“I won’t deny I made mistakes,” I murmured, voice low, dangerous in proximity. “But maybe my biggest mistake was ever letting you have power over me.”
Her lips parted as if to answer, eyes widening slightly—vulnerability flashing beneath the pride.
“You never let anyone have control,” she said, voice steady but tight. “No one controls you but you. That’s the tragedy.”
Her eyes held mine with an intensity that made it difficult to keep my face neutral.
The hostility between us was thick enough to choke on.
And under it, something else pulsed—something neither of us wanted to name.
“What’s your tragedy then, Valentina?” I asked, stepping closer—too close—until there were only inches between us. I braced my hands on the arms of her chair, boxing her in without touching her. “Not being able to admit you still miss me?” I lowered my voice further, letting it cut. “That despite everything… you still want me?”
Her chin lifted, proud.
But her breath sped up, her eyes shining with something disturbed and furious.
“You’re delusional,” she whispered.
I smiled—cold, weaponized—because it was easier than admitting the truth in my own body.
“If I’m delusional,” I murmured, “then so are you.” My gaze dropped for half a second, then returned to her eyes. “I can feel the way you react to me. Even now. Even with all that hatred you’re trying to wear like armor.”
She shoved the chair back with her feet, forcing me to step away. Valentina stood abruptly and retreated a step, breaking eye contact like it burned.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she said, voice hard. “Whatever I felt for you died five years ago. At that altar.”
The words hit like a fist.
Something sharp moved through my chest.
I crushed it before it reached my face.
“Then maybe you need a reminder,” I said, voice dangerously low as I moved again—pinning her against the wall without touching her, close enough that escape felt impossible. “Because what I see isn’t indifference.” I held her gaze. “It isn’t disgust.”
I let the final word fall slowly.
“It’s fear.”
Valentina went still.
Eyes wide. Breath caught. Lips parted like she had a thousand words and none of them safe.
“You’re wrong,” she whispered, but the denial sounded thin even to her.
I leaned in just enough to make it unbearable.
“Then prove it,” I murmured. “Prove you feel nothing.” My voice stayed calm, but every word was loaded. “Prove I don’t affect you anymore.”
She didn’t answer.
Our faces were too close.
My own breathing had betrayed me, accelerating against my will.
This was dangerous.
Stupid.
