Emilia's POV

My mind was racing.

She's jealous.

It hit me all at once, the realization slamming into me like a jolt of electricity. Valeria's grip on me, the way she pulled me toward her—it wasn't just about what happened tonight. It wasn't just about the gunshot, the threat. No, this was something deeper, something she wasn't even aware of herself.

Claire's words echoed in my head. Put her in a position where she has to explore her feelings. Make her curious. Make her want more.

I swallowed hard, taking in the sight of her. Sitting on the bed, her legs bracketing mine, her hand still wrapped tightly around my wrist. Holding me in place. Like she couldn't let go.

She was waiting. Waiting for me to answer. I exhaled slowly and made a choice. A reckless, terrifying, exhilarating choice.

Instead of stepping back, I moved forward. Just a little. Just enough that I could lift my free hand, resting it against her shoulder. And she remained still

Her fingers twitched around my wrist, like she was debating whether to pull me closer or shove me away. Her breathing wasn't even. Neither was mine.

I let my hand trail up, fingertips ghosting along her collarbone before pressing against her other shoulder, firm and steady. Slowly, I applied pressure, guiding her back, making her rest against the headboard.

Her jaw tightened, but she let me, but her silence was deafening.

My stomach was in knots, my pulse hammering so hard I could hear it. But I ignored my own hesitation and moved forward.

I climbed onto the bed, carefully, deliberately, and straddled her hips.

I swore I could hear my own heartbeat, could feel it rattling inside me like a warning.

Valeria froze.

Her hands, which had been so firm just moments ago, hovered in the air as if she didn't know what to do with them anymore. Like touching me had been easy when it was out of instinct, out of frustration—but now? Now, it meant something different.

I could feel the tension radiating off her, a storm raging beneath her composed exterior.

Her breathing was sharp, controlled. But her fingers clenched into the sheets at her sides, knuckles white, like she was fighting a war against herself.

I didn't know what I was doing. This wasn't just a test for her—it was a test for me too.

My hands slid slowly from her shoulders, down to her arms, and I felt every muscle in her body tighten beneath my touch.

I moved my hands from her arms to her hands, slowly untangling her fingers from the sheets, feeling the tension wound tightly in them. She hadn't even realized how hard she was gripping. Instead of letting her hands fall away, I guided them to my waist, wrapping them around me with quiet insistence.

She stiffened immediately. Her grip was unrelenting—firm, possessive, as if holding me in place was the only way to keep me from slipping away.

I leaned forward, just a little, testing the space between us, feeling the sharp way her fingers tightened against my waist, not letting me move closer.

I traced my fingertips along her forearm, slow and deliberate, letting my touch soothe the tension. Making sure she saw I wasn't a threat.

"Relax," I whispered, my voice dipping into something softer, something coaxing. Her breath hitched.

"I'm not going to hurt you." I didn't push. I waited.

Her eyes dragged across my face, searching for something—uncertainty, hesitation, an excuse to pull away. But there was none. Then her gaze flickered lower.

To my hips. To where I was pressed against her, wrapped around her, fitting against her as if I belonged there.

Her breathing? Unsteady. Shallow. Like she was fighting something she didn't know how to name.

She wasn't unaffected. She could pretend, she could stay silent, but her body was betraying her.

My fingers brushed against her wrist as I lifted her hand, guiding it up, slowly, deliberately, placing it against my neck. I left the other on my waist.

Her fingers trembled. But she wasn't rough with me. Not anymore.

And that's when it happened. Her grip loosened.

Just slightly. No longer holding me still, but no longer pushing me away.

My pulse pounded at the realization. I exhaled, my chest rising and falling against hers as I let my body relax into her warmth.

Then, without hesitation, I shifted forward, lowering myself against her. Not to kiss her.

Not yet.

But to be closer.

My cheek pressed against her chest, and immediately, her entire body tensed—like I had just shattered whatever fragile restraint she had left.

