Emilia's POV

I wasn't expecting her to actually agree to stay.

Even as she nodded, even as she sat stiffly on the edge of my bed, I could tell she was already second-guessing it. Already looking for an escape.

"You don't snore, do you?" I tried, attempting to cut through the tension. "Because I'm already regretting this arrangement."

She glanced at me, expression unreadable. "I don't think I do." No teasing. No sarcasm.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "You're really impossible sometimes, you know that?"

She didn't respond. I turned off the light and climbed into bed, fully aware of how tense she was beside me. It wasn't like before.

The last time we shared a bed, I had fallen asleep on top of her. I barely remembered it, but I remembered the warmth. The way her body had been solid, grounding, safe.

She had let me stay there. She hadn't pushed me off.

But now... now she was lying there like she didn't belong. Like this was a test she was preparing to fail.

The room was too quiet.

I turned on my side, facing her, watching as she stared up at the ceiling, arms crossed over her stomach like she was keeping herself contained.

"Are you going to sleep, or are you planning to stand guard all night?"

A small exhale, almost a laugh, but not quite. "I don't sleep much." She said it like it was a fact. Not a complaint. Not something that could change.

Just a truth she had accepted. Something twisted in my chest.

"You did before," I murmured, watching for her reaction. "When I fell asleep on you."

Her eyes flickered to mine. She hesitated. "That was different."

"Why?"

She didn't answer. But she didn't have to. Because I already knew. That time, she hadn't had a choice. This time, she did. And she still didn't know how to trust it. I hated that.

I hated that something as simple as falling asleep next to someone without expectations was so foreign to her. I hesitated, then moved slightly closer-not enough to touch her, just enough to let her feel my presence.

"You can sleep, Val." My voice was softer now. "You don't have to stay awake. No one's coming for you here."

She swallowed. I could hear it in the silence, could feel the tension radiating off her.

"That's not why I am awake."

I frowned. "Then why?" This time, she did turn to look at me.

And what I saw in her eyes made my stomach drop. Because I recognized it.

The same way she had been willing to take off that damn shirt without thinking. The same way she never touched me first.

She wasn't just waiting for something bad to happen. She was waiting for me to ask for something. For the cost of this moment to come due.

I felt sick.

"You don't have to give me anything, Val." She exhaled sharply, like I had just punched her.

For a moment, she looked away, her breathing uneven, her jaw tight like she was trying to force herself to be okay with this.

"You don't have to be on edge all the time," I whispered, "not with me."

She let out a slow breath. I wanted to reach out and hold her hand but I didn't want to seem like a hypocrite.

Valeria's POV

Emilia was asleep.

Her breathing was slow, steady, undisturbed. The moonlight filtering through the window softened her edges, casting a gentle glow over her skin. She looked peaceful. Too peaceful.

I watched her in silence, feeling the weight of something I couldn't name. She had let me stay.

Given me a bed. A home. Protection. And I knew what that meant. I had known from the second she told me I didn't owe her anything. Because that's not how the world worked. Not mine. Not hers either.

Emilia wasn't stupid. She knew what she wanted from me from the start. The touches. The too-long hugs. The way she watched me, the way her voice softened when she said my name.

I wasn't blind. I wasn't naïve. But back then, before she let me stay, I had no reason to pay.

Now, I did. A roof over my head. Food. Shelter. Cesar's protection.

Nothing came for free. I had spent my entire life knowing that. Survival had a price. And I would have given her what she wanted if she asked.

I would have obeyed. I had done worse for less. But for the first time, I didn't want her to ask. I didn't understand why.

I didn't understand why the idea of Emilia asking for something in return made my stomach twist in a way I had never felt before.

It wasn't fear. I wasn't afraid of her. It was something else. Something I couldn't name.

I had never felt anything for anyone before. Sex was just a transaction, a deal done and made, a necessity of survival. It never meant anything.

It wasn't supposed to mean anything. But Emilia wasn't a man. And that changed everything.

Men asked for specific things, told me what to do, how to act. It was easy.

But a woman? What the hell would a woman want from me? How does this work? I know how it works but..

My chest felt tight, too tight, and I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to breathe through the mess of thoughts in my head.

My eyes drifted back to her face, to the way her dark lashes rested against her skin, to the faint furrow in her brow like she was on the edge of a dream.

A strand of hair had fallen over her cheek. I hesitated. Something inside me said don't touch her.

My hands were stained. They had been for years.

