Valeria’s POV

The room is quieter than I expected. The walls are painted in soft, neutral colors, and the furniture is simple but still more polished than anything I’ve ever had. There’s no peeling paint or cracks in the walls here. The bed is not as soft as the one upstairs, but it’s firm enough not to make me feel like I’m sinking. It’s closer to something I might actually call...comfortable.

Being next to Lucia feels better. It’s easier to breathe knowing she’s just down the hall. Still, the luxury of this place doesn’t sit right with me. Even this smaller room feels like a different world—a world I don’t belong in.

I lean back against the bed, staring at the ceiling as my thoughts drift to Cesar. Has he been eating? Is he alright? My chest tightens at the thought of him alone in that neighborhood.

But what could I do for him now? I’m stuck here, useless. And if Dominic finds out about him... No. I can’t let that happen. Maybe staying away is the best thing I can do for him.

A knock on the door pulls me from my spiraling thoughts. Lucia steps in, her warm smile like a balm to my restless mind.

“Are you ready to have a shower?” she asks gently, holding a fresh towel.

I nod, pushing myself up slowly. “Finally. I’ve been needing one for days.”

Lucia chuckles. “Why didn’t you ask Miss Emilia?”

I scoff, brushing past her toward the bathroom. “I’m not going to ask Emilia for anything.”

Lucia sighs, her voice soft but firm. “You’ve got the wrong idea about her, you know.”

I pause, glancing back at her. “I know enough.”

She doesn’t push further, stepping aside to let me into the bathroom.

The hot water feels like heaven against my skin, washing away the grime and tension of the past few days. For a brief moment, I let myself relax, closing my eyes and pretending, just for a second, that the weight on my shoulders isn’t crushing me.

When I step out, I spot the neatly folded clothes on the counter. My lips press into a thin line. They’re new, crisp, and clearly picked by someone who doesn’t know me.

I hold up the shorts, my brow furrowing. “What the hell?” I mutter. I slip them on reluctantly, adjusting them uncomfortably. They’re way too short.

I glance at myself in the mirror, shaking my head. Who dresses like this?

As I leave the bathroom, my legs shaky, I make my way down the hall to the servants’ kitchen. Lucia is there, stirring something on the stove.

She looks up when I enter, her gaze flicking over my outfit. “Do they fit you?”

“They do,” I say, pulling at the shorts. “But seriously... who dresses like this? The shorts are too short, and the shirt reveals way too much.”

Lucia chuckles softly, shaking her head. “Give Miss Emilia a break. She’s trying her best.”

“She shouldn’t be trying at all,” I snap, leaning against the doorframe. “The fact that I’m here is putting everyone’s life in danger. Including yours.”

Lucia sets the spoon down, turning to face me fully. “Miss Emilia is stubborn, Valeria. She won’t listen to anyone—not even me. So maybe... give her a break, too. For both your sakes.”

I hold her gaze for a moment, her words settling in the air between us. But I don’t respond. Instead, I look away, focusing on the faint sound of the water boiling on the stove.

Emilia’s POV

I step into the house, the weight of the shopping bags pulling at my arms. The bags rustle as I set them on the counter, a faint sense of nervousness twisting in my chest. I call out, “Lucia?”

She appears from the hallway, her ever-calm demeanor grounding me. “Yes, Miss Emilia?”

I gesture toward the bags. “These are for Valeria. Can you... take off the tags and tell her they’re yours? Just say you’re lending them to her.”

Lucia raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment, instead opening one of the bags and pulling out a simple but stylish shirt. She inspects it with a small smile. “You did well picking these out, Miss Emilia. They’ll suit her.”

I let out a small sigh of relief. “I hope she likes them.”

Lucia nods, her smile reassuring. “I’ll take care of it.”

I thank her before heading to my studio, determined to throw myself into my work.

---

The studio hums with energy as the set lights click on, casting a glow over the carefully arranged scene. Danny and Claire buzz around, adjusting props and chatting excitedly. I raise my camera, directing the model with practiced ease.

“Perfect,” I murmur as the shutter clicks. “Turn your head slightly... That’s it.”

