Page 19

Valentina was tired—the kind of tired that seeped into her jaw, made her fingers tap idly against the car keys in her hand, and pulled her mouth into a thin line she didn't bother to hide.

Chiara was worse off, swaying gently as they said their goodbyes.

Her fingers tangled themselves in Lilith's hair, twirling the strands with exaggerated fascination, murmuring praise for their length and softness, rambling questions about shampoos and treatments—all without pause, all without quite expecting an answer.

Valentina's mother looked drained too, moving through the hallway with a half-smile, hands brushing over glasses, no longer engaging. Lilith hadn't even gotten a moment to say the dinner was wonderful, to tell her she was thankful—the evening had slipped away too fast.

Her father hadn't come to the door at all. Somewhere behind a closed door, his voice had risen sharp on a business call, and Valentina had felt an urge to walk in, snatch the phone from his hand, and end the conversation herself.

And God—if Nathan had been there tonight, Chiara's boyfriend who was thankfully away—Valentina knew she'd be halfway to murder by now.

She exhaled hard through her nose as she and Lilith made their way to the car, the chill of the night finally brushing against her skin.

"Is your dad okay?" Lilith's voice came, quiet, threaded with genuine concern.

Valentina slid her eyes sideways, unlocking the car.

"He's stressed about business," she murmured, making a quiet note to herself to handle it personally tomorrow—after all, the architecture firm wasn't their only enterprise; the family mixed it with real estate investments, and while Valentina had a hand in things, her father was still the one in charge.

Inside the car, silence stretched between them for a while, soft and almost comfortable, until Lilith's voice broke through, lifting like a small bird. "I didn't know you were Italian—I mean, your last name kind of gives it away, but..."

Valentina let out a soft laugh. "Unfortunately, Chiara and I are very bad children," she murmured, glancing over as they idled at a red light. "I don't speak Italian often."

It was true—she'd never been fluent, not really. She could understand it, sure, could toss it around when necessary, but she'd never felt the need to perfect it. It belonged to a part of her life she rarely reached for.

Lilith giggled, a small sound that floated through the car, surprised by the notion that this sharp woman might be imperfect at something.

When they reached the apartment complex, the air was cool and heavy with the hour, and their footsteps were slow, reluctant.

Valentina leaned against her black car, arms crossed loosely, her silhouette softened by exhaustion.

Lilith, of course, had to speak her heart.

"I loved the art gallery," she said softly, a quiet smile curving her mouth. "And your family."

A flicker of shyness crossed her face, and she quickly corrected herself. "I mean... they were nice."

Valentina nodded softly.

The motion was small, but by now, Lilith had learned to read the quiet language of her—those subtle gestures that spoke in place of words.

Lilith lowered her gaze, a faint flush brushing her cheeks, and murmured a quiet, "Thank you."

For a second, she wondered how Valentina had known exactly which door to show up at that one evening, the question flickering in her mind but slipping away unspoken.

The dark haired woman stepped forward, the soft click of her heels against the pavement barely audible in the hush of the night.

Her long fingers reached out, brushing against Lilith's shoulder as she gently adjusted the slipping strap of her bag, the touch precise and unhurried—focused entirely on that small task.

"Goodnight, Lilith."

Without waiting for more, she turned around, slipping into the sleek hush of her car. For a moment she remained there, engine idling, eyes lingering just long enough to watch the blonde girl disappear through the doors of the apartment complex.

?

Sunday.

It had always felt like the perfect family day—or at least, that's what people said.

For Lilith, Sundays were once chaotic, full of raised voices across the apartment, plates clinking, footsteps hurried across the narrow hall, the TV murmuring in the background.

And yet, today, as she glanced over the leftover cookies on her kitchen counter, she thought of her father—and that's how she found herself back in her childhood apartment, a cookie in hand, laughter slipping into the quiet corners of the room as they talked.

Their relationship had softened over the years, reshaped itself as she grew older. She understood him now in ways she hadn't as a teenager—understood the worry that threaded through his every look, the weariness that had settled on his shoulders from raising her and Oscar alone.

She was surprised sometimes, really, that he'd survived her at all—survived the sharp tongue, the slammed doors, the reckless defiance she carried through her teens like a shield.

And yet here they were, years later, with the warmth of tea between them and a quiet pride in his eyes she couldn't mistake.

Lilith had felt it shift, that pride, when she began working before university, when she moved out, when she chose psychology with the kind of calm determination that left little room for argument.

