Emilia's POV

Claudia walked in like she owned the place-no knock, no hesitation, just that same cocky grin plastered on her face, her leather jacket tossed lazily over her shoulder. She had this way of filling a room, like gravity shifted when she entered. Maybe that's why my chest tightened the second I saw her. Or maybe it was something else entirely.

"So," she started, her eyes flicking between Valeria and me with casual indifference, "have you thought about it?"

Valeria had texted her earlier, asking her to come over, and ever since, I'd felt this knot in my stomach tightening with every passing minute. Now here she was, and that knot felt like a fist around my ribs.

Valeria sat beside me, her body relaxed in that effortless way she had-legs stretched out, arms resting lazily, like none of this fazed her. But her hand drifted over to my thigh, fingers brushing against the fabric of my jeans, light and grounding. It was a small gesture, but it screamed louder than Claudia's entrance. I'm here. I see you. And yet, it wasn't enough. Not when I was drowning in the feeling of being an outsider in my own space.

Claudia plopped down into the armchair opposite us, her leg bouncing slightly, her smugness practically oozing. "So? What's the verdict?"

Valeria's fingers found mine again, lacing them together with a subtle squeeze. That touch-it should've calmed me. It used to. But today, with Claudia's presence filling the room like smoke, it just felt like a reminder of everything I didn't know. Everything I wasn't part of.

"We're in," Valeria said, her voice calm, steady. Like it was nothing. Like we weren't discussing a plan that could get her killed.

Claudia's grin grew wider, leaning forward like she was settling in for a good story. "Knew you'd come around. Juan's ready when you are."

They slipped into conversation effortlessly, the tension in Valeria's shoulders melting away the second Claudia opened her mouth.

"So, Juan's still running that café as a front?" Valeria asked, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Claudia laughed, shaking her head. "Yeah, but he's shit at pretending. I walked in last week, and the idiot tried to sell me coffee like we didn't rob a bank together once."

Valeria chuckled, the sound low and easy. "Still can't make a decent cup, huh?"

"Oh, it's worse now. I swear he's brewing regret and disappointment."

They both laughed, and the sound felt sharp, cutting through the air like glass. Valeria's hand found mine again, her thumb brushing over my knuckles-a silent gesture meant to anchor me. But it didn't. Not when I could feel how easy it was for her to slip back into that world. Into that version of herself I didn't know.

Claudia leaned back, her grin lazy and familiar. "Remember that job in Tijuana? When Juan got lost because he thought he could outsmart the GPS?"

Valeria snorted, her eyes lighting up with amusement. "Yeah, and we found him in that abandoned gas station, swearing he was 'strategically repositioning.'"

I forced a smile, pretending to find it funny, but my chest felt tight. Like I was watching someone speak a language I didn't understand. Their words were more than just stories-they were memories. Pieces of Valeria I'd never get to touch.

Valeria's thumb pressed a little firmer against my hand, as if she could feel the shift in me. But it wasn't enough to stop the ache. The history between them was palpable, woven into the casual way they spoke, the ease of their laughter.

Claudia laughed at something Valeria said, her head thrown back, carefree and loud. Valeria chuckled softly, her smile subtle but real.

And something in me snapped.

"I'm part of this, you know," I blurted out, my voice sharper than I intended, cutting through their conversation like a blade. Both of them turned to look at me, Claudia's grin faltering just slightly, Valeria's brows drawing together in surprise. "Whatever this is," I gestured between them, "I'm part of Valeria's life now."

Claudia raised an eyebrow, her smirk twitching back into place like she found my outburst amusing. "Didn't say you weren't."

The dismissiveness in her tone made my skin prickle. It wasn't what she said-it was how she said it, like I was an afterthought.

Valeria's grip on my hand tightened, her thumb pressing a little harder against my skin. She didn't look at Claudia this time. She looked at me, her eyes softening in a way that made my heart ache.

"She is," Valeria said quietly, her voice low but firm, steady as stone. "She's part of all of it."

