Valeria's POV

Days blurred together, stitched by the hum of engines, the metallic scent of blood, and the weight of guns tucked into the waistband of my jeans. There was no room for softness here, no warmth lingering from stolen kisses or the gentle press of Emilia's fingertips against my skin. That version of me-the one she'd carved out with her laughter and late-night whispers-felt distant. Like a ghost I could no longer chase.

Dominic didn't reach out directly anymore. Instead, he put a middleman between us-a man named Leo.

Leo was sharp in all the wrong ways. Too clean, too polished for this world, but with eyes that missed nothing. He was Dominic's leash disguised as an informant. His instructions were always clipped, handed over without emotion, like we weren't both aware I was being tested.

"New job," Leo would say, sliding a manila folder across a grimy table. No small talk. No room for anything human.

Each file was a piece of someone's life-names, photos, routines-people marked for reasons that didn't matter to me anymore. The first time, I hesitated. My hand hovered over the file, and for a split second, I heard Emilia's voice in the back of my mind, soft and grounding.

But hesitation had no place here.

I opened the folder.

I did the job.

And then the next one.

And the next.

With every job, I felt the version of myself she'd softened slip further away, buried beneath bloodstains and silence. The streets felt colder, the nights longer. I was losing her-not just Emilia, but the reflection of myself I'd only seen through her eyes.

I wasn't sure which loss hurt more.

Leo watched me closely. Every movement, every breath. He wasn't just delivering assignments; he was Dominic's eyes, cataloging my every decision, searching for cracks. And maybe he found them. Maybe I let him.

Because with each job, I felt myself unraveling.

The worst part? I wasn't sure I wanted to stop it.

I didn't look at my phone anymore. What was the point? Emilia's number sat untouched in my contacts, like a scar I refused to trace. She hated me now-I was sure of it. I'd seen her statement, her cold, rehearsed words.

"...brutal attack... critical condition... I will never forgive who did this."

She didn't have to name me. I heard it between every line.

But it was better this way, wasn't it?

I was back where I belonged-in the dark, with blood on my hands and no illusions left.

Emilia's POV

Work had become my refuge-a poor substitute for the chaos in my chest, but at least it kept my hands busy. The camera clicks, the soft shuffle of assistants, the low buzz of studio chatter-it all blurred into background noise, muffled under the weight of Valeria's absence.

Maria moved fluidly in front of the camera, her confidence striking, her beauty impossible to ignore. She was captivating in that effortless way models were trained to be. But she didn't have Valeria's gravity-that invisible pull that made my world tilt, that quiet, intense presence I could feel even when she wasn't looking at me.

I adjusted the lighting, giving Maria directions, but my mind drifted. I missed her eyes on me. The way Valeria's gaze wasn't just looking-it was seeing.

We took a break, the team dispersing for coffee and water. Maria approached, her smile relaxed, easy. She always had this casual charm, like nothing could shake her. She stepped into my space with a familiarity that used to feel harmless but now felt like an itch under my skin.

"You look like you've been living on coffee and not enough sleep," she teased, brushing an invisible strand of hair from my face.

I forced a polite smile. "Busy week."

Maria's fingers lingered, her touch light against my jaw, tilting my face slightly toward her. "You should let someone take care of you for a change," she said softly, leaning in just enough to make her intention clear.

I froze.

It wasn't the touch that startled me-it was everything it wasn't. No electricity, no warmth spreading like wildfire. No heart racing, no breath catching. It wasn't her.

I stepped back, sharp and immediate, like my body rejected the contact before my mind caught up.

Maria's eyes flickered with surprise, then smoothed over with a casual laugh. "Relax, Emilia. I was just-"

"Don't," I cut her off, my voice tighter than I intended. "I'm not-" I swallowed hard. "It's not like that."

Before the awkward silence could thicken, Claire's voice cut through, her timing suspiciously perfect.

"Well," she said, strolling up with her signature smirk, "that wasn't awkward at all."