She saw it in the way his shoulders eased when she spoke about her plans, in the soft, almost unconscious smile that touched his mouth.

Still, a small knot of jealousy sat in her chest sometimes when she thought of Oscar. The storm with their mother had swept past him, barely grazing his edges, while she—just a child then—had been caught right in the center of it, alongside her father, reshaped by its fallout.

She'd ignored her mother's texts—the one from yesterday, the one from this morning—and oh, how she wished she hadn't.

Because on her way out, just as the sun tilted low over the buildings, Lilith saw a woman she almost never wanted to see again.

"What are you doing here?" Lilith asked the moment she heard that cold, familiar voice shape her name.

Her mother barely blinked. "Your father told me you'd stop by."

Lilith furrowed her brows, an old ache pinching behind her eyes.

"And what do you want?" she sighed.

"Don't you think we should talk?" her mother answered smoothly, before adding in that sharp, polished voice, "That's not how daughters are supposed to act."

Lilith let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head. It almost felt like a scene she'd watched a hundred times, reciting the same lines over and over. She was too tired to offer the usual sharp retort—that maybe, just maybe, that's not how mothers were supposed to act either.

Her mother stepped closer, fingers brushing against Lilith's cheek in a touch that should have been tender—but instead carried the faintest curl of disgust.

"You could use some makeup, Lilith."

Without thinking, Lilith's hand shot up, gripping her mother's wrist and pulling it away harshly.

"As nice as always," Lilith murmured, tilting her head with bitter sarcasm.

But something inside her snapped.

She had trained herself to stay calm in these conversations, to master the art of quiet endurance—but even the strongest dam has its cracks.

"Can you stop acting like you care?" she fired, words tumbling fast now, hot and shaking. "You have your own life, your own family."

Her chest rose sharply.

"I don't want to see you. I don't want to talk to you. I don't even want to remember you exist."

And then came the sharp, painful tug—fingers gripping her hair tightly, pulling just enough to force her head back. Her mother's voice hissed close to her ear, the words sharp and cold.

"Do not talk to me like that."

For a flicker of a second, Lilith felt small again—caught, scolded, stripped down to a trembling child.

But she wasn't that child anymore.

No matter how much guilt would eat at her later—she didn't hold back.

"I hate you."

Her mother's face stiffened.

"Accept that you're not my mom. You're just a woman who birthed me." Lilith's voice was shaking now, but she pushed through, pushed harder. "You don't exist to me."

The slap came sharp against her cheek—not the worst pain, but enough to leave a sting in places far deeper than skin.

"Did you just—" Lilith started, breath hitching.

"You're cruel," her mother snapped. "No matter how hard I'm trying to fix everything—you make it impossible."

Lilith laughed, the sound breaking as the first tears spilled over her lashes.

"It's too late."

Because sometimes, her mother came back softer—sometimes she offered glimpses of peace, made Lilith wonder if maybe, maybe one day they could sit across a table, drink coffee, talk like normal people.

But it never lasted.

Oscar had asked her once—why couldn't she just block the number, walk away, do what he did? He never answered the calls. He didn't have to—because their mother knew it was Lilith who stayed, who carried the weight.

Lilith never answered Oscar's question out loud.

But deep down—she knew exactly why.

Firstly, it was the familiarity.

Some people needed to play the games they loved as children, eat their favorite childhood meals, or take a trip with their parents to a place stitched into memory.

For Lilith, the only thing that tied her to her mother—the only thread left in that frayed tapestry—was this.

However dumb it might have sounded, it was comforting.

That sharp-edged familiarity. The dance they knew by heart.

Then came the guilt.

Even if her mother was the cruelest woman alive, Lilith still felt that ache in her chest—the one that whispered she couldn't let go. Because cutting her mother off, walking away and never looking back—that would be the final act. And she wasn't ready for that curtain fall. Not yet.

And the third—

The third was the most confusing, the one she could never untangle.

Her whole life, Lilith had been drawn to understanding people.

To figuring them out, mapping their patterns, finding the cracks in their walls.

But her mother—her mother was the one puzzle that refused to be solved.

She was a riddle made of sharp glass and cold silences.

And every time Lilith stood across from her, no matter how exhausted, no matter how bruised, a part of her was still curious—

What would she reveal this time?

What thread might slip loose?

What answer might finally fall into Lilith's waiting hands?

Lilith was furious.

Fucking furious.

