Matío had left for work hours ago, his absence leaving the massive penthouse feeling boring and empty per usual.
I was sprawled out on the couch in one of my oversized hoodies, my curly hair tied in a messy bun, aimlessly scrolling through my phone.
For once, there was no Renai dragging me out or work forcing me to function—I had nothing to do but enjoy the stillness.
I got up to grab some tea from the kitchen, the faint hum of the city muffled by the thick windows. The hoodie sleeves were too long, and I had to push them up just to hold the mug steady. It wasn't much, but moments like these reminded me that I was getting by, one day at a time.
I had just sat back down when the sharp buzz of the intercom broke the silence. I frowned.
Nobody ever came up unless Matío was home—he was too private for unannounced guests. I debated ignoring it, but the intercom buzzed again, longer this time.
Sighing, I shuffled over and pressed the button. "Hello?"
"Hey, is Matío home?" The voice was smooth, feminine, and confident.
"No, he's not. Who's asking?"
There was a pause, then: "Oh, it's Camila. Can I come up?"
The name hit like a slap. Camila. I didn't know much about her, but I'd heard her name before—in snippets of conversations I probably wasn't supposed to hear.
Ex-girlfriend, some kind of on-again-off-again history. I hesitated, my thumb hovering over the button to buzz her in.
I could've said no. Should've, maybe. But instead, I pressed it, curiosity outweighing common sense.
Minutes later, the elevator dinged, and there she was. Camila.
She was beautiful in the kind of way that made me immediately self-conscious about my tea-stained hoodie and bare face. Her short, dark hair fell perfectly around her shoulders, and her makeup was subtle but flawless. She wore a leather jacket over a fitted dress, her heels clicking sharply on the marble floor as she stepped inside.
"You're Ahvi, right?" she said, her red-painted lips curling into a polite but distant smile.
"Yeah," I said, crossing my arms. "And you're Camila."