How many lives had they taken? How many times had they been used to hurt, to silence, to destroy?

I had spent so long cleaning the blood off my hands that I didn't even know if I would ruin her just by touching her.

She was too soft. Too good. Too untouched by the darkness I carried with me.

And yet, I wanted to. I wanted to brush that strand of hair away from her face. To feel something other than violence beneath my fingers.

I clenched my fists instead, pushing the feeling down, locking it away. Because this wasn't about wanting.

This was about debt. And Emilia Hayes was a debt I didn't know how to repay.

I am not sure when did I drift off to sleep but the break of dawn was the last thing I remember.

The bed was empty. For a moment, I just stared at the space where she had been, my body caught in that strange haze between sleep and wakefulness. She was gone.

The sheets were cool. She had been gone for a while. I exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down my face, trying to push away the weight of the night before.

I had slept. Not fully. Not deeply. But enough. Enough to leave me feeling unsteady, like something had shifted, like something was different.

It wasn't the bed-it was her.

It was this place, this moment, the fact that I was still here. I shouldn't have been. But I was. And I still didn't know what the hell to do with that. I pushed myself up, shaking off the last remnants of sleep as I made my way toward the bathroom, reaching for the door handle-

And collided directly with warm, damp skin.

Soft. Wet. Uncovered. Shit.

The impact knocked her slightly off balance, and before I could think, my hands were on her. One gripping her wrist. The other-flat against her waist.

Bare skin beneath my palm. Only a towel between us. For a moment, neither of us moved.

The only sound in the air was her sharp inhale, the way her breath hitched in her throat.

And then-her entire body locked up. She froze beneath my touch.

Wide eyes. Pink cheeks.

The way her fingers tightened on the knot of her towel, like she had just realized how little was separating us.

Her pulse was racing. I could feel it where my fingers were still curled lightly around her wrist.

And then-she looked at me. Not in anger. Not in embarrassment.

But in something else. Something dangerous. Something that felt like it could shift the entire balance between us. Her lips parted, like she wanted to say something, but no words came out.

She wasn't pulling away. Neither was I. The air around us felt thick, weighted, like something was pressing in from all sides.

I could smell the faint scent of her shampoo, the heat from her skin warming the small space

between us.

Fuck.

I should have stepped back. I should have let go.

But I was frozen, caught in something I didn't know how to escape. My grip tightened, just slightly, just enough to feel the softness of her skin beneath my fingers.

She sucked in a breath. Something flickered behind her eyes-uncertainty, hesitation, something I didn't have the words for.

I had never seen her like this. So open. So vulnerable.

I could feel how easily I could pull her closer, feel how easily I could push past whatever invisible wall had been holding us apart.

And the worst part? She would let me.

For all the fight she had in her, for all the ways she had pushed and pulled-right now, if I moved, she wouldn't stop me.

That realization burned. Because it wasn't supposed to be like this. I wasn't supposed to feel like this.

And yet-

She shivered. Not from the cold.

From me.

And just like that-it was too much.

I let go, abruptly, sharply, before I could let this moment turn into something I wasn't ready for. She staggered back a step, gripping the edge of the towel tighter, her breath still uneven.

For a second, she didn't speak. Neither did I. But I could still feel it.

The weight of what almost happened.

The weight of what was still there between us, unspoken and impossible to ignore. Her lips pressed together, like she was trying to regain control of herself. And then, finally-her voice, quiet but firm.

"You-" she started, but stopped. Swallowed.

I exhaled sharply, forcing myself to look away. To break whatever this was before it broke me.

"Put some clothes on, Princesa."

A pause. A breathless, unreadable silence.

And then-a soft scoff, a sound of disbelief.

She turned away, retreating quickly, as if needing to escape the same thing I did. Only when I heard her bedroom door click shut did I allow myself to breathe again.

I braced my hands against the sink, staring at my own reflection in the mirror, heart still pounding in my chest.

My hands were still warm. Still tingling with the ghost of her skin beneath my palms.

I should have forgotten it the second she walked away. Should have locked the moment away in the same place I kept everything I wasn't allowed to want.

But I couldn't. Because something had shifted.

And for the first time, it was me who wanted to push. Not Emilia. Not her teasing words, not her lingering touches.

Me.

It was foreign, the feeling twisting in my stomach. I was used to taking orders, used to obeying when something was expected of me. But no one had ever waited for me to want something first.

