Emilia's POV

The morning after, I expect things to be different. But Valeria acts as if nothing happened.

She moves around her room with ease, stretching, rolling her shoulders as if her body isn't still healing, as if the moment between us never existed. Her entire demeanor is casual, unconcerned, like she hadn't been tracing my lips with her fingers the night before.

"Morning," she greets with a lazy smirk, her voice light, teasing.

I stop mid-step, thrown by how easily she's pretending. My mouth opens, but I catch myself, forcing it shut. I cross my arms instead, studying her. Looking for something.

"Are you feeling better?" My voice is clipped, colder than I intend.

She tilts her head, that amused gleam in her eyes making my blood boil. "I'm alive, aren't I?"

Something tightens in my chest. She likes this. She wants a reaction. She's pushing me, testing me. She won't get one.

Fine. If she wants to pretend nothing happened, then I will too. But the frustration follows me all morning, clinging to me like a second skin. I barely touch my breakfast. I snap at Lucia when she asks if I'm alright. I spend hours in my office staring at my laptop, reading the same damn sentence over and over.

Nothing feels right.

And then, I hear the unmistakable purr of an engine outside.

The sound pulls me out of my haze, and curiosity gets the best of me. I move toward the window, watching as a sleek black car pulls up the driveway. The moment the door opens, I already know who it is.

She steps out with her signature effortless grace, her dark hair tied back in a sleek ponytail, eyes gleaming with mischief. The second she spots me, her lips curve into a knowing smile.

I don't hesitate. I rush outside to meet her.

Maria's eyes sweep over me as I step onto the driveway, her smile widening. "Emilia."

I can't help but smile back. "Maria."

She doesn't hesitate—Maria never hesitates. She closes the distance between us in a heartbeat, her hands sliding over my arms, gaze searching mine. "I missed you," she murmurs, arms wrapping around my neck in a familiar embrace.

I chuckle, shaking my head. "It hasn't been that long."

"Long enough." Her fingers ghost over my shoulder, barely brushing against my skin, a casual touch that carries more weight than it should.

"Come inside," I offer.

She exhales, running a hand through her hair. "I can't right now. I just arrived—I came straight from the airport to check on you."

Her fingers drift into my hair, brushing a strand behind my ear. "Are you okay?" Her voice is softer now.

I smile at her. "I'm fine."

And then, without warning, she leans in, pressing a kiss near my lips—too close, too familiar.

A soft giggle escapes me, shaking my head. "Still as bold as ever, I see."



Valeria's POV

I don't know why I end up near the window, watching.

I tell myself it's out of boredom. That it's nothing. That I don't care who Emilia sees or what she does.

But when I see the woman press a kiss near her lips, when I hear that soft laugh escape Emilia's lips, something twists in my chest.

Lucia, who must have appeared behind me at some point, clears her throat. "Do you want to sit down?"

I exhale through my nose, unclenching my fists. "No."

Lucia tilts her head slightly. "Would you like me to call Emilia for you?"

I almost laugh. Almost. "No."

Lucia hums knowingly. She doesn't say anything—just steps out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I tell myself it doesn't matter. That I don't care who kisses Emilia, who makes her laugh, who she touches.

I tell myself all of that and I almost believe it.

Emilia's POV

Maria's visit leaves me feeling off. She's my ex, but we're good friends now. Nothing more. That's what I keep telling myself. And yet, I find myself pacing in my room, frustration bubbling under my skin.

Claire catches me mid-spiral, leaning against the doorframe with that infuriatingly knowing smirk.

"Alright," she says. "Spill."

I huff, running a hand through my hair. "There's nothing to spill."

Claire lifts an eyebrow. "Right. And that's why you're pacing like a lunatic?"

I glare at her, but she just steps into the room, shutting the door behind her. "Emilia," she says, her tone softer now. "Talk to me."

I exhale, dropping onto the bed. "She doesn't feel anything for me."

Claire blinks. Then, to my horror, she bursts out laughing.