Maria forced a smile, shrugging off the tension. "I'll let you get back to work," she said, her tone breezy, but I caught the faint edge beneath it as she walked away.

Claire waited until Maria was out of earshot before raising an eyebrow at me. "So... that was interesting."

I exhaled, trying to shake off the lingering discomfort. "It was nothing."

Claire snorted. "Yeah, right."

Claire crossed her arms, leaning casually against the nearby table. "You okay?"

I hesitated, then let out a shaky breath. "I miss her."

The words slipped out quietly, but they hung between us like a confession.

Claire's face softened, her usual sarcasm fading. "Yeah. I figured."

I stared at the floor, my fingers tightening around the camera strap. "It's not just that she's gone. It's like... she's everywhere and nowhere all at once. I can't escape it."

Claire didn't offer cheap reassurances. Instead, she nudged me gently with her elbow. "You know, you don't have to escape it. Missing her means she mattered."

I blinked, fighting the sting behind my eyes. "She told me to trust her. And I did. But- she keeps disappearing"

Claire was quiet for a beat, then shrugged. "She didn't disappear. Maybe she's out there trying to fix things the only way she knows how."

I let the silence settle, the ache in my chest feeling heavier.

"She'd hate it if she saw you like this," Claire added, trying to lighten the mood. "All broody and tortured. You're messing with your aesthetic."

A weak laugh escaped me, the first in days. "Shut up."

Claire grinned, satisfied. "There she is."

But even as I laughed, the ache remained, deep and constant.

I missed her. And no distraction could fill the space Valeria had left behind.

Maria's laughter echoed faintly from the other side of the room. Claire was somewhere nearby, probably ready with another sarcastic quip to pull me out of my spiraling thoughts. But none of it mattered-not when the door to the studio opened, and Salvador stepped in, his presence cutting through the noise like a blade.

His sharp suit was immaculate as always, but there was a tension in his posture, a gravity that immediately set me on edge. He didn't belong here, not in this world of controlled chaos and staged perfection. His world was darker, messier-just like the one Valeria had been swallowed by.

I met him halfway across the studio, my heart already racing. Without a word, I motioned for him to follow me to one of the empty offices tucked away from prying eyes. As soon as the door clicked shut behind us, I turned to face him.

"Well?" My voice was sharper than I intended, brittle from too many sleepless nights.

Salvador didn't waste time. "I spoke with your father."

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my face neutral, even though just hearing those words sent a rush of relief-and guilt-through me.

"And?" I pressed.

"He agrees with the plan." Salvador's expression was unreadable, as always, but there was a flicker of something beneath the surface-concern, maybe. "We're going to announce him as clinically dead."

The words hit like a punch to the chest, even though I knew it was part of the plan. The plan. As if any of this could be reduced to something so simple.

I nodded slowly, forcing the lump in my throat back down. "Good. It'll sell the story."

Salvador watched me carefully, as if waiting for me to break. I didn't.

"I'll handle the media," I added, my voice steadier than I felt. "I'll make sure it looks believable."

For a brief moment, his hard expression softened. "You're a lot like him, you know."

I didn't want to hear that. Not now.

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" I shot back, the bitterness slipping through before I could stop it.

Salvador didn't flinch. "It's a fact."

I ran a hand through my hair, pacing the small room. My heart was pounding, not from fear, but from anger-anger at all of it. The lies, the manipulation, the games. Valeria out there, tangled in it all, and me stuck here, pretending to be okay.

"I'll call a press conference," I said finally, stopping to face him again. "Give them something to feed on."

Salvador nodded once. "We'll take care of the rest."

As he turned to leave, I stopped him. "Salvador."

He glanced back, one brow raised in silent question.

"Is she okay?" I hated how small my voice sounded, how vulnerable the words felt.

He didn't answer right away, and that silence was enough to make my heart clench.

"She's doing what she has to," he said at last. "That's all I can tell you."

And then he was gone, leaving me alone in the empty room, my reflection staring back at me from the glass window-strong, composed, and completely shattered on the inside.

