Valeria's POV

The morning light crept in slowly, casting faint golden lines across the room, slipping between the curtains like it was afraid to disturb us. Emilia was still asleep beside me, her face soft, peaceful, the faintest crease between her brows finally relaxed. She always looked younger in her sleep, like the weight she carried disappeared the moment her eyes closed.

I wished I could sleep like that. But the weight never left me.

The so-called test sat heavy on my chest, its shadow bigger than the morning sun. My mind wouldn't stop-replaying every scenario, every possible outcome. And none of them ended well. I stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours, my arm wrapped around her waist, holding onto the only thing that felt real.

I didn't deserve this. But I needed it.

Carefully, I untangled myself from her warmth, moving slow enough not to wake her. She stirred slightly, her hand reaching out instinctively, fingers brushing over the empty space I left behind. My heart clenched, and for a second, I almost crawled back beside her.

No.

I needed to move. To do something. Anything.

I pulled on one of her oversized shirts, the fabric falling loosely over me, brushing mid-thigh. It smelled like her-faint traces of her perfume mixed with something uniquely Emilia-and somehow that made everything worse.

The house was quiet, the kind of quiet that made my thoughts louder. I padded into the kitchen, the cool tiles grounding me. Cooking wasn't exactly my thing, but I figured if I could handle knives for less... domestic reasons, I could manage breakfast without setting the house on fire.

I grabbed some eggs, bread, whatever I could find that seemed edible. The knife felt familiar in my hand, but not in the way I was used to. This was different-simpler. Safer.

I was halfway through scrambling the eggs-proud that I hadn't burned anything yet-when Claire appeared, her hair a chaotic mess, her mug of coffee in hand like it was an extension of her soul.

She froze mid-step, blinking like she wasn't sure if I was real. "Okay, either I'm still drunk from last night-or you've been body-snatched."

I didn't bother looking at her. "It's just eggs."

Claire leaned against the counter, sipping her coffee with exaggerated slowness, her grin spreading. "Sure. And I'm just Beyoncé."

I rolled my eyes, focusing on flipping the toast.

"What's the occasion?" she pressed, tilting her head. "Is this some post-apocalyptic thing where badasses start baking cookies?"

"It's breakfast," I muttered.

"For Emilia?" she sing-songed.

I said nothing.

Her grin widened like a cat catching a mouse. "Ohhh. You're making her breakfast in bed. Wow. Should I call the wedding planner now, or wait until you're done scrambling your feelings with those eggs?"

I shot her a look sharp enough to cut steel, but she didn't flinch. If anything, she looked like she was enjoying herself more. " How are you always here? don't you have a life somewhere?" I said annoyed.

"No, I don't, I am committed to this Novella," She took another sip of coffee. "You know, I always thought you'd be the 'brooding in a corner with a gun' type, but look at you. All soft and romantic. Love really does turn people into idiots."

"I'm not-"

"-whipped? Sure, tell yourself that."

I ignored her, plating the food with more care than I'd admit out loud. Scrambled eggs, toast, some fruit I didn't even know we had, and a cup of coffee-just the way Emilia liked it.

I grabbed the tray, turning to leave, but Claire wasn't done.

"Tell Emilia I said congratulations. She turned the emotionally unavailable badass into a breakfast chef."

I flipped her off over my shoulder, which only made her laugh harder.

Upstairs, the room was dim, Emilia still tangled in the sheets, her hair a mess, her face soft with sleep. My heart did that stupid thing again-tightening, like it didn't know how to handle all the ways she made me feel.

I set the tray down gently on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

She stirred, her lashes fluttering open, her voice thick with sleep. "Valeria?"

I managed a small smile. "I made you breakfast."

She blinked, clearly trying to process what I'd just said. Then she smiled-soft, lazy, the kind of smile that could wreck a person.

"You... cooked?"

I shrugged. "Don't get used to it."

She sat up slowly, the sheet falling to her waist, revealing her bare shoulders. My throat went dry.

Her eyes flicked to the tray, then back to me, a mischievous glint in them now. "Did you poison it?"

