Emilia’s POV

The glass of whiskey in my hand tilts slightly as I swirl the amber liquid inside, watching the way the light catches against it. The sharp burn in my throat does nothing to quiet my thoughts—or my feelings.

I hate how much space she takes up in my mind. How the mere thought of her makes my chest feel tight, makes me ache for something I can’t even name.

I take another slow sip, letting my head rest back against the couch, when—

A knock.

Soft. Hesitant.

My breath catches. My heart pounds.

I set my glass down and stand too quickly, nearly knocking the bottle over. It has to be her.

For the past few days, she’s been softer. Not much, but enough. She touched my shoulder. She told me to take care. That’s more than she’s ever given me before.

Maybe… maybe she’s here because she wants to see me.

I smooth my hands over my shirt, suddenly feeling nervous, and then I pull the door open—

Lucia.

Disappointment hits me so fast and hard that I almost recoil.

“Oh,” I murmur, unable to hide the way my face falls.

Lucia notices, of course. She sees everything. Her expression softens, as if she knows exactly who I was expecting.

“You didn’t eat dinner,” she says gently, holding a tray filled with food.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “I’m not hungry.”

Her brows knit together in concern. “Miss Emilia…”

“I’m fine,” I cut her off, forcing a small, tired smile. “Really.”

Lucia doesn’t look convinced, but she nods anyway, stepping back.

“Good night,” she says, her voice warm but laced with something else—pity.

I don’t respond. I simply step back and close the door.

It wasn’t her.

I swallow the lump in my throat, turn back to my whiskey, and take another long, burning sip.

Valeria’s POV

I step into the hallway, stretching my arms above my head. The air outside is crisp, a welcome contrast to the warmth of the house. I need fresh air. Time to think.

That’s when I spot Lucia in the kitchen, holding a tray of untouched food, her face tight with something that looks like frustration.

I pause. Lucia never looks frustrated.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, stepping closer.

She exhales sharply, shaking her head. “Miss Emilia refused to eat again.”

I glance at the tray of food, still warm, untouched. Again?

I cross my arms, shrugging. “If she doesn’t want to eat, let her be.”

Lucia’s eyes snap up to mine, and for the first time, I see something I rarely do from her—disappointment.

“Maybe you don’t care about Emilia,” she says, voice firm, “but I do. And I can’t just stand by and watch her starve herself to death.”

I blink, caught off guard.

Lucia has always been gentle with me, always kind. But now? She’s looking at me like I’ve let her down.

My stomach twists uncomfortably.

“Okay, okay,” I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just didn’t know it was that serious.”

Lucia studies me for a long moment before nodding. Then, without a word, she hands me the tray.

I stare at it. Then back at her.

“Oh no. No way. I just ate,” I say quickly, trying to pass it back.

Lucia shakes her head, standing firm. “Take this to Emilia.”

I open my mouth to object, but before I can get a word out, she lifts a finger, silencing me.

“You owe me and Adrian for sending Lucas to César,” she reminds me, tilting her head. “Now go, and don’t complain like a child.”

I scowl, pretending to be annoyed. “Fine,” I mutter, taking the tray. “But only because I love you, Lucia.”

She rolls her eyes, amused, but I catch the small smile tugging at her lips as I turn toward the stairs.

I make my way to Emilia’s room, each step heavier than the last.

Why am I even doing this?

I hesitate outside Emilia’s door, the weight of the tray growing heavier in my hands. Why did I let Lucia talk me into this?. I should just leave.

Before I can turn away, I hear footsteps shuffling inside, followed by a sigh. The door creaks open, and Emilia stands before me, blinking as if she’s struggling to process why I’m here.

Her hair is tousled, and the silk robe draped over her frame hangs loosely off one shoulder, revealing a hint of lace. The strong scent of alcohol lingers in the air, and my eyes flicker toward the half-empty bottle on the nightstand.

She doesn’t say anything, just stares at me, like she’s trying to figure out if I’m real.

“Are you gonna let me in or what?” I mutter, shifting the tray slightly.

She steps aside without a word, watching me carefully as I enter.

Setting the tray on a nearby table, I glance back at her. “Drinking on an empty stomach isn’t good for you.”

Still no response.

Her flushed cheeks and slightly unfocused eyes tell me everything I need to know. She’s definitely drunk.

I avert my gaze, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. How is she so at ease walking around like this?

“Are you really here?” she finally asks, voice softer than usual.

“…Yeah,” I reply, unsure why she sounds so damn surprised. She stares at me for a long moment before shifting her focus to the tray of food.

“Eat,” I say, turning toward the door.

“No.”

I pause, my hand on the doorknob. “No?”

She crosses her arms. “No.”

I exhale sharply, rubbing the back of my neck. Why does she have to be so difficult?

“What do you mean ‘no’?”

“If you want me to eat,” she murmurs, chewing the inside of her cheek, “stay with me.”

I frown. “I need to sleep.”

“Then I won’t eat.”

She says it like a challenge, her expression set with stubborn determination.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

I stare at her, exasperated. “Then don’t eat? Why the fuck do I care?!”

The second the words leave my mouth, I regret them.

She flinches, shoulders tensing, and suddenly, she looks smaller.

Her lips press together, eyes dropping to the floor. The weight of my words settles between us, heavy and suffocating.

Lucia’s voice echoes in my head—"Maybe you don’t care about Emilia, but I do."

I exhale slowly, forcing down my frustration. “Fine. Ten minutes.”

The change is immediate. Her lips part slightly, and before she can stop herself, a small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.

Then, a single tear slips down her cheek.

“…Thank you,” she whispers.

