Selene's POV
The sky that evening didn't threaten rain or rumble with thunder.
It was soft, like silk stretched across dusk—clouds painted peach and lavender, a perfect contrast to the storm we had just walked through.
We didn't speak much on the drive. Antonio's fingers curled around mine, warm and grounding, while Ayra leaned her head back against the seat, her hair catching the light breeze from the open window. For the first time in weeks, our silence wasn't strained. It was healing.
"I booked something," Antonio said suddenly.
I turned toward him. "Something?"
He grinned without looking away from the road. "Just wait."
It was a private beach villa outside the city. Quiet. Secluded. Lit with paper lanterns and scented by the ocean breeze. When we stepped out of the car, the sound of waves crashing rhythmically against the shore immediately softened my chest.
Ayra let out a stunned whistle. "Okay, I take back every sarcastic comment I've ever made. This is beautiful."
Antonio shot her a wink. "That's all I ever wanted."
That night was ours. There was no Victor. No secrets. Just music drifting from a tiny Bluetooth speaker and the soft crackle of a bonfire Antonio built himself. I wore an oversized shirt and his hoodie over it. My hair was salty and wild from the sea breeze, and my heart—for once—felt calm.
Ayra danced barefoot in the sand, laughing louder than I'd heard her in months. Antonio and I sat on a striped blanket, shoulder to shoulder, legs tangled. His hand rested on my thigh, thumb brushing soft circles.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Not okay," I said truthfully. "But better."
He nodded. "That's enough for tonight."
I leaned into him, pressing my cheek to his shoulder. "Thank you. For helping me find the truth… and survive it."
His lips found my forehead. "You helped yourself. I just made sure you weren't alone."
Ayra ran up, collapsing beside us, throwing sand into the air like a child. "We should do this more often. Escape, breathe, live."
I looked at her—my sister in soul—and at him—my anchor—and I whispered, "We will."
Because for the first time, even with a storm waiting ahead, I believed we deserved happiness. We weren't broken. We were just finding the pieces that belonged to us again.
Next day,
Antonio's POV
I felt it the moment he walked in.
The air shifted—sharp, invasive. Like something venomous had slithered into the room.
We were at a small open-mic cafe Selene liked—soft jazz playing, fairy lights strung lazily across wooden beams, the scent of coffee beans soaked into the walls. She was halfway through a sketch in her journal, her brows pinched in concentration, when the bell above the door jingled.
And then she froze.
Like every muscle inside her locked at once. Her fingers gripped the pen so tight I thought it might snap.
I followed her gaze. And there he was.
Victor.
His smile was slight, cruelly curved. He was dressed sharply, like he wanted to wear power as armor. But I saw through it—saw the rot in his eyes. They didn't hold warmth or curiosity. Just control. Hunger.
Selene's breath hitched. Her hand trembled.
I stood before she could say a word, blocking her view of him. My body moved on instinct—trained by months of rage and research. Every email Ayra and I had dug up. Every subtle, whispered truth we unearthed.
"Don't," I said coldly as he approached.
Victor tilted his head. "Don't what?"
"Don't come any closer. You're not welcome here."
He chuckled. "I'm not here to hurt anyone. Just wanted to say hi. After all… Selene and I share history."
Behind me, I felt her flinch. That was it. My hand curled into a fist.
"You mean you haunted her," I said through gritted teeth. "You don't get to call it history when what you gave her was fear."
His smile faltered.
"You think I don't know?" I went on, voice rising. "The way you cornered her. Touched her. Threatened her silence. I know everything."
He laughed again, but this time it was tight. Nervous. "Is this what she told you? That I was some kind of monster?"
"She didn't have to," I snapped. "She was too scared to speak it. But I saw it. And Ayra saw it. And we have the messages, Victor. The emails. The complaints you covered up. You think you're untouchable?"
I took a step forward. He finally backed one away.
"Stay away from her. Because the next time you try to crawl into her life, it won't be a warning. It'll be a courtroom."
He looked at Selene once more—past me, cold and bitter—and that's when she finally stood.
Not hiding. Not trembling.
"I'm not afraid of you anymore," she said, her voice steady. "I may have been that girl once, but I'm not her now. So leave. Before I make you regret every second you thought I'd stay silent."
Victor's jaw clenched. But he turned. And walked out.
Gone.
The cafe exhaled with us. I turned to her, arms open, and she collapsed into them—sobbing into my chest, fists clutching my shirt like it was the only real thing in the world.
"I was so scared," she whispered.
"I know," I said, stroking her hair. "But you're safe now. You were always strong. You just needed someone to remind you."