I took a deep breath, pulling out my phone. If this was the role I had to play to help Valeria, then I'd play it well.

I started drafting the statement, every word cutting deeper than the last.

"It is with great sadness that I confirm the passing of my father, Silas Hayes. He was a man of strength and integrity, and his loss is a tragedy that will forever scar our family. I will not rest until justice is served."

I stared at the words for a long time before hitting send.

Because this wasn't just for the media.

It was for him.

And for her.

Valeria's POV

The message from Leo came in sharp, like a blade slipping between ribs.

"Dominic wants to see you. Tonight."

That was it. No time, no explanation. Just an address pinned at the bottom.

I stared at my phone, thumb hovering over the screen. There was no point in asking why. I knew. The announcement about Silas Hayes' "death" had spread like wildfire-headlines splashed across every media outlet, filled with carefully crafted words of tragedy and loss. Words I knew were lies. But that didn't matter. The story was all Dominic needed.

This was it.

The final judgment.

I slipped the phone into my pocket, feeling the familiar weight of dread settle low in my stomach. I'd faced death before. I'd stared down men who'd wanted me dead more times than I could count. But this felt different. This wasn't fear of dying. It was fear of what I was becoming.

Or maybe... fear that I'd already become it.

The message came through Leo: Dominic wants to see you. Now.

No frills. No context. Just like always.

I shoved the phone back into my pocket, my pulse picking up pace. I knew what this was about-the news of Silas Hayes's "death" had reached Dominic. This wasn't going to be a friendly chat. This was the moment of truth. Did he believe the story? Did he believe me?

The warehouse was just as I remembered-cold, damp, the faint metallic scent of rust and oil lingering in the air. The kind of place where trust came to die. The fluorescent lights flickered above, casting long, fractured shadows across the cracked concrete floor.

Dominic was already there, standing near an old metal table, a cigarette dangling from his fingers, smoke curling lazily into the stale air. Leo hovered nearby, silent and unreadable as always.

I walked in, my steps echoing softly. No hesitation. No fear. At least not on the outside.

Dominic didn't look up right away. Just took a slow drag from his cigarette before finally turning his sharp gaze on me.

"So," he said, exhaling a thin stream of smoke, "Silas Hayes is dead."

I gave a curt nod, keeping my face impassive. "Yeah."

Dominic stepped closer, circling me slowly, his eyes narrowing as if trying to peel back my skin and see what was underneath. I kept my posture relaxed, hands loose at my sides, even though every muscle in my body was coiled tight.

"I have to admit," he murmured, his voice low and smooth like velvet over a blade, "I wasn't sure you'd pull it off."

I didn't respond. There was nothing to say. Anything more would be weakness, and Dominic thrived on weakness.

He stopped in front of me, flicking ash onto the floor, his gaze sharp as a knife. "But you did. Clean. Efficient."

A tense pause.

"That's why," he continued, leaning in slightly, "you're officially part of my crew now. No more tests. No more middlemen. Leo will still be around, but no babysitting."

The words hit harder than I expected. I'd worked for this-to gain his trust, to get inside. But now that it was here, it felt like shackles tightening around my wrists.

Dominic smiled, but there was no warmth in it. Just teeth. "You've proven yourself. But don't get comfortable. You're useful to me because you're good at what you do. The moment that changes..." He let the threat hang in the air, unfinished but loud enough to drown out my thoughts.

I met his gaze, steady and unblinking. "I understand."

He studied me for another long beat, then nodded slightly, as if satisfied with whatever he saw-or didn't see.

"Good," he said simply, then turned his back on me, dismissing me without another word.

I left without looking back, my heart pounding in my chest. The cool night air hit me like a slap when I stepped outside, but it didn't help.

Emilia's POV

The sterile lights of the studio reflected off the polished floors, creating harsh angles that mirrored the sharp tension in my chest. I sat in front of the camera, microphones positioned like vultures waiting to feast on every word I'd say. The press conference was suffocating-reporters with hungry eyes, all eager to dissect the tragedy of Emilia Hayes.

But this wasn't for them.

