she might leave, and I don't want that. Instead, I keep working, adjusting angles, shifting positions, my movements more fluid, more purposeful. But every so often, I glance toward her.

She's still there.

Her expression is unreadable, but her eyes... they stay on me.

Is she fascinated by my work? Or just wary of me? Is she watching me because she's curious, or because she still doesn't trust me?

Or maybe... maybe she's making sure I'm safe.

The thought sends something warm rushing through me, and I push it down before it can take root.

Whatever the reason, I let her presence fuel me. I lose myself in my art, in the way the silk clings to the models' skin, the way light and shadow dance together through my lens. My movements become more passionate, more instinctive. I feel alive again, the way I used to before everything happened. Before I was taken.

And for the first time in a long time, I don't feel like I'm just going through the motions.

By the time the shoot is over, I'm flushed, exhilarated, a little breathless. I sit down, reviewing the images, satisfaction curling in my chest.

Then, without warning, Dani plops herself onto my lap.

I barely have time to react before her lips press against mine

Panic builds inside me.

Did Valeria see that?

Of course, she did.

I can feel the weight of her gaze even without looking. If I push Dani off now, she'll know that I know she's watching. And I don't want that. I force myself to play it cool, keeping my expression neutral as I smile at Dani.

"Can you get me the other camera?" I ask, my tone light.

Dani grins, clearly pleased with herself, and hops off my lap. She sways her hips as she walks away, and I fight the urge to glance toward the door—to see if Valeria is still standing there.

Before I can break, Claire steps in front of me, leaning against my desk, blocking my view. A smirk plays on her lips.

"She's still here," she says casually.

My stomach flips. "You saw her?" I ask, trying to sound indifferent.

Claire nods, amusement twinkling in her eyes. "Dani saw her first and told me." She shakes her head with disapproval.

I grit my teeth. "So that kiss—Dani did it on purpose?"

Claire shrugs. "What do you think?"

Anger boils inside me. Dani knew. She knew Valeria was watching and kissed me anyway.

"Emilia, she's been in love with you for years," Claire reminds me.

I let out a bitter laugh. "I know. And you also know I've made it clear to her a million times—it's all fun for me. She never seemed to mind when I brought other girls around."

Claire sighs, crossing her arms. "Yes, because you never committed. You always claimed 'the soul of an artist belongs to no one.'" She raises an eyebrow. "But now? Now she sees you treating Valeria differently. You get puppy eyes when you look at her."

I scoff, shaking my head.

"To Dani, Valeria isn't just another girl. She's a threat." Claire continues. "While the others were just... distractions. And if you're going to commit to someone, Dani thinks it should be her."

I exhale sharply. "Did she actually tell you that?"

"She did. That's what she thinks." Claire studies me closely, then asks, "But what about you? Would you commit to Valeria?"

The question catches me off guard, but the answer comes without hesitation.

"I would." The words leave my lips before I can stop them.

Claire looks surprised.

"But she would never be with me," I add quickly, voice dipping into something almost vulnerable. "I'm lucky if we have a conversation without her snapping at me. Valeria hates the world I come from. She probably hates me—and I can't blame her."

I run a hand through my hair, exhaling. "Not after what I saw in that neighborhood..." My voice trails off weakly.

Claire watches me with concern. "What did you see?"

I shake my head. "Never mind. I don't think I'm ready to talk about it yet."

She offers a small, understanding smile. "That's okay. You don't have to."

A beat of silence passes between us.

"Claire?" I ask softly.

"Hm?"

"What do you think of Valeria?"

Claire tilts her head, thinking. "I don't know. I don't know her. She seems scary... but at the same time, she doesn't scare me." She chuckles. "It's weird. I don't know how to explain it."

I let out a small laugh. "I think I know exactly what you mean."

There's a pause, and my fingers fidget against my camera.

"Um, Claire?" I ask, a little shyly.

"Yes?" She grins, amused by my tone.

I hesitate before finally asking, "What did she do when she saw Dani kiss me? Did she react at all?"

Claire's smile widens. "She was shocked at first, then turned her face away. She seemed... embarrassed."

Something flutters in my chest, but I quickly push it down.

"So she didn't seem to mind it?" I ask, trying to sound unaffected.

Claire studies me for a long moment, then places a hand on my shoulder.

"I can't read her mind, Emilia," she says gently. "Don't overthink things."

Valeria's POV

I shouldn't be thinking about it.

But the image keeps creeping back into my mind—Dani, sitting on Emilia's lap, pressing her lips against hers like it was the most natural thing in the world. And Emilia... she just let her. No hesitation, no second thoughts. Just a soft smile and a casual push away, as if it was all normal.

I shift in bed, staring at the ceiling, annoyed at myself for even caring. I don't. I shouldn't.

But something about it unsettles me. Not jealousy. No, it's not that. I just... I don't understand it. The ease, the lack of consequence.

Where I come from, love—if you can even call it that—is something raw, something violent, something people use to control you. It's never gentle. It's never easy.

I try to imagine myself in Emilia's place, letting someone sit on my lap, touching me so freely, kissing me like that... and the thought makes my skin prickle with discomfort.

Is that how rich people live?

Like love is something they can just... play with?

A knock at the door pulls me from my spiraling thoughts.

Lucia steps in, carrying a tray of food. She glances at me, then the untouched meal from earlier, sighing as she sets the tray down.

"You're thinking too much again," she says knowingly.

I scoff. "You don't know what I'm thinking."

Lucia smirks as she pulls up a chair. "No? Then why do you look like you've been trying to solve a puzzle for hours?"

I roll my eyes and sit up slightly. "It's nothing."

