Emilia's POV

I do my best to ignore the way my heart is hammering in my chest as I guide Valeria back toward the bed. Every step is slow, careful, my arm still firm around her waist. She leans on me more than she probably wants to, but I pretend not to notice. If I acknowledge it, she might push me away.

By the time we reach the bed, she's breathing a little heavier. I help ease her down, adjusting the pillows behind her, trying to make her comfortable. The moment she's settled, she lets out a quiet exhale and closes her eyes briefly.

I linger beside the bed, my hands twitching at my sides, unsure of what to do now that I'm not actively touching her.

A knock at the door saves me from my thoughts.

Lucia steps inside, carrying a tray of food. "I brought something light," she says, her eyes flicking between the two of us with quiet observation.

I nod quickly, stepping aside so she can set the tray on the nightstand. "She needs to eat," I say, as if that isn't obvious.

Valeria groans. "I'm not hungry."

Lucia crosses her arms, giving her a stern look. "Doctor's orders. You need your strength."

Valeria scowls but doesn't argue. I don't wait for her to start protesting. I pick up the bowl of soup and sit on the edge of the bed beside her, holding out the spoon.

She eyes me, unimpressed. "I can feed myself."

I arch a brow. "Really? Because last I checked, you couldn't even stand on your own."

Her glare sharpens, but I don't back down. I just dip the spoon into the soup and hold it up, waiting.

Lucia watches the exchange with an amused expression, but she doesn't interfere.

Valeria exhales through her nose, looking like she wants to murder me. But then, after a long pause, she reluctantly parts her lips and allows me to feed her.

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.

She chews, swallows, and grumbles, "This is humiliating."

I ignore her and scoop up another spoonful. "Open." Her eye twitches, but she obeys.

Lucia chuckles under her breath before stepping back toward the door. "I'll leave you two to it."

The door clicks shut behind her and Valeria and I are alone again.

I continue feeding her in silence, doing my best to keep my hands steady. But every time her lips wrap around the spoon, every time she swallows, every time her eyes flicker up to meet mine—I feel like I'm coming undone.

She has no idea what she does to me.

Valeria watches me closely as I place the empty bowl back on the tray, her eyes studying every move I make. I can feel the weight of her gaze, the tension between us, like she's waiting for me to ask what happened—that thing we both know we haven't spoken about yet.

I try to focus on arranging the blanket around her, avoiding her eyes, but her voice cuts through the quiet.

"You're not going to ask me what happened?"

Her question is soft, but there's an edge to it, as if she's both challenging me and asking for permission at the same time.

I hesitate for a moment, the weight of her words hanging in the air. My heart pounds in my chest as I try to figure out what to say. Finally, I speak, my voice steady but gentle.

"When you're better," I say, taking a breath before adding, "you can tell me. If you want to."

Her expression flickers—surprise, maybe relief—but she quickly masks it, nodding slowly. She studies me for a moment, as though trying to decide if she should push, but she doesn't.

Instead, she leans back against the pillow, her body relaxing just a little. "Alright," she murmurs, the tension leaving her shoulders.

I stand, gripping the tray tightly, not quite ready to leave yet. But before I go, her voice stops me—soft and almost shy.

"...Thanks."

I walk to the door, and as I open it, I hear the quiet rustle of sheets behind me, and I know she's settling in. I let out a slow breath, stepping into the hallway, but the weight of that one word—thanks—lingers in my chest.

It means more than she knows. It means I said what she needed to hear.

Valeria's POV

Pain no longer clings to my body as fiercely as before, but exhaustion still weighs me down, pressing me into the mattress. I drift in and out of sleep, teetering between consciousness and something deeper—something darker.

Then I hear them.

Voices—low, sharp, tense.

I stay still, listening.

"...You're protecting her, Emilia," Dani's voice cuts through the silence, insistent. "You don't even know what she's done."

My body tenses, an old instinct flaring to life. My fingers twitch against the sheets.