So annoyed her chest felt tight with it. Her father should've known—the last thing she wanted was to talk to her mother. And yet he'd told her. He'd told her mother she'd be stopping by, as if it were harmless, as if it were nothing.

Her mother didn't even live in the same city. She only showed up when she was sure Lilith would be somewhere, circling like a storm just waiting for its opening.

And Lilith's dad—he always asked the same thing, always—"Maybe you need to talk to her?"

For what?

For what?

The conversations with her mother were chaos.

Sharp, biting cruelty. Her dad knew that, even if he'd never faced her mother's sharpest knives himself.

Sure, he'd lived with the woman. Sure, he'd seen the cracks.

But what Lilith carried—the memories, the old scars—those were a language only they spoke.

She still remembered her mother dragging her by the hair.

She still remembered hearing she didn't deserve to be around.

Sometimes, she wished her mother weren't such a narcissist, that everyone could see how she truly was—maybe then they'd understand why Lilith had to carry the weight alone.

She didn't even bother calling Gabrielle.

She went straight to Olivia and Daniel.

And late at night, Lilith was already sprawled out on the floor of their apartment, drenched in everything they offered—pills, smoke, chaos, comfort.

She felt like a little chemist, mixing the night together, sampling this, tasting that, until her body softened and her mind blurred at the edges.

She was truly fucked now. She couldn't feel her muscles, her limbs heavy and lifeless as she lay on the floor. A random person might've thought she was dead, her body a limp, silent heap in the dim light.

And there, with a cigarette smoldering between her fingers, ash trembling toward the floor, she texted Gabrielle.

She spilled it all.

But in the quietest, softest way. Stripped of the fury, dulled by the haze, it came out as if it were just another story.

She thought of Valentina.

It was almost funny—how easily her mind drifted to the woman, even now.

Even in this haze, even with the noise and smoke and laughter around her, Valentina's face pressed to the front of her thoughts.

She wondered what the woman was doing, what her voice would sound like if she called right now, if she'd be annoyed or amused.

Smiling to herself, Lilith opened her phone, thumb hovering over the screen for only a second before she typed without hesitation.

''what's my favorite CEO doing right now?''

She stared at the screen, time slipping through her fingers like sand. She had no idea if she waited seconds or minutes or hours, only that her heart jumped when the reply came.

''It's late. Go to sleep Lilith.''

Her smile crumpled in an instant.

She stubbed the cigarette into the floor, the burning tip brushing her finger softly and without thinking she flung the phone across the room, sharp frustration bubbling up inside her.

She meant for it to hit the wall—but it thudded onto the floor instead, skidding harmlessly across the carpet.

Tomorrow, she'd probably be grateful it hadn't broken.

Right now, all she felt was the sting of rejection.

Not the smallness she usually fell into when someone pulled away.

Just annoyance.

The woman didn't want to talk? Fine.

For a fleeting second, Lilith thought about standing up, retrieving the phone, blocking Valentina's number out of pure spite. But then—Olivia's body pressed against hers, grounding her back into the moment.

Olivia was always specific.

Gabrielle existed in a soft, careful neutrality when it came to Olivia—Lilith always found herself giggling when the two of them somehow ended up having fun together, despite their differences. But Lilith was closer to Olivia in moments like this.

Gabrielle was her anchor, her number one, her heart when it came to friendship—always knowing when to say yes, when to say no, when to stop things from going too far. That's exactly why Gabrielle scolded her softly through the texts, gently reminding her not to go there alone without her.

But Olivia?

Olivia had no limits. And mixed with Daniel—it was pure chaos.

Olivia and Daniel, absurdly enough, were both studying law. They lived together, drank together, spun through the same reckless nights like twin storms.

Lilith felt Olivia's fingers on her cheek, brushing softly over the flushed skin, the redness still lingering from the slap.

"What's that?" Olivia murmured, her dark, almost black hair falling into Lilith's face.

Lilith giggled, shaking her head. "Nothing, don't worry."

Then she pouted, twisting slightly to free herself from Olivia's hold, her lips curving into a teasing smile as she tilted her head.

"More vodka, please?"

Without hesitation, Olivia shot up, already making her way towards the kitchen.

Lilith sank back against the floor again, her eyes drifting shut, a quiet ache settling in her chest.

The blonde girl of tomorrow though would be quite sad that she hadn't picked up her phone to see the woman had actually sent a second text—"We can talk tomorrow."