Claudia tilted her head, studying me for a moment like I was some puzzle she was trying to figure out. Then she shrugged, like none of this mattered to her, and leaned back in the chair, all nonchalance and arrogance wrapped in leather and sharp edges.

But Valeria's words-they mattered. To me. They wrapped around my heart like armor, fragile but strong enough to hold me together.

Still, the ache didn't fully disappear.

Claudia wasn't done. Of course she wasn't. She leaned forward again, resting her elbows on her knees. "Relax, princess," she said, but there was no warmth in it, no tenderness. Not like when Valeria said it. It was mocking, even if she masked it with a lazy smile.

Valeria's jaw tightened. She didn't like that. I could see it in the way her posture shifted slightly, tension creeping into her shoulders. She didn't say anything, but she didn't need to. Her hand stayed in mine, grounding, possessive in the gentlest way.

"Don't call her that," Valeria finally muttered, her voice low, dangerous.

Claudia blinked, surprised, then let out a short laugh. "Didn't realize it was exclusive."

Valeria didn't laugh. She just stared at Claudia, her eyes dark and steady, the kind of look that made people shut up without needing to raise their voice.

Claudia held up her hands in mock surrender. "Alright, noted."

The room grew quiet, the tension thick enough to cut through. I stared at Valeria, my heart pounding for reasons I couldn't fully explain. It wasn't just jealousy-it was fear. Fear of what Claudia represented. Fear of the parts of Valeria's life that I couldn't reach.

Valeria turned back to me, her thumb brushing against my skin again, softer this time. She leaned in, her forehead resting gently against mine, her breath warm on my lips.

Claudia's laughter faded, her expression shifting into something sharper, more focused. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, her eyes flicking briefly to me before settling on Valeria.

"So," she said, voice dropping into a more serious tone. "We're agreed, then? Juan's our guy?"

Valeria nodded, her fingers tightening slightly around mine.

Claudia's grin returned, but it was different now-colder, edged with something darker. "He'll love that. Paints you as loyal. Ruthless. Just Dominic's type."

I shifted slightly in my seat, the weight of their words pressing down on me. They spoke about betrayal and manipulation like it was just another Tuesday. My stomach twisted.

"And if Dominic doesn't buy it?" I asked, my voice cutting through the tension like a blade. Both of them turned to look at me, Claudia with mild surprise, Valeria with something softer-concern, maybe.

Claudia shrugged. "Plan B is simple. If he gets suspicious, we feed him more lies. Maybe even give him a small fish to fry, someone expendable."

Valeria shook her head. "No unnecessary bodies."

Claudia raised an eyebrow. "Since when did you grow a conscience?"

Valeria's jaw tightened. "Since I had something to lose."

Claudia's grin didn't falter, but there was a flicker of something sharper in her eyes. She leaned back casually, stretching her arms over the chair. "Since when did you care about having something to lose?"

Valeria's jaw clenched slightly, her fingers tightening around mine like a reflex. She didn't look at me, but her grip spoke volumes-steady, grounding, and yet trembling with unspoken weight.

"Doesn't matter," Valeria muttered, brushing past it like it wasn't the most loaded thing she'd said all day.

But it did matter. To me.

Claudia's sharp gaze flicked between us, a slow smirk creeping onto her face as if she was piecing together a puzzle she already knew the answer to. "Huh," she said, her voice low and amused. "Guess even you can find something-or someone-that makes you hesitate."

Valeria shot her a glare sharp enough to slice through steel. "Focus."

Claudia raised her hands in mock surrender, but her smirk lingered like a shadow. "Fine. Plan C, then."

I swallowed the knot tightening in my throat, shifting slightly in my seat. "What is Plan C?"

Valeria finally turned to me, her dark eyes steady, unwavering. "Plan C is to not to die."

"That's not a plan," I snapped, the words spilling out before I could stop them. "That's just... you throwing yourself at danger."