I scowl. "What the hell is so funny?"

Claire wipes at her eyes, still chuckling. "Oh, honey. You really are oblivious, aren't you?"

I cross my arms. "Enlighten me, then."

She sighs, sitting beside me. "Emilia, did you ever consider that she doesn't know what she's feeling?"

I frown. "What?"

Claire tilts her head. "Think about it. You don't know how she was raised. What if she never had the luxury of figuring out attraction like you did? What if she doesn't even recognize it?"

I open my mouth. Close it. I hadn't considered that.

Claire leans in. "You felt it, didn't you? When she touched you? She was exploring, Emilia. Testing the waters."

My breath catches.

Claire smirks. "She doesn't know how to want someone. But she's trying to understand it. Understand you."

My mind spins, the realization settling deep in my chest. "So what do I do?"

Claire shrugs. "Put her in situations where she wants to explore more."

I can do that..

---

The room is dimly lit, the soft glow from the bedside lamp casting long shadows across the space. Valeria is sitting on the edge of the bed, her posture relaxed, but I don't miss the way her fingers tap restlessly against her knee. She's been like this all day—pretending. Pretending that nothing happened, that she isn't affected, that she didn't react to me the way she did that night.

And it's driving me insane.

I step forward, keeping my expression neutral, as if this is nothing more than routine. "You need your wound cleaned," I say, and she barely spares me a glance.

"Lucia does it," she mutters, dismissive.

I cross my arms, tilting my head. "Lucia is busy." A lie, but Valeria doesn't need to know that. "I'll do it."

Her lips twitch, as if she wants to protest, but then she shrugs, leaning back slightly. "Fine. Do your worst, princess."

My fingers brush against the hem of her shirt, and for a second, I hesitate. Then, slowly, deliberately, I lift the fabric. Her skin is warm beneath my touch, her muscles tensing slightly under my fingers. I take my time, smoothing the material up and over her ribs, revealing the deep, healing wound that stretches along her side.

She barely reacts, her breathing even, her gaze fixed somewhere past my shoulder, as if I'm not even here. As if I'm just another nurse tending to a wound, nothing more. But I see the way her throat bobs when I press the disinfectant-soaked cloth to her skin, the almost imperceptible tightening of her jaw.

"Hold still," I murmur, my voice softer than I intended.

Valeria lets out a short breath, something caught between annoyance and amusement. "I'm not moving."

"Then why do you look like you're about to punch me?" I tease, my fingers lingering along the curve of her waist.

"Reflex," she deadpans, but I hear the slight hitch in her breath when my fingertips graze a little lower, the touch feather-light, almost innocent.

Almost.

I take my time cleaning the wound, my hands skimming over her skin in ways that have nothing to do with necessity. A brush of my knuckles against her stomach, the deliberate way I press my palm to her side as if steadying her when I don't need to. Each small movement is a test, a subtle push to see how much she can take before she reacts.

Valeria stays silent, unmoving, but I can feel the shift in the air between us. It's charged, electric, something humming beneath the surface that neither of us dares to name.

"You're tense," I observe, my voice barely above a whisper.

She exhales through her nose. "Maybe because someone won't stop manhandling me."

I smile, letting my fingers trail over the smooth skin just above her waistband, not quite touching, but close enough that I feel the way her stomach tightens beneath my hand. "Is that what I'm doing?"

Her jaw clenches, and for the first time, she looks at me. Really looks at me. Her gaze dark and unreadable, something flickering behind it, something I can't quite place. Her fingers twitch against the bedsheet, and I wonder if she's fighting the urge to grab my wrist and stop me—or if she wants to pull me closer.

Then, in a swift movement, she reaches out, her fingers wrapping around my wrist, halting my movements entirely. The grip is firm, controlled, but there's something else there—something unsteady.

"You're playing a dangerous game, princess," she murmurs, her voice lower now, almost warning.

I don't pull away. I don't even flinch. I hold her gaze, feeling my pulse race in my throat. "Maybe. But am I losing?"