I snorted. "Would I waste perfectly good food on poisoning you?"

She laughed, that soft, breathy laugh that made my chest ache. "I guess not."

She picked up the fork, taking a bite, then paused dramatically like she was evaluating a gourmet meal. "Okay... this is actually good."

"Don't sound so surprised."

She nudged me with her foot, grinning. "Look at you. All domestic and stuff."

I shook my head, but I couldn't fight the smile tugging at my lips.

For a few minutes, we sat there in silence-her eating, me just watching her, memorizing the way she looked when she was happy, unburdened. Like there wasn't a storm waiting for us just beyond these walls.



Emilia's POV

I nudged her with my foot, trying to keep it light. "Look at you. All domestic and stuff."

She shook her head, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth, but it didn't reach her eyes. And that's when I felt it-that undercurrent of tension. The invisible thread pulling tight beneath her calm facade.

She wasn't okay. She hadn't been okay since she came back from that meeting.

I picked at the food for a bit longer, the silence between us comfortable, but not. It felt like there was something standing in the room with us, something unsaid.

When I couldn't take it anymore, I set the fork down and shifted closer, tucking my knees beneath me.

"Valeria," I whispered, my fingers brushing over her forearm, tracing the faint outlines of her tattoos. She flinched-barely noticeable-but I felt it. The subtle tension in her muscles, like she was holding her breath.

"What's wrong?"

She didn't look at me. Her eyes stayed fixed on the wall, her jaw tightening slightly. "Nothing."

Liar.

I reached for her hand, intertwining our fingers, grounding her-or maybe grounding myself. "You don't have to tell me if you're not ready. But I know when something's eating at you."

She finally looked at me, her dark eyes softening just enough to crack the armor she wore like a second skin. "I just... I'm thinking about some things. That's all."

Some things.

Her words sat heavy between us, weighted with everything she wasn't saying.

I didn't push.

Instead, I leaned in, resting my forehead against hers, breathing her in. "Whatever it is... you don't have to carry it alone."

She closed her eyes, her breath hitching slightly, and I felt her squeeze my hand-just once, quick and fleeting, like she needed the contact but couldn't admit it.

"I know," she whispered, so quietly I almost missed it.

It wasn't just the worry etched subtly in her eyes-it was the weight she carried, like something was clawing at the edges of her mind. I pushed the breakfast tray aside, not caring about the now-cold coffee or the carefully made eggs. None of it mattered.

I climbed into her lap without hesitation, straddling her thighs. I felt the way her body tensed beneath me, like she was holding her breath.

"How long are you going to tense up every time I touch you?" I teased, my voice light but my heart pounding.

She rolled her eyes, a small scoff slipping from her lips, but her hands instinctively found my hips, grounding me.

I leaned in, pressing my lips softly to hers, savoring the warmth, the taste of her that never stopped driving me insane. "Thank you for breakfast," I whispered against her lips, pulling back slightly, my smile lingering. "It was perfect."

I started to shift, to get up-but she was faster.

In one swift motion, Valeria flipped me onto my back, her body pressing down on mine. I gasped, not from fear but from the sudden weight of her-solid, grounding, and overwhelming in the best way.

"What are you doing?" I breathed, my voice shaky with anticipation.

She didn't answer. Instead, she pinned my wrists above my head, her grip firm but gentle, her strength making my pulse race. She leaned in, her lips finding the sensitive skin of my neck. The first kiss was soft, almost reverent, but it didn't stay that way.

Her kisses grew more demanding, more desperate, her mouth claiming every inch of skin she touched. My head tilted instinctively, granting her more access, silently begging for more.

My hips moved on their own, seeking friction, connection-anything-but she held me down with infuriating ease, her grip unyielding.

"Patience, princess," she mumbled against my collarbone, her breath hot, sending shivers down my spine.

Her free hand trailed down my side, slipping under the hem of my shirt. Her fingertips ghosted over my ribs, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. She hovered there, her hand resting just beneath the curve of my breast, her touch maddeningly light, like she was savoring the power she had over me.

