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CATALINA'S POV
We'd only been back from the trip for two days.
Everything after Diego collapsed had blurred into a strange, numbed quiet. No more outbursts. No drugs. No accusations. The final days passed with sunburnt skin and sea salt in our hair. Adriana didn't say much—her voice stayed low, like she was scared of shattering something. Lucas was gentle. Even Rafe had gone still, like he'd burned through the last of his rage. We swam. We drank. We didn't talk about Sofia.
That part was over.
And now we were home. Back in Spain. Soon to be back in school.
I'd taken my time showering. The heat made me dizzy, and I let it. I stood under the spray until my skin turned pink and raw, until the steam blurred the mirror and I couldn't see myself.
Now, dressed in a pale linen dress and with my damp hair sticking to my shoulders, I made my way downstairs barefoot.
I heard their voices as soon as I turned into the hallway.
My parents were in the kitchen.
"Catalina," my father said the moment he saw me, with that careful, diplomatic smile that never quite reached his eyes. "Finally awake?"
"It's ten," my mother murmured, not looking up from her tablet. "Some of us have been productive since seven."
"Good morning," I said lightly, brushing it off, heading toward the fridge. "Jet lag. And the trip was long."
"How was it?" my father asked.
"It was good." I opened the fridge, letting the cold air hit my face. "We got through it."
I could feel both of them watching me—my mother with silent judgment, my father with polite curiosity. They didn't ask for details. They never did. They just wanted results.
"We're glad you're back," my father said, glancing toward my mother as if daring her to disagree.
She didn't. She just sipped her espresso and kept scrolling.
"I was telling your mother about that girl," he continued after a pause. "The one who died. Sofia, was it?"
I froze, then recovered quickly—kept my back turned, took out a bottle of water.
"Yes," I said softly. "Sofia."
"She was at your school, right? Such a terrible tragedy," he went on, voice shifting into that practiced sympathy he used for interviews. "I've been thinking... maybe I should offer to pay for the funeral. Quietly, of course. It would show solidarity, responsibility. Especially with the press watching."