But I felt it. Her heart. It slammed against my ear, wild and erratic, mirroring my own.

She wasn't calm. She wasn't unaffected. She was losing control, just like I was.

Her hands jerked away from my body instantly, as if touching me had burned her.

But I reached for them again. With quiet determination, I placed one of her hands against the back of my head, the other on my lower back, keeping her arms wrapped around me.

I wasn't letting her run from this. A long, heavy silence stretched between us, thick with something neither of us wanted to name.

Then, her voice broke through the quiet, hoarse and barely above a whisper. "...What is this?"

I bit the inside of my cheek, fighting a smirk. "It's a hug," I murmured, keeping my voice light. Testing her.

I felt her stiffen. "I know what a hug is," she muttered, her voice raw, strained. "My question is—why are we doing it?"

She was trying to sound unaffected. Trying to sound like she wasn't on the verge of unraveling.

But she wasn't fooling me. She didn't want me to pull away. So I didn't.

Instead, I shifted slightly against her, letting her feel my weight, letting her realize how easily I fit against her.

"Because I had a very bad day," I admitted, my voice steady, controlled, despite the wild rhythm of my heart. "And I want you close so I can feel better."

I felt her fingers twitch slightly against my back. Hesitating. Struggling. Then, after what felt like forever, she gave in.

Her hands finally pressed into my back, the lightest pressure—barely a touch, barely a sign of surrender.

But it was there. She was allowing me to stay. Allowing herself to hold me.

Valeria's POV

I was panicking.

Not outwardly—not in a way anyone could see. But inside, where no one had ever been allowed to reach, something chaotic and unfamiliar was ripping through me.

No one had ever hugged me before. Not my parents. Not the people who had raised me. Not anyone who had ever claimed to care for me.

When I was a child, I had needed it. Craved it. But no one came. So I stopped needing it. Stopped wanting.

I grew up learning that comfort was something you had to build for yourself. That safety was something you had to fight for. That touch wasn't meant to soothe—it was meant to hurt, to take, to control.

And yet...

Emilia was wrapped around me, sinking into me as if I was something safe. Like she belonged here.

Like I could ever be something that held, instead of destroyed. My pulse was out of control. My body was fighting itself—every instinct, every defense I had built over the years, screaming at me to move, to run, to get away before it was too late.

But I couldn't.

Because another part of me—the part I had buried for years, the part that had always longed for something soft, something real—was holding on.

It felt good. Too good.

But also, It felt wrong.

My brain and my instincts were at war, telling me to stop this before it consumed me. Before I lost something I didn't even understand. But my body? My body was betraying me.

I wanted this. Whatever this was.

Minutes passed, long and torturous, my limbs stiff, my breaths uneven. I couldn't relax. But she did.

I felt the moment she started sinking deeper, the moment her body fully rested against mine. Her weight grew heavier, her warmth molding into me like she had no doubts, no hesitation.

Her breathing slowed. Then, deepened.

She had fallen asleep in my arms. She was safe enough, comfortable enough, to fall asleep against me—even after everything I had told her about myself.

Even after the monstrous things she now knew I had done. She trusted me.

My throat tightened. I didn't know what to do with that. Didn't know how to accept it.

Her body pressed against my wounds, a dull, constant ache searing through me, but I didn't dare move.

I let her stay. Instead of pulling away, instead of shoving her off like I knew I should, I turned my head slightly, my eyes drifting to her face.

For the first time since I met her, her expression wasn't guarded. Her brows weren't furrowed.

Her lips weren't pursed in quiet frustration. She looked... peaceful. Genuinely at peace.

I swallowed hard, a foreign ache settling deep in my chest. And in that moment, I made a silent decision.

I would leave her like this. Even if it hurt. Even if I didn't deserve it. Even if I didn't understand why.

My fingers twitched against the sheets. I wanted to touch her. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut.

I wanted to touch her. Not to push her away. Not to take control. Not like I had been taught.

