A knock came at the door.
Soft.
“Who is it?” I asked, voice careful.
“Ciro.”
The name landed quietly in the room.
My pulse gave a single, sharp kick.
I turned my head slightly toward the door.
“Come in.”
Silence followed.
Then—
“No.”
His voice came through the wood, steady but restrained.
“I don’t have that right.”
A pause.
“You might want to come out. I have a package for you.”
Anger flickered again under my skin.
I exhaled slowly, then crossed the room without bothering to dress.
I opened the door wide.
And there he was.
Ciro.
Standing in the hallway.
But the moment his eyes landed on me—everything shifted.
His gaze flicked across my exposed skin.
My bare midriff. The scars.
The thin straps of my bra cutting across my shoulders.
His eyes widened—just slightly.
Just enough to betray him.
Then, almost immediately, he dropped his gaze—too fast.
He took three quick steps back, creating distance as if it were instinct rather than choice.
“I’d appreciate it if you dressed more... modestly.” He said, his voice tightening despite the control he tried to maintain.