Danny pauses beside me, watching over my shoulder. “Another masterpiece, Lia. Honestly, I don’t know how you do it.”

Claire chimes in from the other side, “It’s true. You make it look effortless.”

I force a smile, nodding in acknowledgment, but the usual satisfaction I feel from their praise isn’t there. My mind is somewhere else. With her.

I picture Valeria—her guarded eyes, the way her smile broke through her defenses when she laughed with Lucia. I wonder if she’s settled into her new room. Would she ever feel at ease here, or with me?

The model moves to reset her pose, and my hands lower the camera. My chest feels hollow, like something’s missing.

“Lia,” Danny’s voice pulls me back. She’s standing close now, closer than usual.

“What?” I ask, my voice sharper than intended.

She tilts her head, a sly smile playing on her lips. “You’re somewhere else today. What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing,” I mutter, raising my camera again.

Danny doesn’t buy it. She steps closer, her voice dropping. “You know, you’re cute when you’re brooding.”

Before I can react, she leans in and presses her lips to mine.

I jerk back, the motion automatic. “Not now, Danny.”

She blinks, taken aback. “Not now?”

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “I said not now.”

Her expression hardens slightly, her usual playful demeanor faltering. “What changed, Lia? You didn’t seem to mind before.”

“Everything,” I say softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

Danny stares at me for a moment, her eyes searching mine, before stepping back with a shrug. “Whatever you say, Lia. But don’t come crying to me when she breaks your heart.”

I don’t respond, turning back to my camera. But her words linger, and I can’t shake the weight of them.

The walk to the servants’ wing feels longer than it should. Each step feels like I’m carrying the weight of the world, but I press on, forcing myself forward. She’s down here now, away from the luxury of the main house, and yet I can’t shake the feeling that she’s still farther away from me than ever.

When I reach her door, I hesitate. Why am I so nervous? I take a deep breath and push it open.

She’s sitting by the window, bathed in the soft glow of late afternoon light. Her long hair falls over her shoulders, and the clothes I had carefully picked out fit her perfectly. Seeing her like this, refreshed and calm, it’s almost too much.

My heart skips a beat. She’s stunning. It’s not the bruises or the guarded look in her eyes that I notice, but something deeper—something raw and unfiltered.

“Hi,” I say softly, stepping into the room.

She tenses immediately, her body rigid as she turns her head. Her eyes meet mine, and I see it: the walls, the distrust, the cold distance she’s determined to keep between us.

“How are you settling in?” I ask, my voice gentle, almost tentative.

She stares at me for a moment, her jaw tightening. “I’m fine,” she says curtly. Then she adds, with a sharpness that cuts right through me, “I’d be better if you let me go.”

I force a breath, steadying myself. “That’s not happening.”

Her laugh is bitter, humorless. She stands, each movement deliberate, her eyes narrowing as she looks at me. “Then what’s your plan, huh? To keep me here? Dress me up in these revealing clothes for your entertainment?”

The words sting, but before I can respond, she steps closer, her voice rising. “What are you really after, Emilia? Are you keeping me here so you can take naked pictures of me? Is that it? Do you want me to be your personal whore?”

It’s like she’s ripped the air from my lungs. I stand frozen, her words slicing through me like shards of glass. I search her face, trying to find some sign that she doesn’t mean it, but all I see is anger.

I don’t say anything. I can’t. My chest feels tight, my throat constricted. Without a word, I turn and leave, my footsteps echoing hollowly down the hall.

---

Valeria’s POV

I watch her leave, my heart pounding. The slam of the door reverberates in the silence, but it doesn’t bring me the satisfaction I thought it would.

“You shouldn’t have said that.”

Lucia’s voice makes me flinch. I turn to see her standing in the doorway, her arms crossed, disappointment etched on her face.

I shrug, though my chest feels heavy. “It’s better this way. She needs to stop trying. She needs to stop acting like this... this is normal.”

Lucia steps into the room, her gaze unwavering. “And you think being cruel is the way to make her stop?”

I scoff, looking away. “It’ll work. Rich girls like her don’t know how to deal with rejection. She’ll give up eventually.”

Lucia shakes her head, her tone soft but firm. “Do you know the clothes you’re wearing right now? She picked them out for you. Carefully. She wanted you to feel comfortable.”