Valeria's lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze softening for just a heartbeat. "It's what I know how to do."

The ache in my chest grew sharper, tangled with frustration and something else-fear. Not of Dominic, not of Ignacio-but of losing her to the very thing she thought she was good at.

Claudia stood up, stretching with exaggerated ease, as if the tension in the room didn't exist. She grabbed her jacket off the back of the chair and slung it over her shoulder, her smirk lingering like an unwanted guest.

"Well," she said, her eyes flicking between us with far too much amusement. "I'll let you two lovebirds-" she caught Valeria's death glare mid-sentence, chuckling darkly, "-sort out whatever this is."

I clenched my jaw, feeling the heat of her words even though she was clearly trying to get under my skin. She succeeded.

Valeria didn't bother to respond, her grip on my hand tightening slightly-a silent reminder that her silence was a choice, not indifference.

Claudia made her way to the door but paused, glancing over her shoulder. "I'll be at my place tomorrow. Bring your guard dog face, Valeria. Juan's expecting us."

Valeria gave her a curt nod, the kind that said she didn't need the reminder.

Claudia's grin widened. "Try not to get too distracted before then."

The door clicked shut behind her, and the silence she left behind was deafening.

Valeria's thumb brushed gently over the back of my hand, grounding me in the lingering tension Claudia had left behind. I couldn't shake the ache in my chest, the feeling of being on the outside of a world Valeria shared with someone else.

She tilted her head slightly, studying me. "You've got work, right?"

I nodded absently, still lost in the thoughts swirling like a storm cloud in my mind.

Valeria's fingers tightened around mine, pulling me back to her. "Then let's go," she said softly, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "I love watching you work."

Her words caught me off guard, softening the edges of my jealousy just a little. She was trying, in her own way, to reach me. To remind me that she was here, with me.

I squeezed her hand in return, offering a faint smile, and we made our way to my studio.

---

The soft hum of the studio filled the room as I adjusted the last light, checking the angles and reviewing the photos I'd taken earlier. Valeria lingered nearby, her presence impossible to ignore. She wasn't doing anything in particular-just leaning against the table, arms crossed, watching me with that quiet intensity she carried like armor.

I could feel her gaze like a physical touch, tracing the line of my jaw, the curve of my neck, lingering far longer than necessary. It was both distracting and... addictive.

"You know," Valeria finally said, breaking the silence, her voice low with a teasing edge, "you always look so serious when you're behind that thing."

I glanced up from the camera, arching an eyebrow. "It's called focus."

She smirked, pushing off the table and closing the space between us with slow, measured steps. "Maybe you should focus on me for a change."

I blinked, thrown off by her boldness. "What?"

She tilted her head slightly, her dark eyes glinting with mischief. "Take my picture."

I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head. "Since when do you want your picture taken?"

Valeria shrugged, that infuriating smirk still playing on her lips. "Since now."

I studied her for a moment, her posture casual but her eyes-those dark, unreadable eyes-holding something deeper. Challenge? Curiosity? A dare?

I lifted my camera. "Fine. But don't complain if you hate how you look."

She chuckled softly, the sound low and warm, sending a shiver down my spine. "I won't. Not if it's you looking at me."

My heart stumbled, the words hitting harder than they should have. I raised the camera, framing her in the lens, and for a brief second, everything else-the tension, the doubts, the world-faded away.

"Okay, stand still," I instructed, trying to regain my focus.

Valeria rolled her eyes dramatically. "I literally just said I want you to focus on me, and now I'm supposed to be still? Make up your mind."

I laughed despite myself, lowering the camera slightly. "Fine. Do whatever you want."

She grinned like she'd won some silent battle and took a lazy step forward, tilting her head slightly, her hair falling over one eye. I clicked the shutter.

Another step. A softer look. Click.

She reached up, running her fingers through her long, dark hair, the movement effortless, her posture relaxed yet powerful. Click.

Then, without warning, she crossed the distance between us in two strides, standing right in front of me. My breath hitched, the camera lowering instinctively.

