Saint Or Sinner?

Thirty Five.

Camila's Point Of View

I had spent too many days drowning in my emotions, feeling lost in the aftermath of everything that happened. But today, I was done wallowing. I needed to take control of my life again.

So, I got a new job.

It wasn't glamorous: just a secretary position at a respectable firm. but it was mine.

I wanted something stable, something that had nothing to do with him.

The manager, a middle-aged woman named Mrs. Edwards, had been kind during my interview.

She was impressed by my organization skills, quick thinking, and the designs I had created.

She even suggested that I consider pursuing fashion design as an independent career.

I simply smiled, appreciating the thought but knowing it wasn't my path—at least not right now.

Maybe someday, but today, I needed something different.

By the time I walked out of the office, I had an offer in my hands.

"You'll start next week," she had said, smiling warmly. "That should give you time to get everything in order."

I nodded, grateful for the buffer. A week. A week to breathe, to adjust.

And then, somehow, I found myself in a studio.

I hadn't planned on taking a modeling job, but Ava presented an opportunity, and I figured, why not?

A distraction was what I needed. Something fun, light, and different. But as soon as I stepped under the bright lights, everything reminded me of Luciano.

The way the photographers commanded attention, the intensity in their eyes—like his when he looked at me.

The way the assistants rushed to fix every little detail, just like how his men always moved with quiet precision.

Even the expensive perfume on the other models carried a familiar undertone, something close to what clung to his skin after a long day.

I was supposed to be moving on, yet he was everywhere.

Still, I pushed through, keeping my posture perfect, my smile practiced. I did my job, took my pictures, and ignored the ache in my chest.

That night, as I returned home, exhaustion clung to me like a second skin. I just wanted to kick off my heels, wash off the makeup, and sink into bed. But the moment I stepped inside, I froze.

A bouquet of flowers sat on the table—roses and lilies, carefully arranged, their fragrance filling the air. Beside them, a small velvet box.

No note. No signature.

But I didn't need one. I knew who it was from.

A lump formed in my throat as I traced the edge of the box with my fingers. I didn't open it. I didn't have to.

Because no matter what was inside, it wouldn't change the ache in my chest. It wouldn't undo the past.

Still, I stood there longer than I should have, staring at the flowers, at the unopened box—at the remnants of a man who didn't know how to trust me the way I needed, yet refused to let me go.

^^^^^

A few nights later, I was out with Kira and Ava, laughing over drinks, finally feeling like myself again.

The music was loud, the night air fresh, and for the first time in a while, I wasn't thinking about him. Then the doorbell rang.

A man in a suit stood there, holding an envelope. He didn't introduce himself. He didn't need to.

"This is for you," he said, handing it over before walking away.

I already knew what it was before I even opened it.

Luciano's handwriting was bold, precise, and devastatingly familiar.

I'm sorry, Camila. For everything.

I swallowed, my chest tightening as I read.

I don't expect you to forgive me, but I need you to know that losing you is my greatest regret.

I folded the letter, pressing it against my palm as if that would stop the emotions from creeping in.

"Are you going to forgive him?" Kira asked cautiously, watching me.

I sighed, placing the letter on the table.

"Material things won't buy me so easily."

Ava nodded, her expression understanding. They didn't push. They knew me too well for that.

But deep inside, I wondered—if it wasn't the gifts or the apologies, then what would it take?

****

A few days later, I was leaving a café when I bumped into someone.

"Whoa, sorry," the man said, stepping back with an easy grin.

I barely had time to respond before I felt it. That shift in the air. The cold, unrelenting presence that made my pulse spike. His expensive cologne dominated my lungs.

I shut my eyes and took in the sweet smell of it.

Luciano.

He emerged from nowhere, his expression dark, his body tense. The man in front of me took one look at him and immediately paled.

"Uh—never mind," he muttered, backing away so quickly it was almost comical.

I groaned, grabbing Luciano by the arm and dragging him around the corner, away from the crowd.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I snapped.

His jaw clenched, but he didn't respond.

"You're not helping, Luciano," I hissed. "With your actions, you keep pushing me away."

His eyes darkened, something raw flickering in them.

"I don't know how else to be. And I don't like other men looking at you or even talking to you, it breaks me, gem."

I faltered for a second, caught off guard by the brokenness in his gaze.

Damn him. Damn the way he made me feel, even when I swore I wouldn't. Without waiting for any more from him, I turned and walked away.