"I was there when she showed up, Dani," Emilia's voice is quieter, but no less fierce. "I saw the blood. I saw the knife."

A breath hitches in my throat.

Dani doesn't back down. "And that doesn't bother you? That she killed someone?"

Silence. For a second, nothing. Just the pounding in my chest.

Then, Emilia speaks again, and when she does, her voice is trembling.

"With everything I've been through, Dani... do you really think that's what scares me?"

Dani scoffs. "You don't even know who she really is, Emilia. You're letting your feelings of gratitude blind you."

"Gratitude?" Emilia lets out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. "Do you even hear yourself? You weren't there when I was trapped. You weren't the one lying on that floor, helpless, waiting for them to—" She cuts herself off, her breath shaky. "You didn't come for me."

Dani doesn't say anything.

"You know who did come for me?" Emilia whispers, voice thick with emotion. "Valeria. She came for me. She was the only one who did."

I stop breathing.

Dani exhales sharply. "That doesn't erase what she is."

"What she is?" Emilia repeats, and I can hear the anger trembling in her voice. "What exactly do you think she is, Dani? A monster?"

Silence.

"She's not," Emilia says, softer this time. "You think I don't know her? You think I don't see her for who she really is? I do. And that's why I trust her."

The word pierces through me.

Trust.

That word has never belonged to me. No one has ever spoken it about me like this—not with conviction, not with faith.

"She didn't have to come back for me," Emilia continues, voice breaking. "She didn't have to risk her life—but she did. And you expect me to just turn my back on her? After everything?"

Dani lets out a frustrated breath. "You don't understand what you're getting yourself into."

"No, you don't understand," Emilia snaps. "Valeria is not who you think she is."

There's a long silence. Then Dani's voice softens, the sharp edge replaced with something raw, almost desperate.

"Emilia, I'm in love with you. Do you remember how we were before she showed up?"

The words settle heavily in my chest.

In love... with Emilia?

I knew they were close. I even saw them kiss once, but I thought it was fleeting, something meaningless. But now... now she's standing here, laying it bare.

So they were together? Am I in the way? Is that why Emilia has been by my side—because she feels grateful I saved her?

I barely have time to process it before I hear Emilia's voice, quiet but firm.

"I can't do this right now, Dani... Valeria needs me."

Her footsteps draw closer, and my breath stills.

Emilia's POV

The room feels smaller, suffocating, as I step inside. I don't expect Valeria to be awake, and when our eyes meet, I freeze mid-step.

She's awake. And she's staring at me—watching me carefully, like she's trying to read something off my face.

I swallow hard, forcing a smile, trying to push past the heaviness in my chest. "You're awake," I say, my voice lighter than I feel. "How long—"

"I put the knife you got me in his heart," she says, cutting me off. Her voice is steady, calm. "I watched as the light left his eyes. I watched him die."

A cold shiver rushes down my spine. The smile drops from my lips, my breath catching in my throat.

Valeria doesn't blink, doesn't break eye contact. "He wasn't my first kill." She tilts her head slightly, watching me, gauging my reaction. "You still think I'm not a monster?"

I open my mouth, then close it. The room feels wrong, distorted, like the walls are pressing in on me. She's testing me. Daring me.

"Valeria..." My voice is barely above a whisper, unsure, searching.

She scoffs, shaking her head. "Say it, princess. Tell me I was right. Tell me Dani was right. That I'm exactly the kind of person you should be afraid of."

I shake my head instinctively, my throat tightening. "No—"

"No?" Valeria's lips twitch, but it's not a smile. It's something bitter. Something painful. "Then what, Emilia? Are you going to tell me I had a reason? That what I did was justified?" Her voice sharpens, her frustration cutting through the air like a blade. "That's not how this works. I killed someone. I put a knife in his chest. That blood—" She gestures vaguely toward the memory of it, the phantom of it between us. "That blood was his. And I don't regret it."