This was for her.

I kept my face neutral, sculpted with the grief they expected to see, though it didn't take much effort. The ache was real-just not for the reasons they thought. The weight in my chest wasn't about my father's "death." It was the emptiness carved by Valeria's absence.

A journalist's voice pierced through the haze. "Miss Hayes, any final words about your father?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat, fingers curling around the edges of the podium.

"My father was a strong man," I began, my voice steady despite the storm beneath it. "But strength isn't just about power. It's about resilience. About surviving what should have broken you."

I paused, letting the words hang in the air.

"He always told me that people are like glass. Fragile, yes, but when they shatter, the edges become sharp enough to cut through anything."

That was it-the message.

Valeria would know. She'd remember the night I said something similar, tracing the scar along her collarbone with my fingers, calling it beautiful because it was proof she survived.

I finished the rest of the speech mechanically, letting the reporters drown in their frenzy of questions. But my heart wasn't in the room anymore. It was out there-wherever she was.

Valeria's POV

I sat in the dim corner of a bar, the bitter taste of whiskey lingering on my tongue, pretending I cared about the noise around me. But then her voice echoed from the old TV mounted above the bar, and suddenly the world fell away.

"...people are like glass. Fragile, yes, but when they shatter, the edges become sharp enough to cut through anything."

My chest tightened.

She was talking to me.

I clenched my glass, knuckles white, ignoring Leo's voice in the background as he droned on about some new job Dominic wanted me to take. I didn't hear a word of it.

My mind was with her.

She hadn't forgotten me. She wasn't just playing along.

She was still there-shattered, maybe. But sharp.

And God, I felt every edge.

---

The sky outside was painted with the muted gray of impending rain, casting long shadows that crept across the cracked floorboards of the apartment. Claudia sat lazily against the windowsill, her cigarette balanced between her fingers, smoke curling like ghosts in the stale air. We'd been watching the streets for hours, waiting for shadows that never came.

"It's been two days," Claudia muttered, flicking ash into an empty cup. "Haven't seen anyone lurking."

I didn't move, my arms crossed tightly over my chest, staring out the window without really seeing the street. "Do you really believe they've stopped watching?"

She snorted softly, her lips curling into a half-smirk. "Or he's making you believe he stopped watching."

Her words hung in the air, heavy and sharp. The silence settled thick between us, but there was something off about the way she said it-too casual, too indifferent.

I shifted slightly, my eyes narrowing. "You've been out more than usual."

Claudia didn't even flinch. She just shrugged, that same lazy grin plastered on her face. "Had things to handle."

"Like what?"

Her smile faded, replaced by a flicker of annoyance. "Since when do you ask?"

I studied her carefully. Claudia was good-too good. But I knew her. I knew the subtle shifts in her posture, the way her fingers tapped against the table when she was holding something back.

"I don't," I said slowly, pushing off the wall. "But maybe I should."

Her eyes darkened slightly, tension crackling between us like static before a storm.

"What are you trying to say, Valeria?"

I stepped closer, my voice low and steady. "I'm saying you've been meeting people without telling me. Taking calls in private. Acting like I'm the one who needs to be kept in the dark."

Claudia's hand slammed against the table, the sharp sound cutting through the room like a gunshot.

"Don't you fucking dare," she snapped, her eyes blazing. "Don't you dare question my loyalty."

I didn't back down. My jaw clenched, my heart racing. "Then tell me. What's going on?"

She exhaled sharply, her gaze dropping for a fraction of a second before snapping back to mine.

"I'm trying to get you out," she whispered, her voice raw and tight. "I've been meeting with Salvador. We're trying to find a way to end this without getting you killed."

I stared at her, the words sinking in slowly, battling with the anger and suspicion that had been festering inside me.

"Why?" The question slipped out before I could stop it. "Why the hell are you doing this?"

Claudia's eyes softened just a fraction, the edge in her voice dulling. "You know exactly why."

I scoffed, trying to shake off the weight of her words. "Let me guess-this is the part where you tell me you're in love with me?"