I could feel her breath, her heartbeat, the tension radiating from her like a storm about to break. But she didn't move. She just kissed me, relentlessly, her mouth worshipping my neck while her hand refused to give me what I craved.

The ache grew unbearable.

"Touch me," I finally moaned, the words slipping out raw and desperate, shattering the thin thread of pride I had left.

She froze for a heartbeat, her breath hitching against my skin. Then, with a low growl that sent heat straight through me, she moved.

Her hand cupped my breast, her touch both gentle and claiming. A soft moan escaped me, unrestrained, as her thumb brushed over my sensitive skin, sending a rush of pleasure that made me arch into her touch.

"Yes," I breathed out, my fingers tightening around the sheets, needing something to hold onto as her thumb brushed over the sensitive peak, sending waves of pleasure straight to my core.

She lifted her head, her dark eyes meeting mine, filled with something fierce-something wild and possessive and tender all at once.

"You're driving me crazy. You're so beautiful," she whispered, her voice rough with need.

I was about to respond, but then her lips were on mine again-hungry, relentless, as if she was trying to consume every breath I had. And I let her. I gave her everything.



Valeria's POV

My phone buzzed sharply, slicing through the haze of heated breath and tangled limbs.

"Leave it," Emilia breathed against my mouth, her voice low and desperate. "Don't stop."

She pulled me back into another kiss, her legs wrapping around me with intent, locking me in place like she was afraid I'd slip away. Her fingers threaded through my hair, tugging just enough to send a jolt down my spine. The desperation in her kiss shifted, her control slipping into dominance, taking the reins without hesitation.

Claire's voice echoed in my head from yesterday-"She's waiting. She's not going to be patient forever."

Emilia wasn't waiting anymore. She was claiming.

And for a brief, dizzy moment, I let myself drown in it.

But then... I hesitated.

The weight in my chest pressed harder than her grip, pulling me somewhere else, somewhere far from the heat of her mouth. My mind splintered, breaking away from the present, tugging at threads I didn't want to follow.

Her kiss slowed, softening as if she felt it-the shift in me. She pulled back slightly, wiping her lips with the back of her hand, her eyes sharp and filled with something I couldn't name. She pushed herself up, resting on her elbow, studying me with that piercing gaze that made it impossible to hide.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice softer now but edged with something brittle.

"What do you mean?" I deflected, avoiding her eyes, the weight of her gaze burning into me.

"Just now-your mind went somewhere else," she said, her brows lifting slightly, her tone laced with quiet frustration.

How could she tell? How could she always tell?

No one had ever noticed before. During all those meaningless encounters, my mind had drifted elsewhere countless times, and not a single person cared enough to see it. But Emilia wasn't them.

She snapped her fingers in front of my face, pulling me back. "Val," she said, her tone sharper now.

"Sorry, I don't know," I lied, my voice sounding hollow even to my own ears.

She stared at me, her jaw tightening like she didn't believe me. Of course, she didn't.

"Okay, I'll go shower then," she muttered, pushing me aside gently and getting up with a frustrated huff. The distance she created felt colder than the space itself. She didn't slam the door, but the soft click echoed louder than a gunshot.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling, my chest tight. It wasn't that I didn't want her-I wanted her more than I could admit, even to myself. But the fear sat heavy in my gut, gnawing at me. What if I'm not enough? What if she realized I was just a mess wrapped in scars, hesitation, and doubt?

I groaned, running a hand over my face, trying to shake it off. My phone buzzed again, pulling me from the spiral. I grabbed it, needing the distraction, even though part of me already knew it wouldn't be good.

And it wasn't.

Claudia's name flashed on the screen.

I stared at it for a second, my heart thudding with a different kind of weight now. The hesitation wasn't gone-it had just changed its face.

Claudia's message was short, but it hit me harder than it should've.

"Stay low. Until Dominic reaches out to Juan, don't make a move. If they find out you're staying with Emilia, it'll be a problem."

I stared at the screen, the words sinking like a stone in my chest. Stay low. Easier said than done when every inch of me felt like it was fraying at the edges.