I glance down at the fabric, suddenly feeling the weight of it against my skin.

“And those clothes you had before?” Lucia continues. “They were hers. She gave them to you because she thought it was the best she could do at the time.”

The guilt I’ve been shoving down rises to the surface, but I force it back. “I didn’t ask her to do any of that,” I mutter.

“No, you didn’t,” Lucia agrees, her voice calm but pointed. “But she did it anyway. She’s trying, Valeria. She’s trying harder than anyone I’ve ever seen. And she doesn’t deserve the way you’re treating her.”

I clench my fists, my jaw tightening as I look away. “She shouldn’t be trying at all. Don’t you see? I shouldn’t be here. The fact that I’m here puts everyone in danger—especially you.”

Lucia steps closer, placing a hand on my shoulder. “You don’t have to trust her, Valeria. But don’t hurt her like this. She’s already been hurt enough.”

I swallow hard, my throat dry. Her words settle in the room like a heavy weight, pressing down on my chest. I don’t answer. I can’t.

Lucia lets out a quiet sigh and steps back. “Think about what I said.”

As she leaves, the silence in the room feels heavier than before. I glance at the window, my reflection faint in the glass. She doesn’t belong in my world, I think. And I don’t belong in hers.

The next couple of days are a blur. The pain in my ribs is almost gone, and my appetite has returned. Lucia makes the best food I’ve ever tasted, and for the first time in years, life feels...easy. Way too easy. It’s unsettling—like the calm before the storm.

As for Emilia? She hasn’t come to see me since the day we fought. I knew she would stop trying sooner or later, and I’ve been holding on to the hope that she’s slowly forgetting my existence. All I need now is a chance to slip out of this place.

Not that I have anywhere to go. I can’t go back, not with Dominic’s men likely hunting for me. But staying here feels just as impossible.

I glance at the clock next to my bed. It’s 3 a.m. The house must be quiet by now; everyone is probably asleep. I need fresh air. My body feels stiff from lying around for so long, and the walls of this room are starting to close in on me.

Lucia once mentioned that I could use the backyard whenever I wanted, though it meant passing through the main house. I’ve been avoiding it for days, but tonight feels safe.

I slip out of my room quietly, holding my side as a faint ache in my ribs reminds me to move carefully. The hallway is dark, the only sound coming from the faint hum of the house’s appliances.

As I approach the kitchen, a faint light spills out from the doorway. I slow my steps, peeking inside.

That’s when I see her.

Emilia is standing by the counter, pouring herself a glass of water. She’s wearing a white, sheer nightgown, the soft fabric clinging to her figure. Her curves are visible beneath the see-through gown, and I can see she’s only wearing panties underneath. My face heats up instantly.

Her eyes lift, locking with mine. She startles, nearly choking on her water. “Valeria?” she asks, surprised. “Are you okay?”

I can’t answer. My face feels like it’s on fire.

She doesn’t seem fazed by her lack of clothing—or by my reaction. Instead, she starts walking toward me, her expression soft with concern. “What’s wrong?”

I throw my hand over my eyes, my voice louder than I intended. “You’re not wearing anything!”

She stops, tilting her head in confusion. “What? I’m wearing a nightgown.”

Is she serious? I lower my hand slightly, enough to peek at her incredulously. “You call that a nightgown?”

Her lips quirk into a faint smile. “It is. What else would you call it?”

I can’t do this. I spin on my heel, ready to retreat, but her hand lands gently on my shoulder, freezing me in place. My body stiffens at the unexpected contact.

“Wait,” she says, moving to stand in front of me. Her eyes search my face, curious. “Is this... your first time seeing a woman naked?”

There’s something in her voice—a hint of teasing, laced with something else. Her gaze flickers down to my lips for just a second, and I feel my ears burn.

I shake my head, pushing past her as quickly as my aching ribs will allow. “No. Just—don’t.”

Her soft chuckle follows me as I retreat to my room. I could hear her whisper "Adorable," muttering curses under my breath. Of all the nights to need fresh air...

By the time I make it back, my heart is racing, and it has nothing to do with the pain.