My pulse thunders in my ears. I can barely breathe.

She's pushing me, pushing me away, waiting for me to crack. To say something that confirms every awful thing she believes about herself.

"I don't know what you want me to say," I admit, my voice shaking.

Her jaw clenches. "I want you to say the truth."

My nails dig into my palms. "The truth is I don't see you as a monster."

Valeria laughs—cold, humorless. "You should."

I shake my head, stepping closer, my hands trembling. "No, I shouldn't."

Her lips part slightly, something flickering behind her eyes—confusion, hesitation—but she masks it quickly, replacing it with that same cold expression.

"Carlos," I whisper, the name sour on my tongue. "Who was he to you?"

Her throat bobs as she swallows, her hands clenching into fists. She looks at me, and for the first time since this conversation started, she looks almost... lost.

Then, her voice drops, quieter, hoarser than before. "Because he hurt you."

I stop breathing. Her words settle between us, heavy and unmovable.

A sharp inhale. My chest tightens. "What?" My voice cracks.

Valeria exhales slowly, shaking her head. "He was there. That night. When they—" She stops, clenching her jaw, unable to say the words. But she doesn't have to. The implication is clear.

I stumble back, my legs weak, barely able to hold me up.

Carlos was there. And Valeria knew.

Valeria killed him because she knew.

My hands shake violently, my mind racing too fast to catch a single thought.

Valeria watches me, her face unreadable now. But she's tense, bracing herself. Like she expects me to break. Like she expects me to run. Tears burn at the back of my eyes.

She killed for me. She took someone's life.

And I don't know what terrifies me more—the fact that she did it. Or the fact that some small, twisted part of me is glad that he's dead.

I swallow hard, my voice barely above a whisper. "You knew?"

Valeria nods once, slow and deliberate. "Yes." And just like that, everything shifts. I don't know how to breathe through that.

Or what to do with the realization that, for the first time in my life... Someone avenged me.

"How did you know it was him? I never told you." My voice wavers, barely above a whisper, but I need to hear her say it.

Valeria's gaze is unreadable, her expression carefully guarded, but I see the tension in her jaw, the way her fingers slightly curl against the blanket. She's trying to keep herself composed, to appear indifferent—but I know better now.

Finally, she exhales, her voice controlled, distant. "I have my ways. It's who I am. It's what I do."

A shiver runs through me. The way she says it—so matter-of-fact, so effortless—makes my stomach twist. Like it's the simplest thing in the world. Like it isn't terrifying.

I hesitate, my throat dry. "Did you know him?" I ask carefully, because deep down, I already suspect the answer.

She falters, just for a moment. It's barely noticeable, but I catch it. Then, in a voice barely louder than a breath, she says, "He... he raised me."

The words slam into me. Raised her?

My lips part, but no words come out. I stare at her, my mind scrambling to make sense of it, trying to understand what she just admitted.

She killed someone who raised her. Someone who took her in. Someone she knew.

She watches me, waiting, observing—almost like she's testing me, waiting to see if I'll finally look at her the way she wants me to. Like a monster.

Her voice is eerily monotone when she continues. "He taught me everything I know. I worked for him."

The weight of her words settles in my chest like a stone.

"He was your relative?" I ask, desperate to make sense of it, desperate to find some explanation that makes this less horrific.

She exhales slowly, rubbing a hand over her face before shifting her gaze to the ceiling. Something distant flashes across her expression, like she's momentarily somewhere else—trapped in a past she never talks about.

Then, her voice drops lower, almost void of emotion. "No. My parents sold me to him when I was a kid."

The air is sucked from my lungs. "What?"

Her jaw clenches, her fingers twitching slightly, but her tone remains cold, detached, like she's telling a story that doesn't belong to her.

"They sold me, You heard me."

My body stiffens, horror creeping up my spine. "No..." I whisper, because this can't be real. This can't be her story.