I expected her to laugh, to roll her eyes, to brush it off like she always did. But she didn't.

Instead, she leaned in slightly, her gaze piercing through me. "People like us? We're incapable of love."

The words hit harder than I expected.

"But," she added quietly, her voice softer now, almost reflective, "we're definitely capable of feeling."

I opened my mouth to argue, to throw some sarcastic remark her way, but nothing came out.

Because she was right.

My mind flashed with images of Emilia-her smile, her touch, the way her presence had unraveled every defense I'd ever built. The warmth in her voice when she called me by my name. The softness in her eyes when she looked at me like I was more than just the scars on my skin.

What I had with Emilia was not just "feeling".

It was an unfamiliar ache, sharp and suffocating.

I swallowed hard, forcing the emotion down. "You're full of shit," I muttered, turning back to the window, trying to ignore the pounding in my chest.

Claudia didn't respond. She didn't need to.

Because we both knew the truth.

Emilia's POV

The pen felt heavier than it should, smooth and cold against my fingers as I signed the last document. My signature looked foreign, like it belonged to someone else-someone more composed, more capable. But it was mine, etched in black ink, binding me to a world I never wanted.

Claire sat across from me, her usual sarcastic grin replaced with something softer, more tentative. The stack of legal papers between us felt like a wall, thick and impenetrable.

She broke the silence first. "You know, for someone who swore they'd never wear a suit, you're pulling it off frighteningly well."

I gave her a flat look, letting out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. "It's not about pulling it off."

She tilted her head, studying me with those sharp eyes that always saw more than I wanted her to. "How are you going to manage all this, Emilia? You're not... you know, this." She gestured vaguely at the papers, the office, the life I'd just signed myself into. "You're an artist. Not a corporate assassin."

A bitter laugh escaped me, short and sharp. "I'll only do what my father tells me to do."

Her brow furrowed slightly, curiosity flickering behind her guarded expression. "And where exactly is your father?"

I hesitated, the pen slipping from my fingers, landing with a soft clink on the glass table. My gaze drifted to the window, where the late afternoon sun cast long shadows, stretching like fingers across the floor.

"Somewhere," I replied quietly. "Salvador won't tell me, but he promised it's safe."

Claire leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "And you believe him?"

I met her gaze, steady despite the ache in my chest. "I have to."

She didn't press further, and I was grateful for that. The truth was, I didn't know if I believed it. I didn't know if safe was even a word that existed in my world anymore.

Valeria's face flashed in my mind-her haunted eyes, the scar on her hand, the weight of her absence pressing against my ribs like an invisible bruise. She was somewhere out there, tangled in the same darkness that had claimed my father's name, my life.

And here I was, signing papers as if ink could hold the world together.

Claire reached over, her hand resting briefly on mine, grounding me.

"You're doing better than you think," she murmured.

I wasn't sure if that was true.

But for now, it was enough.

Valeria's POV

The blood never really washes off.

It seeps into your skin, staining the parts of you no one can see. No matter how many showers you taken, no matter how hard you scrub until your skin is raw, it lingers. In the creases of your knuckles, under your fingernails, buried in the cracks of your soul.

I stared at the crimson streaks running down my arms, watching as the water in the sink swirled pink before disappearing down the drain. But it was still there. Always there.

The bathroom mirror was cracked from when I'd punched it a few days ago-a reflection fractured, just like me. My face looked hollow, eyes sunken, shadows carved under them like bruises that never healed. The woman staring back wasn't the version Emilia knew.

No, this was Valeria Castillo-the one who didn't hesitate to pull the trigger. The one who never flinched at the sound of a blade slicing through flesh. The one I thought I'd buried when Emilia's hands first touched my face like I was something worth holding.

But that version of me was gone, fading with every job Dominic threw my way.

A knock at the door snapped me out of it.

Claudia.

Of course, it was Claudia. She always knew when I was about to fall apart.

I opened the door without saying anything, walking past her into the cramped living room of the shitty apartment we'd been using as a safe house. The floorboards creaked under my boots, and the air smelled like stale cigarettes and cheap liquor.