I sit, arms crossed, while she stares at the food, nudging it with her fork, but she doesn’t take a bite.

Maybe she doesn’t like this food? Maybe she feels like she shouldn’t be eating this food? I remember her saying that this life doesn’t feel real, that it feels unfamiliar to her.

After a long moment, I sigh. “Have you ever had tamales?”

Her head lifts slightly. “No.”

I stand, motioning for her to follow. “Come with me.”

She slides off the chair hesitantly, trailing behind me.

Halfway through the hallway, I stop abruptly and turn.

She nearly crashes into me, stepping back quickly.

Without thinking, I reach out, adjusting the silk robe over her shoulder before grabbing the belt and tightening it securely around her waist.

The movement pulls her forward slightly, and a soft, breathy sound escapes her lips.

Her eyes widen in shock before she quickly turns away, pressing a hand over her mouth.

“…Sorry,” she mutters, looking flustered.

I scoff. “My hands too rough for you, princess?”

She doesn’t meet my gaze, shaking her head slightly.

“I just don’t think you should be walking around the house like this,” I mutter, frowning. “Half-naked.”

She nods quickly, biting back a smile for a reason I don’t understand.

I shake my head and keep walking. I don’t need to turn around to know she’s following.

I gesture for her to sit, and she looks around uncertainly.

Patting the counter, I nod toward it. “Here.”

She hesitates before hopping up, her legs swinging slightly. Her eyes scan the space, curiosity flickering in them for the first time.

I grab a plate of tamales from the side table.

“Lucia made these earlier,” I say, placing them in front of her. “They’re my favorite.”

Her eyes light up. “Can I?”

I nod.

She eagerly grabs one—but takes a bite without peeling the husk.

She freezes.

Her face twists in confusion as she chews on the hardened leaf, eyes darting toward me in disbelief.

I burst into laughter.

“What the hell are you doing?” I take it from her hands, peeling the husk off properly. “You eat what’s inside.”

She blinks, watching me like I just performed a magic trick.

I hold it out to her again. “Try it now.”

She hesitates before taking another cautious bite. The second the flavor hits her tongue, her entire face changes.

She hums in approval, nodding enthusiastically as she chews.

I smirk, watching her practically inhale it.

A full plate of gourmet food was sitting untouched in her room, but this? She’s acting like this is the best thing she’s ever tasted.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Lucia watching us.

Her lips curve into a soft, knowing smile.

I glance back at Emilia—sitting on the counter, swinging her feet, happily eating the food I gave her.

I sigh.

I guess if it’s for Lucia… I can endure this.

Emilia’s POV

I sit on the counter, my feet lightly swinging as I take another bite of the tamale. The warmth of the masa melts in my mouth, rich and comforting in a way I didn’t expect.

It’s simple. Nothing fancy. But for some reason, it tastes better than anything I’ve had in a long time.

Maybe because it feels… real.

Across from me, Valeria stands with her arms crossed, watching me carefully. She doesn’t say anything, but there’s something in the way she looks at me—like she’s trying to figure me out, as if I’m some puzzle she wasn’t planning on solving.

I try not to let it fluster me. Instead, I focus on the tamale in my hand, trying to savor the moment.

“I don’t get it,” I say after a pause, licking a stray bit of masa from my finger. “Why does this taste so much better than the food in my room?”

Valeria scoffs. “Because it’s not wrapped in gold and served on a plate that isn’t from your favorite plate designer.”

I raise an eyebrow, amused. “A plate designer?”

She shrugs. “Yeah, that’s probably a thing, isn’t it?”

I roll my eyes but can’t help the small smile forming on my lips. "If it is, I’ve never heard of it."

“So there aren’t fancy brands for plates?” she asks, her tone carrying a playful challenge.

“Well… there are, but—”

“Aha! Point proven.” She smirks in triumph, and my heart melts at how effortlessly beautiful and adorable she is.

She shifts her weight, rubbing a hand over her arm. For a moment, she looks almost… nervous.

“I thought you wouldn’t eat it,” she mutters, looking away.

I tilt my head. “Why?”

She hesitates before finally saying, “I’m not sure.”

I stare at her, my smile fading slightly.

I place the half-eaten tamale down on the plate and wipe my hands on a napkin, my movements slow and deliberate.

“Valeria.” I say her name carefully, watching the way she stiffens slightly. “Do you really think I’m that kind of person?”

She meets my gaze, something flickering in her eyes—something wary.

I exhale softly, pushing the plate aside. “I don’t know how to explain it, but ever since that night—” I stop, struggling for the words. “Ever since you pulled me out of that hellhole, nothing about my world has felt right. None of it feels real.”

She looks at me, her lips parting slightly as if she wants to say something, but no words come out.

I shake my head. “This? Right now? It feels real.” I gesture to the plate, to the kitchen, to her. “It feels so wrong to be living this sort of life when other people are…”

I stops mid-sentence, catching myself. But she knows what I wants to say. She know exactly what I means.

The silence between us stretches, heavy but not suffocating.

Valeria looks away first. “You’re drunk,” she mutters, like she’s trying to dismiss everything I just said.

I smirk, sliding off the counter, stepping closer. “Maybe a little.”

Her eyes snap back to mine, suddenly guarded again, but I don’t press.

Instead, I pick up another tamale, peel it properly, and hold it out to her.

She raises an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“You should eat too,” I say simply.

She hesitates, looking at me like I just did something unfathomable. Then, slowly—almost cautiously—she takes the tamale from my hand.

Our fingers brush for half a second.

She pulls away quickly, clearing her throat before turning toward the counter, taking a bite without another word.

I smile to myself.

Progress