Emilia's POV

A sharp knock at my door made me pause mid-step. It was too early for anyone to be up, and something about the urgency in the sound set my nerves on edge.

I pulled the door open to find Lucía standing there, eyes wide, lips pressed into a thin line.

The way she said my name sent an immediate chill down my spine.

I stepped aside without question, and the moment she was inside, she shut the door behind her. That's when I noticed it—the slight tremble in her hands, the way she kept glancing toward the hall as if making sure no one had followed.

"Lucía," I said carefully. "What's going on?"

She took a slow breath. "It's Lucas."

The mention of his name made my stomach drop. Not because of him—but because of what it could mean.

"He just called Adrian," Lucía continued, her voice tight. "Dominic's men are searching the neighborhood. They're going insane trying to figure out who let you go—who killed Carlos. They're... tearing through people, Emilia. They're desperate."

The room suddenly felt too small. I gripped the edge of the dresser, grounding myself. "Who have they taken?"

Lucía hesitated, then exhaled sharply. "Lucas wouldn't say, only that it was bad. Really bad. He says they're making examples out of people." A sharp pain stabbed through my chest.

"They're working their way through everyone," she whispered, her hands gripping her arms. "And Lucas—he needs to leave. Now."

I turned sharply to face her. "What about César?" That's when I saw it—the flicker of something in her eyes. Something worse than fear.

"He can't take César with him," she admitted. "It's too dangerous. He has no safe place to go."

I clenched my fists. That little boy didn't deserve this.

But then another, more terrifying thought hit me.

"Does Valeria know?"

Lucía immediately shook her head. "No."

"And she can't." I warned. My heart pounded violently against my ribs. If Valeria found out—she wouldn't think. She wouldn't hesitate. She'd go back. She would walk straight into hell. I swallowed hard, already making a decision I knew I had no right to make.

"We need to get them out before she even suspects something's wrong." Lucía exhaled, relieved that I understood.

"How?" she asked.

"I'll handle it."

I wasted no time. Within minutes, I was in my father's office, pacing the room while he sat behind his desk, watching me with mild irritation.

"Are you going to tell me why you barged in here at dawn?" he asked, taking a sip of his coffee like he wasn't the reason my life had been turned upside down.

I ignored his tone. "Lucas and César need to be moved. Immediately."

His brows lifted slightly, but he remained unfazed. "And why is that?"

I clenched my jaw. "Dominic's men are tearing through the neighborhood, trying to find out who let me go. They're torturing people. Lucas says it's bad."

At that, my father finally set his cup down.

"So, they finally started cleaning up Carlos's mess. Took them long enough."

I stared at him, barely able to contain my frustration. This wasn't a business transaction. This wasn't about power plays.

"This isn't a game," I snapped. "People are dying. And if Lucas doesn't leave, he will be next."

My father leaned back in his chair, studying me. "And what do you expect me to do about it?"

"Get them out." My voice was sharp, demanding. "Lucas can disappear on his own, but César needs protection. A safe house. Somewhere Valeria won't find them."

His gaze darkened at my last sentence, as if he was finally starting to understand the weight of what I was asking.

"You're keeping this from Valeria?" he asked, his voice unreadable.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to nod. "She'll go back if she finds out."

There was a long silence.

Then, finally, he sighed, rubbing his temple like I had just given him an unnecessary headache. "Fine. I'll take care of the arrangements."

Relief flooded through me, but before I could thank him, he held up a hand. "But this is the last time I let you bring me into your mess, Emilia. I won't play babysitter for the people you pick up along the way." I bit the inside of my cheek, forcing myself not to react.

I didn't care what he thought. As long as César was safe, that was all that mattered. I turned to leave, but his voice stopped me in my tracks.

"By the way," he said, more casually than he should. "I will find out who wanted you dead." I turned back slowly, my stomach twisting. "And?"

He picked up his coffee again, taking a slow sip before answering. "I will handle that as well, sweetheart."