"Is this part of the shoot?" I asked, my voice quieter now.

"Maybe," she whispered.

Her fingers gently brushed the strap of the camera hanging from my neck, her touch featherlight. "Or maybe I just wanted a closer look at the photographer."

My heart raced, heat pooling in my chest, spreading to places I didn't dare acknowledge. She was so close I could feel the warmth radiating from her, the faint scent of her skin-something earthy and warm, uniquely her.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to lift the camera between us, but my hands weren't as steady as before. I snapped another photo, capturing her face mere inches from mine, her eyes dark and unreadable.

"Show me," she murmured.

I glanced at the screen, but before I could say anything, she leaned in, her cheek almost brushing mine as she looked at the display. My breath stilled. Her proximity made it impossible to think, let alone speak.

"It's just me," she whispered, her breath warm against my skin. "Why do you look like you're about to pass out?"

I let out a shaky laugh, lowering the camera completely. "Because you're... distracting."

Valeria's lips curled into a soft smile, not her usual smirk-something gentler, something real. She reached out, her fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear.

"Good," she whispered. "I like distracting you."

And just like that, I was undone.

I lifted the camera again, snapping one final photo-her fingers still lingering near my cheek, her face impossibly close, eyes filled with something I couldn't name.

Maybe I didn't need to.



Valeria's POV

The mirror was fogged from the heat of the shower, but not enough to hide me from myself.

I stood there, droplets of water trailing down my skin, tangled in the lines of ink and the jagged interruptions where scars had claimed their place. My tattoos were never art-they were armor, distractions etched deep to cover the stories carved into me long before I had any say.

I wiped the mirror with the back of my hand, clearing just enough to see the reflection I hated looking at. Faded burns, knife marks, bullet wounds. Scars that broke the smoothness, slicing through the ink like reminders of everything I survived... but never really escaped.

My hand hovered over one that cut through the design on my ribs. I traced it absentmindedly, feeling the raised texture beneath my fingertips. It was old, healed long ago, but it still felt fresh when I let myself notice it.

What would she think?

The thought crept in without warning, threading through the quiet space like it belonged there. What would Emilia see when she looked at me?

I glanced at the crumpled shirt on the counter, the safe option-the barrier. But something inside me recoiled at the idea of hiding. Maybe because I was tired of pretending these marks weren't part of me. Maybe because for the first time, I wanted someone to see me-not the version I built, not the armor-but me.

So I didn't put it on.

I stepped out, wearing nothing but my bra and underwear, my heart pounding harder than it did the first time I held a gun.

The bedroom was quiet, bathed in soft light spilling from the window. Emilia was there, curled up with a book, her focus so intense she didn't notice me right away.

But when she did-when her eyes lifted, meeting mine-she froze.

Her gaze wasn't sharp or assessing. It wasn't the way people looked when they tried to figure out what happened to me. It was soft. Warm. Like she wasn't seeing the broken pieces, just me.

I wanted to look away, but I didn't.

I stood there, letting her eyes roam. Over the scars. The ink. The dents and flaws etched into my skin like a roadmap of mistakes. My chest felt tight, not from shame, but from fear. Fear of what she'd say. Fear of what she wouldn't.

But she didn't say anything.

She put the book down slowly, her eyes never leaving mine, and then-without hesitation-she stood up and crossed the room.

She stopped in front of me, close enough that I could feel her warmth, close enough to hear the soft hitch in her breath.

Her hand lifted, slow, giving me the chance to pull away.

I didn't.

Her fingers brushed over a scar on my shoulder, the lightest touch, like she was afraid I'd break. But I didn't. If anything, it was the opposite-I felt steadier with her touch than I had alone in years.

She traced the lines gently, following the scar's path like it mattered. Like I mattered.

I swallowed hard. "You're staring." My voice was rough, lower than I meant it to be.

She smiled softly. "I like what I see."

The words hit harder than any punch I'd ever taken.

