"You forget how hard it is to ignore someone who looks the way you do," He replied smoothly, taking advantage of the close proximity between the two of us.
Running his large hands slowly down my arms before looping them around my waist possessively...
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."
