Of all people—the one person I never expected to find in my room.
Violet.
She stood in the center of my bedroom like she belonged there.
Pale silk robe tied loosely at her waist, dark hair falling around her shoulders in soft waves.
Her skin looked almost translucent under the light, her expression fragile—carefully arranged to appear fragile.
“Oh my goodness!”
She gasped, shrinking back a step as though I had caught her in something scandalous.
“I was just... wandering,” she said quickly, placing a hand lightly against her chest. “Out of boredom. I didn’t realize this was your room.”
I didn’t move.
Just looked at her.
She knew.
She absolutely knew.
Of all the doors in this villa—of all the rooms she could have wandered into—she had chosen mine.
And somehow, she expected me to believe it was an accident.
“I see,” I said at last.
My voice came out calm.
Still carrying the roughness of sleep—and something sharper.
“You can leave now.”
Her expression shifted instantly.
As if she had been waiting for that exact tone.
Her face crumpled into something soft.
Vulnerable.
Perfectly tragic.
“Oh... Elena...”
Her voice trembled as she stepped forward, slow and hesitant.
Like she was approaching something fragile.
“You stole him from me.”
Her voice was quiet—too quiet.
Soft enough to pass for hurt, if you didn’t listen too closely.
“And yet... you look at me like I’m the villain.”