For a second, the room is silent, the tension thick enough to suffocate. Then, just as quickly as she grabbed me, she lets go, leaning back against the pillows, exhaling sharply.

"Finish up," she says, her voice rough, like she's trying to regain some semblance of control.

I take my time wrapping the bandage around her, letting my fingers graze against her skin one last time before pulling away. But I don't miss it. The way her hands curl into fists at her sides. The way her breathing is just a little too steady, as if she's forcing herself to appear unaffected.

I smirk to myself, gathering the medical supplies. So she can pretend all she wants.

But I felt it.

And now, I know for certain—so did she.

Valeria's POV

The room is quiet after Emilia leaves, but my body still hums with something I don't quite understand. My skin burns where she touched me, my muscles tense even though I force myself to appear unaffected.

What is this?

I clench my jaw, leaning back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling as if it holds the answer. It doesn't. Nothing makes sense. I've been touched before—worse, rougher, in ways meant to break me, not unravel me.

But Emilia's touch was different. It wasn't an invasion, a means of control. It was deliberate, but not forceful. Intentional, but not cruel. It was something else entirely, something unfamiliar. Something dangerous.

Heat coils in my stomach, unfamiliar and unsettling. I shift, trying to shake off the feeling, but it lingers, refusing to be ignored.

I should hate this. I should push her away, keep my distance. But the way she looked at me, the way her hands lingered just a little too long—I don't know if I want to.

I exhale sharply, closing my eyes.

And yet... my body needs more.

Emilia's POV

By the time I return to the room, I feel more in control of myself—calmer, more composed. Or at least, that's what I tell myself.

Valeria is still in bed, exactly where I left her, though her posture is different now. More guarded. Like she's keeping something locked away behind that unreadable gaze.

I hesitate in the doorway for a second before stepping inside. "I won't be sleeping here tonight."

Valeria doesn't react at first. She simply lifts her head slightly, her dark eyes flicking to me. "Oh?"

I nod, keeping my voice neutral. "I have a photoshoot across town early in the morning. I need to be up by six, and I don't want to disturb you."

Silence stretches between us. She doesn't say anything, doesn't even look surprised. But I see the slight way her fingers tighten around the sheets, the minuscule shift in her expression—so small that most people wouldn't notice.

But I notice. She exhales slowly, leaning back against the pillows. "Right. Makes sense."

I tell myself that's the end of it, that she's unaffected, that I shouldn't feel disappointed that she isn't pressing for more. But then—

"Will you be sleeping alone?"

Her voice is even, deceptively casual. But I don't miss the way her eyes sharpen, watching me like she's waiting for something.

A strange, unexpected heat rises to my skin. I wasn't prepared for that question, for the implications hanging between her words.

I force a small, amused scoff. "What kind of question is that?"

She tilts her head slightly, her gaze unreadable. "Just asking."

Something inside me stirs— amusement, maybe something deeper. "Maria is just a friend, Valeria."

She doesn't react, but I can feel the tension crackling between us, humming beneath the surface.

I take a breath, willing my pulse to slow. "Try to get some rest," I say softly, turning toward the door.

Before I step out, I hear her mutter under her breath—so quiet I almost miss it.

"Goodnight, then.."

I pause, gripping the doorframe for half a second before exhaling sharply and walking away.

Valeria's POV

The moment Emilia leaves, the room feels... emptier.

I stare at the ceiling, jaw clenched, fingers twitching against the sheets. There's a weight in my chest, something heavy and unfamiliar. I tell myself it doesn't matter where she sleeps, that her business is her own, that Maria is irrelevant.

And yet, the thought lingers. The image of her laughing with that woman, letting her touch her so freely, so easily—it gnaws at something inside me, something I can't name.

Something I don't want to name.

I turn onto my side, exhaling sharply. This feeling, whatever it is, it's nothing. It has to be nothing.

Because if it's something...

Then I don't know what to do with it.