I shoved the phone onto the nightstand, pushing myself out of bed with a frustrated breath. The breakfast tray sat there, mocking me with its half-eaten toast and lukewarm coffee. I grabbed it, the dishes clattering louder than I meant, and headed downstairs.

I dumped the breakfast tray on the counter, Emilia's frustration upstairs, and the ever-present hum of things spiraling out of control.

Of course, Dani was there. Because life clearly hated me.

She leaned against the fridge, arms crossed, her smug grin already crawling under my skin like an itch I couldn't reach.

"Well, look who's domesticated," Dani said, her voice dripping with mockery. "What's next? Knitting matching sweaters? Maybe sit on command?"

I didn't even bother with a smile. I just stared at her, deadpan. "You must be exhausting to live with."

She laughed, unfazed. "Oh, sweetie, look who is talking. You've got that 'I'll stab you with a spoon if you keep talking' look."

Not far off.

Before I could respond, Claire appeared from nowhere, like the universe had finally decided to throw me a bone.

"Ah, tension. My favorite breakfast condiment," Claire said, sliding between us with her coffee mug in hand. She sipped, then pointed lazily at Dani. "Don't poke the bear unless you're ready to be mauled."

Dani shrugged. "I'm just saying, it's cute. Valeria here, playing house like she didn't used to solve her problems with a-"

"-With a well-timed glare," Claire cut in quickly, giving Dani a sharp look. "Right, Dani? A glare. Because we're civilized now."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to breathe through the urge to throw something.

Dani smirked. "Sure. A glare. With maybe just a sprinkle of murder vibes."

Claire chirped, sliding between us with a bright, fake smile. "Let's not start World War III before lunch, yeah?"

I took a step forward, the tension rising in my chest. Claire quickly threw an arm out, blocking me with ease despite the height difference.

"Okay, nope," Claire said firmly, looking at Dani. "Valeria's got that 'I might commit a felony' face, and I like having a job. So maybe-" she pointed at Dani, "-you should shut up."

Dani rolled her eyes but held up her hands in mock surrender. "Whatever. I've got better things to do."

As she walked out, Claire sighed dramatically. "She really doesn't. That was her peak moment today." Claire leaned toward me with a grin. "If she mysteriously disappears, I'll back your alibi."

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding, shaking my head.

"Thanks," I muttered.

Claire winked. "Anytime. I'm like customer support for bad decisions-always here when things get glitchy."

"So," she started, voice casual but her eyes sharp, "breakfast didn't go as planned?"

I shot her a look, the kind that usually made people shut up and walk away.

Claire didn't even flinch. Of course, she didn't.

"Why do you care?" I snapped, more defensive than I intended. "You always jump in, like with Dani just now... or yesterday with Maria. What's your deal? Why do you act like we're friends?"

She blinked, like she didn't expect the question to land that hard. Then she shrugged, taking a sip of her coffee. "I thought we were becoming friends."

Friends? The word rattled around in my head like it didn't fit.

I frowned. "We're not from the same crew. We don't have the same... purpose. Why would we be friends?"

Claire stared at me for a second, then let out a soft laugh, not mocking-just amused. "Wow. You're really bad at this."

I didn't respond. Mostly because she wasn't wrong.

She pushed off the doorway, stepping closer, her tone shifting from playful to something quieter, more sincere. "Okay, maybe you don't see me as a friend. Fine. But Emilia's my sister. Maybe not by blood, but in every way that counts. And I know she cares about you."

That landed like a punch I didn't see coming.

"So," she continued, setting her mug down, "if you can't trust me, at least trust that. And tell me what's up."

I stared at the countertop for a beat, my chest tight, like there was a weight I didn't know how to lift. But her words lingered, poking at something I didn't want to admit.

Finally, I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. "I think you're right."

Claire raised an eyebrow, waiting.

"About Emilia," I muttered. "About her... growing impatient with me. When it comes to... you know."

Her grin was immediate. "Sex?"

I groaned, running both hands over my face. "Don't say it like that."

"Oh, I'm definitely saying it like that," she said, laughing softly. Then she sobered a little. "But seriously-what makes you think that?"