The way he said it sent an eerie chill down my spine. Because when my father made a promise like that, it never ended in mercy. I had to get away.

Not physically—Valeria was still recovering, and I couldn't leave the house without raising suspicion—but mentally, emotionally, I needed an escape.

And I found it the only way I knew how.

Work.

The bright lights of the studio felt like a lifeline, the endless clicks of the camera a steady rhythm that I could drown in. Here, I wasn't the woman who had been in Valeria's arms all night, wrapped up in something I didn't have the courage to name. Here, I was just Emilia Hayes, the model, the photographer, the professional.

"Turn your chin up a little,"I directed, adjusting the light. I complied instantly, my movements mechanical, automatic. I had done this a thousand times before, and for once, I was grateful for the routine.

Because every time I let my mind wander—every time I wasn't completely absorbed in the moment— it went straight back to her.

To the way her hand had settled around my waist. To the way her breath had caught when I guided her fingers. To the way she hadn't let me go. I shifted slightly, adjusting my pose, forcing myself to focus.

Valeria's POV

The room felt different without her. I hadn't realized it at first. I had woken up slowly, the scent of her still lingering, her warmth still pressed into the sheets beside me. But then the emptiness settled in—a hollow sort of quiet that hadn't been there before.

Emilia was always around. Whether she was fussing over me, teasing me, or just sitting near me, she had become a constant presence. But today, hours had passed. She hadn't come.

I exhaled, shifting in bed, trying to convince myself that it didn't mean anything. She was busy. Of course, she was. She had her life, her work, things to do outside of sitting in this room with me.

So why did it feel like something was missing? I ran a hand down my face, frustrated with the unsettling restlessness curling in my chest. It wasn't like I needed her here. I was fine.

But then why did I keep glancing at the door? Why did I keep catching myself listening for her voice? I leaned back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling, willing myself to stop thinking about it.

She'll come. She always did.

And yet, the minutes ticked by. And the emptiness only grew heavier.

Finally, I pushed off the bed, ignoring the pull of pain from my side. I wasn't just going to sit here, drowning in this feeling I didn't understand.

If she wasn't here... then I would find her. I stepped out of the room and found myself walking toward the studio before I even made the decision to go.

It was instinctive, like something inside me had already decided before my mind could catch up. I didn't try to fight it. I didn't want to.

When I arrived, I expected to stay at a distance, just watching her like I always did. But something about today—about the way I had been left alone for hours, stewing in something I couldn't name—made me want more.

So, instead of lurking in the shadows, I stepped inside.

The studio was bustling with people— crew adjusting their lenses, assistants running back and forth, the hum of voices blending into the click of camera shutters. But none of it mattered.

Because the second I walked in, my eyes found her.

Emilia stood in the center of it all, poised and radiant under the bright lights. She was dressed in something elegant yet teasing, her long legs accentuated, her expression playful but focused. The moment she moved, all eyes followed her like she was something impossible to look away from.

And for once, I understood that feeling.

I didn't stay in the background like usual. I moved further in, walking past the busy crew, and sat down on one of the chairs near the set. I ignored the looks some of them gave me, the brief confusion at my presence. It didn't matter.

Because then she saw me.

Her gaze met mine, and for a moment, her entire posture shifted. It was slight—just a flicker of something in her eyes, a tension in her shoulders that melted the second our eyes locked.

And then she smiled.

It wasn't just any smile. It was that smile—the one that softened something inside me, the one that made my fingers twitch with the urge to reach for her, to keep her looking at me like that forever.

Then, just as I was processing the effect that simple smile had on me, she did something that nearly knocked the breath out of my lungs.

She winked.

A small, teasing thing. Barely noticeable to anyone else. But to me, it was everything. My stomach tightened. My heart skipped a beat—a stupid, embarrassing thing I refused to acknowledge.

I tried to keep my face neutral, to pretend that simple, effortless gesture hadn't just shaken something deep inside me.

But as I sat there, watching her—watching the way she kept stealing glances at me, the way her confidence grew the moment she knew I was there—I realized something.