She followed me in, leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed, a cigarette dangling from her fingers. Her sharp eyes scanned me like she was dissecting every crack in my armor.

"You're slipping," she said finally, her voice low and steady.

I didn't respond. What was the point? She wasn't wrong.

Instead, I grabbed the bottle of whiskey off the table, took a long pull straight from the neck, and let the burn remind me I was still breathing.

Claudia stepped closer. "You think Dominic's not noticing? You think he doesn't see how sloppy you're getting?"

I laughed, but it sounded hollow, even to me. "I'm doing the job, aren't I?"

She shook her head, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "You're doing more than the job. You're unraveling."

I slammed the bottle down, the glass clinking sharply against the wood. My hands were shaking. Rage. Guilt. I didn't know anymore.

"What the fuck do you want from me, Claudia?" I snapped, my voice rough. "You think I like this? You think I enjoy going back to being-"

I stopped myself, the words lodged in my throat.

Being who I was before her.

Before Emilia.

Claudia didn't flinch. She never did. She just stepped forward, her gaze unrelenting. "No. I think you hate it. But you're doing it anyway. And it's eating you alive."

I turned away, unable to meet her eyes, staring instead at the faded wallpaper, my jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

"You think Emilia would even recognize you now?" she whispered.

Her name hit me like a bullet.

I closed my eyes, trying to push the image out of my head-her smile, the way her fingers felt tracing the scars on my skin like they were something beautiful, not reminders of how broken I was.

I couldn't push it out.

I grabbed the whiskey bottle again, ready to drown the ache, but Claudia snatched it from my hand and threw it across the room. It shattered against the wall, shards of glass scattering like tiny explosions.

"FUCK!" I roared, my rage spilling out like a dam breaking. I punched the wall, again and again, until my knuckles split open, blood mixing with the old stains on my skin.

Claudia let me. She just stood there, watching, waiting for me to burn out.

When I finally did, my chest heaving, she walked over and grabbed my wrist, pulling me to face her.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked softly, her grip firm. "Why are you letting him turn you back into this?"

I yanked my arm free, scoffing bitterly. "What, are you my fucking therapist now?"

She didn't react. Just stared.

"Why do you even care?" I added, my voice quieter now, all the anger bleeding out, leaving me hollow.

Claudia sighed, stepping closer, her expression shifting to something softer, something real. "Because I've seen you when you're not like this."

I scoffed, bitter. "What, when? Before I was killing people for Dominic or after?"

She shook her head, unfazed. "No. When you were with her."

I froze, swallowing hard. " Don't mention her to me again."

Emilia's POV

The sharp click of my pen echoed louder than I intended as I signed the last document on my desk. My head throbbed from hours of staring at contracts, business proposals, and endless emails. This wasn't my world-numbers, power plays, silent deals written in ink and blood. I was an artist, not a corporate puppet. But here I was, drowning in the legacy my father left behind.

A soft knock on the doorframe pulled me from my thoughts.

Lucia poked her head in, her brows slightly furrowed. "Emilia, there's someone here to see you. He's waiting in your office."

I frowned. "Who is it?"

She shrugged. "Didn't say. Just that it's important."

A cold ripple of unease crawled up my spine. I pushed the feeling aside, standing up and straightening my blouse, trying to shake off the tension. Important was never just a casual drop-in these days.

As I walked toward my office, my pulse quickened, each step heavier than the last. I opened the door-and froze.

A man sat casually in one of the leather chairs opposite my desk, dressed in dark, understated clothes. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes-those sharp, calculating eyes-tracked me like a predator sizing up prey.

I didn't recognize him.

"Can I help you?" I asked, keeping my tone even, controlled.

He stood, offering a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Claudia sent me."

The name hit me like a slap, but I didn't flinch. Claudia. My mind raced, my heart slamming against my ribs.

I tilted my head slightly, feigning confusion. "I'm sorry, who?"