No one had ever given me space to figure out what I wanted at all. I exhaled, forcing my hands to steady. I was fine.

I had touched her before. She had touched me. Too many times to count. I ran a hand over my jaw, looking at my reflection in the mirror.

What the hell was I doing?

But I could still feel her. The heat of her skin. The way she had frozen beneath my hands. The way her breath had hitched in that small, charged moment before I let her go.

I didn't know why I had touched her. No-that was a lie.

I knew exactly why. Because for the first time, I was the one who wanted to touch her. Not out of obligation. Not because it was expected. Not because she had reached for me first.

Because I wanted to.

The realization left a strange weight in my chest, something unfamiliar and unsettling. I clenched my fists, pushing it down, forcing myself to move.

I needed space. I needed-

I stopped. Because she was there. Her back to me. Half-dressed.

Standing in front of the mirror, struggling with the clasp of her bra, her fingers fumbling behind her. My breath stalled.

The morning light kissed every curve of her exposed skin, painting her golden, soft, untouched. I should have looked away.

I should have walked past her. But instead-

I moved. Silent. Certain. Drawn.

I stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the shift in the air between us before she even realized I was there. She stiffened for just a second.

But she didn't turn around. Didn't speak. Didn't move away.

I wasn't thinking anymore. Not logically. Not carefully. I reached out, my fingers ghosting over her hands, brushing them aside.

She let me. I found the clasp easily, hooking it into place.

I should have let go. But I didn't. Because now, all I could feel was her. The softness beneath my fingertips.

The warmth of her skin. The way her breath came out uneven, shaky, like she wasn't sure what was happening between us.

Neither was I. I wasn't supposed to touch like this.

Not gently. Not hesitantly. Not like I was trying to learn her, to memorize the way her body curved beneath my hands.

But I did. My fingers traced the dip of her spine, slow, tentative, like I wasn't sure if I was allowed to. She exhaled softly. Not a word. Not a protest. Just a sound.

A sound that made something tighten in my chest, something burn hot and unfamiliar. I didn't stop. Didn't let go. My fingertips moved lower, grazing over the small of her back.

And then-her breath hitched. A sharp inhale. A soft, unintentional noise. I froze. She was so still. So quiet. And then, so softly I almost didn't hear it-

A moan.

Not deliberate. Not forced. Just a small, barely-there sound escaping past her lips, like she had no control over it. I felt everything inside me snap. I should have stopped.

I should have let go. But instead, I let my hand linger, my thumb brushing the base of her spine, feeling her shiver beneath my touch.

I moved my hands to her waist, slow, deliberate, feeling the soft dip where her skin met the fabric of her jeans.

She didn't resist. Didn't flinch. Didn't stop me.

I turned her toward me, my grip firm but careful, my pulse a slow, dangerous drumbeat in my ears. My eyes fell to her body.

I let myself look. Really look.

I had never allowed myself to take my time before. Never allowed myself to explore without expectation, without knowing what came next.

But this was new. This was unknown territory.

My fingertips traced the curve of her hip bone, moving up, following the soft lines of her waist. She exhaled sharply.

Not a gasp. Not a moan. Just a breath. A reaction. A plea.

Her fingers twitched, then slowly, hesitantly, she reached for me. Her hands found my shoulders, gripping me like she needed something solid to hold on to.

Her knees buckled slightly.

And fuck-that did something to me. She was losing herself in this. In me. And for the first time, I wanted her to.

I wasn't thinking anymore. I wasn't planning my next move. I was just-touching.

Feeling. My hands moved higher, over her ribs, her breath shuddering beneath my fingers. I had touched bodies before.

But not like this. Not as if I was trying to memorize them. Not as if I was trying to learn them in a way no one else had.

My fingers trailed upward, grazing over the soft skin above her heart.

Her cleavage. Her throat. Her pulse was erratic, unsteady.

Just like mine.

Her breathing hitched as I brushed my thumb over the base of her throat, my fingers lingering there.

And then-

Her eyes dropped to my lips. Fuck.

She was looking at me like she was pleading for something. Like she was begging me to do what she couldn't ask for.

Her fingers tightened on my shoulders. I saw the way her lips parted, soft, waiting, needing. I could feel her trembling slightly, not from fear, but from something else. Something I didn't know how to name.

Something I didn't know how to handle. Because I had never been the one in control before. I had never been the one who got to decide. And now, for the first time, it was my choice.

What the fuck was I supposed to do with that?