Unraveled

Chapter 13: La Petite Mort

Agatha slid her keys into the lock, pushing the door open and stepping inside, acutely aware of Rio slipping in behind her and closing the door with a soft click. Her condo, usually her sanctuary, suddenly felt charged and uncomfortable under the weight of Rio's presence.

This was her home— her haven , the one place she could unwind. But now, it felt different, as though every corner had eyes, watching and waiting.

She locked the door behind her, setting her purse on the entry table and hanging her coat in the entryway closet. Bending down to unzip her boots, she placed them to the side without looking back, though she could feel Rio's gaze fixed on her.

Straightening up, Agatha moved down the hallway, which felt longer than usual. The quiet sounds of Rio removing her shoes echoed behind her until she stepped into the open-concept kitchen and living area. Making a beeline for the top shelf, where she kept the liquor out of Nicky's reach.

She then went to grab a glass, and contemplated only grabbing one out of spite alone, but grabbed two instead, setting them on the counter.

She was mid-pour on the second glass when she heard an impressed whistle.

Looking up, she caught Rio's gaze lingering at the threshold, her casual attire seeming slightly out of place yet oddly fitting in Agatha's home.

Agatha's condo was anything but the typical whitewashed, lifeless space common in the building.

Instead, it exuded a character, just like her.

Deep, dark wood paneled the walls, while wrought-iron accents framed the tall, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves brimming with well-loved books. Plush leather armchairs and a wide sofa created an inviting atmosphere, and a grand iron chandelier cast warm, flickering shadows.

The space felt both opulent and lived-in, distinctly homey —a sanctuary for her and Nicky.

Rio's gaze drifted around the room, taking in every detail before landing back on Agatha, her brow lifting when she noticed Agatha already drinking, the second glass waiting beside her.

With an infuriating ease, Rio stepped forward, crossing the dark hardwood floors with a confidence that made it look as if she'd been here a thousand times—as if she owned the place.

She reached for the glass Agatha had poured, lifting it to her lips and taking a slow sip, her eyes never leaving Agatha's, every movement deliberate, holding Agatha's gaze with an intensity that left no room for escape.

Not even in her own fucking home.

They drank in silence, the weight of it pressing heavily on Agatha, who found herself drumming her fingers against the countertop, feeling her irritation build. Meanwhile, Rio seemed completely at ease, standing there like she was in her own space, every sip deliberate, every glance measured.

Agatha's mind raced, wondering how exactly one was supposed to turn an awkward silence into... whatever this was supposed to become.

Clearly, she wasn't supposed to be in charge here— right ?

Shouldn't it be Rio, then, who decided when to start... this?

But when Agatha finally glanced up and caught Rio's gaze again, she felt a flash of realization.

Rio was watching her with that maddening smirk, her eyes gleaming over the rim of her glass as she took another slow sip.

She was doing this on purpose.

She was letting the silence drag, deliberately letting the tension build, because she knew it was making Agatha uncomfortable, throwing her off balance.