The man's smile curled into something smug, an uneasy twist of his lips. "Claudia. She said you'd understand. It's about Valeria."

The ground felt like it shifted beneath me. Valeria. My grip on the folder in my hand tightened, the edges digging into my skin. My face remained indifferent-a skill I'd learned well-but my heart was screaming.

I forced a light laugh, walking to my desk and dropping the folder onto the pile of papers. My hands trembled slightly, but I hid them beneath the desk.

"I'm afraid you're mistaken," I said smoothly, flipping through some papers like they mattered. "I don't know anyone with those names. Is this related to my father's business? I'm aware of all our current partners."

The man didn't move. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the edge of my desk, his eyes narrowing slightly. The predatory vibe grew stronger, suffocating. I finally looked up, meeting his gaze head-on.

That's when Claire walked in, her usual nonchalant swagger immediately halting as she sensed the tension. Her sharp eyes darted between us.

"Everything okay, Emilia?" Claire asked casually, but there was a note of alertness in her voice.

I seized the opportunity.

"Yes, actually," I replied, my voice light but with an edge. "This gentleman is talking about two people I'm unfamiliar with-Claudia and Valeria. Ever heard my father mention those names?"

I locked eyes with Claire, silently pleading with her to play along.

Claire paused for a heartbeat, then let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head. "The only women I ever heard your father talk about were the ones he liked. And trust me, they weren't named Claudia or Valeria."

A tight smile formed on my lips, masking the knot in my chest. "Right. It's been... hard since he passed. I miss him."

I turned my attention back to the man, tilting my head slightly, keeping up the act. "I didn't catch your name."

He straightened, extending his hand with that same unsettling smile. "Leo."

Leo.

The name sent a cold shiver down my spine. I shook his hand briefly, my skin prickling like I'd touched ice.

"Well, it was nice meeting you, Leo," I said, my voice cool. "I hope you find who you're looking for."

He gave me a curt nod. "I'll be in touch."

With that, he turned and walked out, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him.

The moment he was gone, Claire closed the door and spun around to face me. "What the hell was that about?"

I stared at the door for a long moment, my heart still racing. "I don't know."

Claire crossed her arms, her expression skeptical. "You think Claudia really sent him?"

"Maybe," I murmured, shaking my head. "But remember what happened with Victor. We can't trust anyone."

Claire exhaled sharply, pacing the room. "So, what now?"

I clenched my fists, forcing down the fear, the confusion, the anger. "I need to reach Claudia."

Because something was very, very wrong.

Claire broke the silence first, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her expression shifting from confusion to frustration. "Are you going to call Claudia?"

I didn't answer right away. My mind was racing, every instinct screaming at me to be careful. This wasn't just a random visit-this was a move, a calculated step in a game I didn't fully understand yet.

"No," I finally said, my voice sharper than I intended. I ran a hand through my hair, trying to steady the adrenaline coursing through me. "If that man wasn't sent by Claudia, then they're waiting for me to reach out to her. They're trying to see who I'll contact."

Claire's eyebrows shot up. "So, what-you think this was a trap?"

I nodded slightly, my jaw clenched. "A test. A way to see if I'd lead them to Claudia. Maybe even Valeria."

Claire let out a low whistle, pacing the room like she needed to burn off the tension. "Shit. Does this mean they've blown Valeria's cover?"

I shook my head, trying to convince both of us. "No. If they blew her cover, they wouldn't be poking around me. They'd know exactly where to find her."

Claire stopped pacing, her sharp gaze locking with mine. "Then what now? We just sit here and do nothing?"

"No," I replied, my voice steadier this time. "We go on with our day. Like nothing happened."

Claire's jaw tightened. "And tomorrow?"

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to think clearly. "Tomorrow, when Salvador comes for the board meeting, we ask him. He'll know if something's off."

Claire didn't argue. She just nodded, but the tension in her shoulders didn't ease. I could feel it too-the weight of the unknown pressing down on us like an invisible hand.

For now, we had to pretend.

But tomorrow... tomorrow we'd get answers.