Lucia hums, studying me. "Does this 'nothing' happen to involve Miss Emilia?"

I stiffen. "Why would it?"

She raises a brow. "Because you were at her photoshoot today."

I hesitate. "I was just... passing by."

Lucia chuckles, shaking her head. "Mija, you're stubborn, but you're not a liar."

I don't respond, fiddling with the blanket instead.

Lucia leans forward, her voice softer. "You don't have to understand her world overnight, you know."

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "I don't understand it. Any of it. The way she acts, the way people touch her so freely. Dani just... kissed her. And she acted like it was nothing."

Lucia watches me carefully. "Did that bother you?"

I frown. "I don't know."

Lucia tilts her head. "Do you think she should have pushed Dani away?"

I shrug. "I don't know. It's just... weird."

Lucia nods thoughtfully. "Where you come from, touch means ownership. Power. But Emilia, she grew up in a world where touch means nothing... or sometimes, it means everything."

I blink, trying to wrap my head around that.

Lucia studies me for a moment longer before she speaks again. "Valeria, have you ever been in love?"

I scoff at the question, caught off guard. "Love?" I repeat, shaking my head. "Of course not."

Lucia doesn't react, just waits. So I continue.

"I could never afford that," I say, my voice flat. "I did what I had to do to keep myself and César alive. Sometimes that meant surrendering to someone, but love?" I laugh bitterly. "Love is not for someone like me."

Lucia's expression softens, but I don't want her pity.

"Sometimes this," I gesture toward my body, "was all I had to sell."

Lucia's eyes glisten with something—sadness, understanding. But she doesn't say I'm sorry, and I'm grateful for that.

Instead, she just sighs. "You've had to survive in ways most people can't even imagine."

I don't say anything. There's nothing to say.

Lucia reaches out, placing a gentle hand on mine. "But survival isn't the same as living, mija. And whether you believe it or not, you deserve to live."

Her words settle uncomfortably in my chest. I don't answer.

Lucia pats my hand before standing up. "Eat something, okay?"

As she walks toward the door, I call out, "Lucia?"

She pauses, turning back.

I hesitate, then shake my head. "Never mind."

She smiles knowingly before stepping out, leaving me alone with thoughts I really shouldn't be having

---

The night air is crisp against my skin as I sit on the garden bench, legs stretched out. The house behind me is silent, the rest of the world asleep.

I should be asleep too, but my mind refuses to shut off. César. Dominic. Emilia. The thoughts swirl together like smoke—choking, consuming, impossible to escape.

A flicker of light catches my eye. A match sparks to life a few feet away, illuminating Claire's face as she lights a cigarette. I tense at first but then relax. If it were Dani, I'd already be gone.

Claire takes a slow drag before turning her head toward me. "Want one?" she asks, holding the pack out casually.

I shake my head. "No. I need my stamina to run away from drunk men."

She stiffens mid-inhale, glancing at me, and then suddenly—she snorts.

At first, she tries to hold it in, but then she bursts into full laughter. The sound is light, free, completely at odds with the weight on my shoulders.

I narrow my eyes. "What the fuck are you laughing about?"

"You," she gasps between chuckles. "You're laughing too."

I blink, caught off guard. My lips are curved up slightly. It's barely there, but—shit. She's right.

Annoyed, I shake my head, composing myself. "Who the fuck are you?"

Claire just laughs harder.

"I'm Claire." She extends her hand with a playful smirk. "Emilia's friend. And assistant."

I scoff, ignoring her hand. "The kind of assistant she keeps around for kisses and empty compliments?"

Claire raises an amused brow. "The kind of assistant that actually works," she counters smoothly, taking another drag.

She exhales the smoke slowly, watching the embers burn at the end of her cigarette. "And for the record—my compliments to Emilia are never empty. She's damn good at what she does."

Her tone shifts slightly. "Or at least... she used to be."

I pause at that. Something in her voice sounds off.

"What do you mean?" I ask, trying to sound indifferent.

Claire sighs, flicking ash onto the ground. "She's different now. Ever since... you know."

She doesn't need to say it. Ever since the kidnapping.

"She's not the same behind the camera," Claire continues. "Her photos—they tell different stories now. They're darker. More raw." She hesitates. "She's lost weight, too. She barely eats. She's working herself into the ground, and... she won't talk to me."

I stare at her, absorbing that. I knew Emilia was struggling, but hearing it from Claire makes it feel... real.

"She won't talk to anyone," I mutter, more to myself than to Claire.

Claire studies me for a second. Then she says, "I'm sorry about Dani."

I roll my eyes. "Don't be. She's the only sane person in this house. At least she sees things clearly. She knows I don't belong here. And she's right."

Claire tilts her head slightly, watching me like she's debating whether or not to say something.

Finally, she exhales, "You know, people create their own destiny. Those who refuse to move forward? They get crushed by life."

I glance at her, intrigued despite myself. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She leans back against the bench, her voice turning reflective.

"I didn't grow up wealthy either," she admits. "Nowhere near your struggles, but by the book? I don't belong in Emilia's world either."

I raise an eyebrow. She doesn't seem out of place here—she fits in a way I never could.

Claire continues, "But I worked my ass off. Got a scholarship. I chose to belong somewhere else, somewhere better. I made my own path, and it's working out for me."

I stare at her, processing her words.

She makes it sound easy. Like belonging somewhere else is a choice.

She finishes her cigarette, tossing the butt onto the pavement and putting it out with the toe of her boot. Then she stands, stretching.

"Anyway. That's my two cents," she says lightly. "See you around, Val."

"It's Valeria, we are not friends." I shout at her, and she let's out another laugh.

I watch as she walks back toward the house, leaving me alone with my thoughts