I wanted to feel the softness of her. The warmth. I wanted to know what it was like to run my fingers through the strands of her hair, to see if it was as soft as it looked.

The thought alone made my breath hitch.

Slowly, hesitantly, I raised a hand, hovering just above her head. My fingers curled inward slightly, resisting the urge to touch. She was so fragile like this. So delicate against me.

I had never held something delicate before.

My chest felt tight, like I couldn't breathe right, like something was unraveling inside me, and I didn't know how to stop it.

Then, Emilia stirred.

She shifted slightly in her sleep, a soft sigh escaping her lips. Before I could react, she moved—her face burrowing closer, pressing against the curve of my neck.

Her breath hit my skin, warm and steady. I clenched my jaw, every muscle in my body locking up as a sharp, searing heat spread through me—low, deep, dangerous.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to will it away. Trying to ignore the way my stomach twisted, the way my thighs clenched involuntarily.

This was wrong. But it felt too damn good. I let out a slow, shaky breath, my hand falling back to the sheets.

I wasn't ready for this. And yet, I didn't dare let go.

A sharp knock at the door shattered the silence. My entire body went rigid.

For a second, my mind blanked, instincts taking over. Someone was coming in. Someone was going to see this. Emilia on top of me, pressed into me, sleeping peacefully against my chest as if she belonged there.

I almost moved. Almost shifted her off me—an old habit, a defense mechanism I didn't even think about. But then—

Why? Why did I care if someone saw us like this?

I frowned, the thought catching me off guard. Why did it matter?

Emilia had been the one to get in my bed. She had been the one to place my hands on her, to guide me into this touch.

And I had let her. I didn't have to push her away. I didn't want to. Another knock, softer this time. Then, the door creaked open.

Lucia stepped inside, her expression unreadable as her gaze landed on us. She stopped in her tracks, eyes widening slightly as she took in the sight before her. I expected something—shock, judgment, confusion.

Instead, her lips parted in quiet understanding. Then, to my surprise, she smiled. A warm, knowing smile.

I narrowed my eyes at her, but before I could say anything, she met my gaze and tilted her head, silently asking if she should leave.

I gave a slow, deliberate shake of my head. She understood.

Lucia's eyes softened as she stepped further inside, careful to keep her voice low as she moved toward the bed. "I was coming to check on your wound," she whispered, glancing at Emilia's sleeping form with quiet amusement before returning her focus to me.

I tensed, suddenly aware of the weight against my side. Emilia's body was pressing against my injury, dull pain lingering beneath the warmth of her skin.

I could handle pain. But I didn't want to wake her.

Lucia studied my face, reading me too easily. "Want me to come back later?" she asked softly.

nodded slowly, careful, afraid to wake Emilia.

Lucia didn't move right away. Her gaze drifted to Emilia, still sleeping soundly against me, her face relaxed in a way I hadn't seen before.

"It's the first time in days I see her in this deep of a sleep," Lucia murmured.

I felt it before I realized I had done it—my arms tightening around Emilia, pulling her just a little closer. She had meant it.

When she said she needed me, she hadn't been playing a game, hadn't been trying to provoke me. She had meant it.

I swallowed hard, a strange pressure building in my chest. She was safe enough with me to fall asleep like this. With me. Even after everything I had told her.

Even after the things she knew about me. Lucia must have seen something in my expression because she gave me another small smile—gentle, knowing.

"I'll come back in the morning," she whispered. She turned to leave, moving quietly, but before she slipped out the door, she hesitated.

For a moment, she glanced at me over her shoulder, her voice softer this time. "Be good to her, Valeria."

Then, she was gone. The room fell silent again.

I exhaled slowly, staring down at Emilia, watching the way her lashes fluttered slightly, the way her breath warmed my collarbone with each soft exhale.

I had spent my whole life convinced I didn't need anyone. That no one could need me.

But right now, Emilia needed me.

And the most terrifying part of it all—I wanted to be needed by her.