I had lost all control when it came to Emilia.

Emilia's POV

The shoot was wrapping up, and I was in my element. The models moving around me, the lights casting a golden glow over their skin. I moved with ease. Everything felt good.

Until I saw her. Valeria was here. Not hidden in the shadows. Not lurking at the edges of my vision. She was right in front of me. Sitting casually, her posture relaxed but her gaze—sharp, unwavering.

She was watching me. Really watching me.

Something about the way her eyes tracked my movements sent a shiver through me, a heat curling at the base of my spine. It made me want to push just a little further—to see if I could pull something from her.

So I did.

I turned just slightly, letting my fingers drift over the collar of my open blazer, running lightly over my throat before brushing against my collarbone. It wasn't deliberate. Not entirely.

But I saw it. The way Valeria's lips parted slightly, the way her fingers twitched against the chair.

Something about that small, almost imperceptible reaction made my stomach clench.

I winked at her.

It was small, quick, barely a movement—but I saw the way her throat bobbed as she swallowed, her entire body tensing just slightly.

And then, just as fast as it came, her expression shut down. The heat in her eyes was gone, replaced by that cold, unreadable mask.

I almost pouted at the loss. but that's whenI I saw Dani approaching.

"Looking good up there, babe," she purred, sliding into my space with that familiar, easy confidence.

I barely had time to react before her hands found my waist, her touch too light, too knowing.

I huffed out a laugh, shifting slightly under her hold. "You're always looking for an excuse to put your hands on me."

Dani smirked, her fingers sliding just a little lower. "Can you blame me?"

Dani must have noticed Valeria too, because her smirk deepened.

"Is she enjoying the show?" she teased, her voice low.

I looked over, Valeria was still. She just sat there. Watching. Not a single flicker of emotion crossed her face.

Dani clicked her tongue, amused. "No reaction? Disappointing." Before I could respond, she suddenly released me and started walking toward Valeria.

I frowned, a small twinge of curiosity prickling at me as I watched her saunter over.

Valeria's POV

I shouldn't have come here. I told myself that three times before I stepped inside.

But I still did it.

I watched from the moment she stepped in front of the camera—watched the way she moved, the way she played the role so effortlessly. Like she hadn't fallen asleep in my arms last night.

Like she hadn't made my entire existence shift with just the weight of her body resting against mine. It should have been easy to brush off. To act like nothing happened.

But it wasn't.

When she winked at me. That small, fleeting thing sent a jolt straight to my gut. For a second—a brief, traitorous second—I thought she had done it just for me. That she had seen me sitting there and reacted just for me.

And then Dani showed up. I saw her approach before Emilia did. The way she moved, the way she looked at her.

I hated it. The moment Dani touched her, my entire body tensed.

I gripped the edge of the chair so hard my knuckles turned white, forcing myself to stay still, to not react.

This wasn't my place. Emilia wasn't mine.

And yet, watching Dani touch her so easily, so freely—like she had every right to—made something in me burn.

Dani wasn't cautious like I was. She didn't hesitate, didn't pull back. She let her hands drift over Emilia's waist, held onto her like it was nothing.

And Emilia? She let her. I clenched my jaw, my fingers twitching against my knee. Dani was saying something, her voice too smug, too teasing, but I barely heard it.

Because I was watching Emilia's body react. The way she shifted slightly under Dani's hold. The way she tilted her head just enough to listen. Something deep and unfamiliar clawed at my chest.

I hated this. I hated watching this. And Dani—that smug little—she knew.

She knew.

I could tell by the way she glanced at me over Emilia's shoulder, smirking like she had just won something.

I forced myself to unclench my fists, to swallow back the sharp, bitter thing rising in my throat. Dani wasn't doing anything wrong. Emilia wasn't doing anything wrong.

But that didn't stop the feeling from twisting in my gut, dark and suffocating.

I told myself to look away. To ignore them. To act like it didn't matter. And then Dani turned away from Emilia and walked straight toward me.