I tried to scoff, to deflect, but it died in my throat. My chest ached with something sharp and unfamiliar, something I couldn't name.

Her fingers kept moving, down to the scar on my ribs-the one that always made me flinch when I caught it in the mirror. But with her, I didn't.

"Does it hurt?" she whispered.

"Not anymore," I managed to say, though it felt like a lie. Maybe not physically, but something inside me did hurt. The part of me that didn't know what to do with this softness, this kindness, this-whatever the hell this was.

She looked up at me then, her eyes filled with something that made it hard to breathe. "Can I...?"

I nodded before I even knew what she was asking.

She leaned in, her lips brushing over the scar like it was something sacred. A soft, lingering kiss. Not out of pity. Not to fix me. Just to see me.

I closed my eyes, my hands instinctively finding her waist, grounding me as my heart raced out of control.

When she pulled back, I opened my eyes to find her still there, still looking at me like I was more than my past, more than my mistakes.

"You're beautiful, Valeria," she whispered.

I didn't believe her.

But for the first time, I wanted to.

Emilia's POV

The morning sun crept through the blinds, casting soft golden lines across Valeria's bare back as she stood by the dresser, pulling on her jeans. I watched her silently, my heart doing that annoying thing where it clenched without permission. Her skin, the same one I traced with my fingers the night before, was now marked with the tension of the day ahead.

She reached for her shirt, slipping it on with practiced ease, her movements sharp and efficient, like she was switching back into someone else-someone I hated watching her become.

"Where are you going?" I asked, my voice still thick with sleep.

She glanced over her shoulder, her face softening when she saw me sitting up in bed, wrapped in the sheets we tangled in last night. "Claudia's. I'm meeting Juan."

I sat up straighter. Juan.

"I'm coming with you," I said immediately, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed.

Valeria froze for a split second, then turned fully, her face unreadable. "No."

The word was sharp. Final. But not for me.

"Why not?"

"Because you can't be seen," she said, pulling her hair back into a loose tie. "Juan can't see you."

"Why?"

She sighed, rubbing the back of her neck, like she was already exhausted from the conversation. "Because I don't trust him."

That made me pause. My heart thudded painfully. "If you don't trust him, why the hell are you working with him?"

She stepped closer, her jaw tightening. "Because in my world, you can't trust anyone. But you have to take your risks with the right people."

"That's bullshit," I snapped, standing now, the sheet falling around my waist. "You're asking me to stay here while you walk into something dangerous with someone you don't trust? Do you hear how insane that sounds?"

Her eyes flickered with frustration, but underneath it, something softer. Fear, maybe. For me. Or for herself. I didn't know.

"That's exactly why I don't want you there," she said quietly. "If things go south and he's seen you, that's it. It won't just be me in trouble. It'll be you. And I-" She stopped herself, biting the inside of her cheek like the words were too heavy to let out.

I crossed the room, standing inches from her, my heart pounding against my ribs like it wanted to break free. "I don't care."

"Well, I do!" she snapped, her voice breaking slightly. She exhaled sharply, closing her eyes for a brief second before looking back at me. "Emilia... please. Trust me."

The words hung between us, heavier than the silence that followed.

Trust me.

I wanted to scream. To shake her. To demand she stop trying to protect me when all I wanted was to be by her side. But the look in her eyes-the quiet desperation-tied my hands.

I exhaled slowly, feeling the fight drain from me, even though my heart still raged.

"Fine," I whispered, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. "But you have to promise me something."

She tilted her head slightly, waiting.

"Promise me you'll come back. No matter what. You'll come back to me."

Her face softened, and she reached out, cupping my cheek with one rough, calloused hand-the same hand that had held a gun, that had held me, that had carried both destruction and tenderness.

"I will," she whispered. "I always will."

And for now, I believed her.