But she lets out a bitter, empty laugh. "Yes. And from that moment on, I belonged to him. He trained me, shaped me into what I am. He taught me how to fight, how to steal, how to survive. Every scar on my body, every lesson I learned—it was all because of him. I am a version of who he is."

I feel like I'm going to be sick.

I swallow hard. My voice barely comes out. "Why... why are you telling me this?"

Her gaze sharpens, locking onto mine with an intensity that makes my chest tighten. "Because I need you to see me for what I am, Emilia. I need you to understand."

I exhale shakily. "Understand what?"

She leans forward slightly, her voice lowering as she delivers her final blow. "That Dani is right. That I am a monster. That what I did to Carlos wasn't an accident, and I didn't hesitate. He deserved it, but I didn't do it for justice. I did it because I wanted to."

I feel like the ground has been ripped from under me. She's testing me, pushing me, daring me to hate her.

Daring me to believe she's irredeemable. My heart pounds so violently, it hurts. My mind is screaming at me—telling me to run, to listen to her, to believe that she is everything she says she is.

But I can't. Because I see her.

The real her. The one beneath the sharp words and cold exterior. The one who stayed with me when I was at my lowest. The one who came back, bleeding, holding that pocketknife covered in Carlos' blood, whispering that I was safe now.

I exhale shakily. My voice trembles as I speak.

"You killed him... because you were trying to protect me?"

She doesn't answer. She doesn't have to. Her silence is confirmation enough.

Everything clicks into place. The reason she left. The reason she came back the way she did. She didn't just kill him.

She avenged me.

She found out what he did, and she made sure he would never hurt me—or anyone—ever again.

Valeria shifts slightly, watching me closely, waiting for me to speak, to react.

The room is quiet. The kind of quiet that feels too heavy, too fragile. Valeria hasn't said a word since her confession, and I don't know if it's because she's waiting for my reaction or if she simply has nothing left to say.

I sit at the edge of the bed, my hands resting on my lap, fingers twisting together. My mind is still reeling, trying to process everything she just told me.

Carlos. The man who raised her. The man who hurt me.

The weight of it all presses into my ribs, suffocating.

After what feels like forever, I manage to find my voice. It's softer than I intend it to be. "How do you feel?"

Valeria's eyes snap to mine, like she wasn't expecting the question. For a moment, she just stares at me, her expression unreadable.

Then, a small scoff escapes her lips, bitter and hollow. "What kind of question is that?"

I don't look away. "A real one."

She exhales sharply, tilting her head back against the pillow, staring up at the ceiling like the answer might be written there. "I don't know," she mutters. "Lighter? Heavier? Both?" She lets out a dry, humorless laugh. "Is that even possible?"

I don't respond. I just let her talk.

"All my life, I wanted to be free from him," she continues, her voice quieter now, as if she's speaking more to herself than to me. "But now that he's gone, I feel like..." She stops, shaking her head slightly. "Like there's nothing left. Like maybe I should feel something more than this."

My stomach twists. I want to reach for her, but I don't.

"You don't have to know how to feel, Valeria." I hesitate before adding, "You don't have to justify it, either."

Her lips press into a thin line, and she finally looks at me again. Her eyes are guarded, but beneath the surface, there's something raw. Something lost.

I don't know what I expected—maybe for her to tell me that killing him was nothing, that it was just another name to add to the list.

But now I see it. Carlos might have been a monster. But he was her monster.

He was all she knew, all she had. And no matter how much she hated him, she belonged to him for most of her life.

And now he's gone.

She's free.

But free to do what? To be who?

I swallow thickly. "You will be okay, you will always have me."

Her entire body stiffens. She blinks at me like she doesn't understand the words.

Then, for the briefest second, I see it. A crack in the wall. A flicker of something vulnerable.

"You should stop worrying about me, princess," she mutters. "I'm not your problem."

I exhale slowly, she is not my problem, but I want her to be.