Start of Book 3

The morning after, the villa was unnervingly still.

Rain trailed slow rivers down the windows, soft against the hum of a world that hadn't yet learned what changed inside the De Torre home. In the master bedroom, Rafael stood by the glass doors that opened to the garden, his shoulders set, eyes distant — as though the storm outside had found a place to rest in him.

Lea stirred from the bed, the soft linen rustling as she sat up. "What are our plans for today?" she asked gently.

He didn't answer.

Rafael's gaze stayed fixed on the horizon — on the blurred outlines of palms swaying in the drizzle, on the reflection of a man who looked complete to the world but hollow in the quiet.

Lea rose, crossed the room barefoot, and slipped her arms around him from behind. Her cheek pressed against his back, feeling the uneven rhythm of his breath. "Paeng," she whispered. "Talk to me."

He exhaled slowly, almost inaudibly. "She looked so much like me, Lea. It was like watching the past walk up to me and ask if I'd finally learned how to breathe."

Lea's embrace tightened. "You don't have to face it all in one morning."

"I've faced worse," he murmured, though his voice lacked conviction. "But this... this feels like penance finally coming to collect."

They stayed like that for a while — her holding him, him holding everything in.

The villa around them was quiet, save for the distant sound of Liam laughing somewhere down the hall, his giggles threading through the rain like a promise of normalcy that no longer fit. The scent of brewed coffee lingered in the air, but neither of them moved to pour a cup.

Rafael finally turned, eyes rimmed red, voice quieter now. "All these years, I told myself she was safe. That was enough. But it wasn't, was it? Because I'm the one who wasn't."

Lea brushed a tear from his cheek with her thumb. "Then start there. Start where it hurts."

He gave a small nod, glancing toward the doorway where Liam's laughter still echoed. "He'll ask about her someday," Rafael said, his tone half-dread, half-certainty. "And when he does, I want to be able to tell him I didn't hide anymore."

Lea kissed his jaw, her voice a soft vow. "Then we'll face her together. Whatever truth she brings."

Outside, the rain eased into a fragile sunlight, the kind that glinted briefly before another storm.

Rafael looked out again, the weight of yesterday still etched into his eyes. "She's not going away," he said quietly. "And I don't think I want her to."

Lea rested her chin against his shoulder. "Then maybe it's time we let the truth in."

He reached for her hand and held it, wordless. For the first time in years, he wasn't the CEO of anything, wasn't the man who ran the world from his laptop — just Rafael, standing in his home, facing the one thing he couldn't control anymore: the past.

And somewhere beyond the gates, beneath the same soft morning light, a young woman with his eyes was already on her way — toward the place where her questions began, and where his answers waited.

The truth had started to move.