Valeria's POV

Claudia's apartment was tucked into the edge of the city, the kind of place that looked too run-down to be interesting and too quiet to be safe. The chipped paint on the door, the faint smell of cigarette smoke lingering in the cracked hallway-it all felt familiar, like slipping into an old jacket that still carried the weight of past mistakes.

Claudia opened the door before I even knocked, leaning against the frame with a lazy smirk. "Punctual as always."

I didn't bother with a response, just stepped past her into the apartment. The place was small, cluttered with papers and maps spread across the coffee table. Weapons tucked not-so-subtly beneath cushions, half-empty glasses of something strong left to sweat on the counters. It was chaos disguised as order. Just like Claudia.

Juan was already there, sitting on the worn-out couch, his fingers tapping against his knee with restless energy. He looked older than I remembered, the lines around his mouth deeper, his eyes darker. But the cocky grin was the same.

"Valeria," he greeted, his tone light, but there was an edge to it. There always was with guys like him. The type who survived by smiling while holding a knife behind their back.

I nodded once, not returning the smile. "Juan."

Claudia closed the door with a soft click and moved to sit on the armrest beside him, her eyes darting between us like she was waiting for something to snap.

"We're doing this fast," I said, cutting through the tension. "No mistakes."

Juan leaned back, stretching his arms over the back of the couch. "Mistakes? That's not my style."

I ignored the comment, pulling out the folded piece of paper from my jacket-the outline of our plan sketched in quick, sharp lines. "We make Dominic believe Carlos was the traitor. You're going to tell him you found out Carlos was planning to sell him out, and I killed him before he could."

Juan's grin faded slightly, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the plan. "And why would Dominic believe me?"

"Because you're good at lying," Claudia cut in with a sharp smile, her hand casually resting on the handle of a knife tucked into her boot. "And because you owe us."

Juan's jaw tensed, but he didn't argue. He knew she was right.

"And if Dominic doesn't buy it?" he asked, glancing at me.

I met his gaze, my voice low and steady. "Then you improvise. Keep the focus on Carlos. Make it believable."

He nodded slowly, the grin creeping back. "And if he asks why you're not in the picture anymore?"

I didn't hesitate. "Tell him I'm hunting down any loose ends. That I'm doing his dirty work so he doesn't have to."

Juan's eyes gleamed with something like amusement, but there was respect there too, buried deep. He knew I wasn't playing games.

Claudia stood, stretching lazily. "So we're clear?"

"Crystal," Juan replied, pushing to his feet.

We sealed it with a nod. No handshakes. No words of good luck. Just the heavy silence of people who knew what was at stake.

As I turned to leave, Claudia's voice followed me.

"Try not to get yourself killed, Cariña."

I didn't look back. "Not planning to."

But the truth was, plans didn't mean shit in our world.

---

I walked into the kitchen, trying to shake off the tension from the meeting with Claudia and Juan. Emilia was still in her studio, her voice faintly drifting through the hallway, sharp and focused like always. I guess saving the world-or at least ourselves-didn't stop her from perfecting lighting angles.

I opened the fridge, staring into it like it held life's answers. It didn't. Just a sad-looking lemon, a suspicious Tupperware, and-why was there always a single slice of cheese? I grabbed the cheese. At least it wasn't judging me.

Then I heard it.

"Well, well, well," Claire's voice sang from behind me. "If it isn't Miss Broody McSmolder. Back from your mysterious mission?"

I didn't even flinch. Claire had this uncanny ability to appear exactly when you didn't want her to.

I shoved the cheese into my mouth, hoping the chewing would discourage conversation.

"So," she continued, sidling up next to me like a shark smelling blood. "Did it happen?"

I frowned, mid-chew. "Did what happen?"

Claire rolled her eyes so hard I'm pretty sure she saw her own brain. "Don't play dumb. Did you finally throw Emilia onto a surface and-"

I choked on the cheese.

Coughing, I grabbed a glass of water, glaring at her between gasps. "No."

Claire leaned against the counter, looking way too pleased with herself. "No? Seriously? What are you waiting for? A handwritten invitation? Maybe skywriting? 'Valeria, please ravish me. Love, Emilia.'"