I hesitated, but the words were already there, sitting on the edge of my tongue. "She's... trying. She doesn't say it, but I can feel it. The way she looks at me, the way she kisses me. Like she's waiting for me to stop hesitating."

Claire nodded thoughtfully. "And you're afraid you'll disappoint her?"

I didn't answer. I didn't have to.

She let out a soft sigh, leaning back against the counter. "Look, Emilia's not the type to wait around for something that isn't worth it. And she's still here. That says more than anything you're overthinking."

I frowned. "That's not helpful."

She chuckled. "Yeah, well, emotional crises aren't exactly my specialty. But maybe stop worrying about what she's expecting... and focus on what you want."

I stared at her for a second, letting that sink in. Maybe she wasn't completely useless after all.

"Thanks," I muttered, grabbing the mug from her hand and taking a sip.

She smirked. "See? Friends."

"Yeah, whatever," I muttered, rolling my eyes, but not with the same bite as before. She had a point-not that I'd admit it out loud.

Claire didn't miss a beat. "And instead of brooding here like you're auditioning for the role of 'World's Most Emotionally Constipated,' have you tried telling Emilia that you're not ready?"

I shot her a glare sharp enough to cut glass, but she just sipped her coffee like she was immune to me.

"She has no idea what's going on in that mystery maze you call a mind," Claire continued, waving her mug slightly for emphasis. "You're not exactly the 'let me pour my heart out' type."

I opened my mouth to argue, then shut it. Because, well-she wasn't wrong.

Claire leaned in a little, her tone softening. "From where she's standing, maybe it's not that she's growing impatient. Maybe she's just... insecure. Wondering if you feel the same way about her."

I frowned, the words hitting harder than I expected. Emilia-insecure? About me? The thought didn't sit right. Emilia was fearless, bold, unapologetically herself. But then I remembered the way her face had shifted this morning, that flicker of doubt she tried to hide.

Claire sighed, setting her mug down with a soft clink. "Look, Valeria. Communication isn't some grand romantic gesture. It's basic. Necessary. You don't have to write her poetry or spill your soul in dramatic speeches. Just... tell her what's going on. Even if it's messy. Even if it's not perfect."

I stared at the counter, the words settling in like dust after a storm.

"Trust me," Claire added quietly. "She'd rather hear the messy truth than be left guessing."

I didn't respond right away. Just stared at the space where the mug had been, feeling like Claire had reached into my chest and poked at something raw and tender.

Finally, I nodded, more to myself than to her. "Yeah... okay."

Claire grinned, victorious as ever. "Look at that-progress."

I rolled my eyes again, but there was a small, reluctant smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

"Don't get used to it," I muttered, grabbing the coffee mug and taking one last sip before heading upstairs.

But her words followed me, louder than I wanted to admit.

Just as I reached the top of the stairs, my phone buzzed again, vibrating sharply against my palm. The sound felt louder than it should've, echoing in my chest like a warning bell. I glanced at the screen.

Claudia: Dominic made contact sooner than we imagined. He decided on the test. And you're not going to like it.

My heart dropped.

My fingers moved faster than my thoughts as I typed back, What is the test?

The seconds stretched like an eternity, my pulse thudding in my ears.

Then the reply came.

Claudia: It's a hit.

I froze.

A hit.

My breath caught somewhere between my chest and throat, stuck in a space too tight for oxygen to pass. I reread the message, as if the words might change the second time, as if this was some mistake. But they didn't. It wasn't.

My fingers hovered over the screen, shaking slightly.

Who? I typed, my thumb pressing the letters harder than necessary.

The dots appeared-Claudia was typing.

I felt the walls closing in around me, the weight of everything crashing down, suffocating. The hallway suddenly felt too small, too bright, too loud with the silence pressing against my ears.

Then the message appeared.

Claudia: We'll talk in person. But Valeria... make sure you don't mention anything to Emilia.

I swallowed hard, the taste of dread thick on my tongue.

I wasn't sure if it was possible to feel your heart breaking before it even knew what was coming. But I was pretty sure that's what was happening.