I scowled, sipping my water. "It's not that simple."

She snorted. "Of course it's simple. She's into you. You're into her. Physics handles the rest. Or is it biology?" She tapped her chin as if she is in deep thought.

I set the glass down harder than necessary. "It's complicated."

Claire gave me a look. "The only thing complicated is how you haven't self-combusted from all the tension. I mean, I get it. She's hot. You're hot. But the sexual frustration is practically a third character in this house. I mean even I am getting turned on."

I didn't say anything. Mostly because I couldn't argue with her.

Claire wasn't done. "What's the worst that could happen? She rejects you? Doubt it. She files a restraining order? Doubt that too. But you know what I don't doubt?"

I sighed. "You're going to tell me."

She grinned. "Yup. That if you keep waiting, Emilia's patience is gonna run out faster than my will to tolerate your brooding."

That made me bristle. "She's not waiting."

Claire raised an eyebrow. "Oh, honey. She's waiting like a starving person waits for pizza delivery-impatiently and with increasing desperation."

I blinked. "That's... oddly specific."

She shrugged. "Personal experience."

I stared at her, then muttered, "It's not that simple."

Claire patted my shoulder, her grin softening just a bit. "You know what's not simple? Calculus. Brain surgery. Assembling IKEA furniture without swearing. But fucking Emilia? That's easy." I flinched at her honesty.

She sauntered out of the kitchen, her voice trailing behind her. "Think about it, tough girl."

I stood there, still holding the half-eaten slice of cheese, wondering how Claire managed to make me feel like an idiot in under five minutes.

---

After Claire's little motivational speech-or whatever that was-I stood in the kitchen for a few more minutes, trying to convince myself that her words weren't bouncing around in my head like a damn echo.

I groaned under my breath and decided standing here like an idiot wasn't helping. Maybe seeing Emilia would. That was my brilliant plan-just see her.

I made my way down the hall, following the faint sounds of her voice. The door to her studio was slightly ajar, and I pushed it open quietly, not wanting to disturb her.

And that's when I saw her.

Emilia, camera in hand, her focus sharp and unwavering, completely in her element. She moved with ease, her instructions firm but soft, like every word she spoke was laced with affection-for the camera, for the art, for the-

My chest tightened.

Maria.

Back then, I had no right to ask questions. I'd barely known Emilia. But now... now it felt like a punch to the gut.

Maria was stunning, of course. Dark hair cascading over her shoulders, confidence dripping from every pose. But it wasn't just that.

It was the way Emilia looked at her. That sharp focus. That easy smile.

No, I told myself. She looks at everyone like that when she's working.

Did she? Claire's voice broke through my spiraling thoughts.

"She's pretty, right?"

I flinched, realizing Claire had materialized next to me like some annoying, all-knowing shadow. I didn't respond. My jaw tightened, and I crossed my arms over my chest.

Claire wasn't one to let silence win. "That's Maria."

I didn't look at her, my eyes still fixed on Emilia and-her.

Claire leaned in, voice dropping to a casual whisper. "You know... Emilia's ex."

My stomach dropped. My fists clenched. My brain tried to process that word-ex-but all it managed was pure, irrational rage. Ex.

I swallowed hard, my jaw practically aching from how tightly it was set.

She told me she doesn't see her exes anymore.

I remembered asking Emilia that exact question. She'd brushed it off so casually, like it wasn't even worth discussing. Like it wasn't relevant. But now... here she was. Maria was here. In her studio. In her space. The same space I'd watched Emilia work. The same space where she'd looked at me like I was her whole world.

My heart pounded, my thoughts racing faster than I could control.

What did this mean?

Why the hell was she here?

Claire seemed to sense the shift in me because she slowly stepped back, raising her hands slightly. "Uh-oh."

I didn't respond.

I was too busy imagining a dozen ways to throw Maria out of the house without technically committing a crime.