Page 25

Familiarity made Lilith feel impossibly warm.

Not the fleeting kind of warmth that came from sunlit windows or oversized sweaters, but a deeper one—steady, soft, sacred. The kind that nestled beneath her skin and told her: you're safe now.

It was a feeling she had craved since she was a little girl. Something she used to imagine while lying in bed at night, staring at the ceiling and wishing the world would slow down, quiet down—just enough for her to breathe.

But there was something terrifying about it, too.

Because the things that bring comfort are also the things we fear losing most.

One wrong step, one strange look, one moment of coldness—and that warmth could vanish.

That's what Valentina had become to her.

A rhythm. A constant.

A fragile kind of peace that made her feel both grounded and afraid.

Even though Valentina kept surprising her—through words, through glances, through quiet acts that never asked to be praised—there was something steady beneath it all. A silence that wasn't cold. A stillness that belonged only to her.

And maybe that's why the late-night phone call earlier this week had stayed with Lilith the way it did.

And now, she stood again in the same florist shop she'd walked into two months ago.

Fingers curled around a bouquet of red roses, just like before.

But this time, it wasn't an apology.

It was a gesture of gratitude. A quiet repayment.

Lilith stepped out of the elevator onto the top floor of the building, steps echoing lightly on the floor as she made her way towards the familiar office door. She held the bouquet close to her chest, like it could protect her.

But just as she was about to knock, a figure appeared at the far end of the hallway.

Tall. Well-dressed. Composed in the way that made people pause when they saw him.

She recognized him immediately—the man who had once interrupted her and Valentina. The one who had said Valentina's name like he belonged in her world.

There was something about his presence that made her straighten her spine. Not out of courage, but instinct.

He noticed her, his eyes briefly landing on the roses in her arms before offering a polite, almost knowing smile.

"I can wait," he said gently, nodding towards the door.

Lilith shook her head quickly, her voice coming out with nervous urgency "No, no—it's okay."

She bowed slightly, the corners of her mouth lifting into a shy, awkward smile. Her grip on the bouquet tightened as she stepped back, motioning for him to go ahead.

He nodded once more in thanks and disappeared into Valentina's office with the kind of ease that only deep familiarity can grant.

Lilith exhaled, then turned and walked to the plush couch just outside the door.

She sat down carefully, the roses still in her arms.

She could wait.

She didn't mind.

Lilith reached for her phone, not really expecting anything—just needing something to do with her hands.

The screen lit up. No new messages. No missed calls.

She sighed, the sound barely audible in the quiet hallway, and let her thumb lazily scroll.

Time to time, she glanced down at the roses resting on her lap. She touched the petals like she might touch someone's hair—gently, almost reverently—fixing the ones that had bent under the weight of waiting.

They still looked beautiful.

She wasn't sure if that made her feel better or worse.

Because it had been half an hour.

And now, more than an hour.

And still nothing.

What were they talking about, behind that closed door?

What did she sound like with him? Did her voice lower when she laughed? Did she lean back in her chair like she did when she teased Lilith? Was she smiling in that subtle, unreadable way that made you feel lucky and uncertain at the same time?

Lilith hated the wondering.

And she hated even more that she cared this much about something she didn't understand.

It was pathetic—she was pathetic—and the realization didn't sting so much as it burned.

Not in that soft ache of sadness, but in the sharp, bitter fire of fury.

The feeling crawled over her like smoke from a childhood room she couldn't escape, curling into her lungs and folding her back into that smaller version of herself, the one who stood too still, too silent, too afraid to ask for more.

All it took was a breath of it, the faintest breeze, and suddenly she wasn't twenty and composed—she was little Lilith again, swallowed by the weight of wanting to be seen. But instead of crumbling, she clenched her jaw. Because feeling pathetic didn't make her cry anymore.

It made her angry.

The sound of heels echoed—a rhythmic click, sharp and practiced, slicing through the quiet.

Lilith straightened, hope fluttering in her chest before she could stop it.

But no.

As the sound came closer, she recognized the difference. Valentina's steps were quieter, smoother—like she wasn't trying to be heard. This woman walked like she wanted the room to know she had arrived.

And when Lilith looked up, the face confirmed it.

That same woman from the elevator. The one with eyes that scanned like scanners—judgmental, impersonal. The same woman Lilith had seen the last time she was here. Like her existence had taken up space she wasn't entitled to.

Her outfit was as rigid as her expression—a pencil skirt too tight to be comfortable, a white button-down tucked with military precision.

Now that Lilith saw her fully, she was almost sure of it. This was the woman who'd greeted her the first time she came here, roses in hand.

The woman stopped in front of her, and her lips curled just slightly.

"Are you lost? I can help you find the way out."

Her tone wasn't quite hostile—but it wasn't kind either. It hovered in that awful, patronizing middle ground that made you feel like defending yourself even when no insult had been directly spoken.

Lilith smiled politely.

"No. I'm waiting for Valentina."

"Miss Salvatore?" the woman echoed, like the name itself tasted strange in Lilith's mouth.

Then she added, without even a pause, "It looks like you've been waiting long enough. What are you even doing here?"

Her gaze dropped—casual, calculated—to the roses on Lilith's lap.

"Roses?" She laughed, short and cruel. "How adorable. A little pathetic, though. Don't you think?"

Something tightened in Lilith's chest. Not hurt, not yet. But that old, familiar heat of being looked at the wrong way.

And maybe on another day, she would've taken it. Maybe she would've smiled politely and swallowed the sting, then gone home and laid in bed with the shame tucked under her ribs like a secret.

But not today.

Today, she'd waited long enough.

"Is being a bitch in your job description," she asked quietly, "or are you just freelancing?"

The woman laughed. It was a dry, ugly sound—like she thought Lilith was amusing.

"Darling, if I wanted your opinion," she said, "I'd have asked for it."

Lilith stood.

There was something ceremonial about it—the way she rose, still holding the roses, like the moment deserved a little gravity.

Even if what she was about to do wasn't particularly mature.

"Oh really?" she echoed, her voice light, but her spine steady.

She stepped forward, just close enough.

And then, in one sharp movement, she tossed the bouquet straight into the woman's face.

"Here—something to brighten up your day. Looks like you need it more than anyone else."

?

"You did what?" Gabrielle laughed, scandalized and delighted, as Lilith cut into a grapefruit with far too much precision and held out a slice towards her on the tip of the knife.

Lilith only pouted, refusing to answer.

Gabrielle bit the fruit straight from the blade, eyes still wide as they burst into laughter—loud, unfiltered, the kind of laughter that made the room feel warmer than it was.

They were in the same mood tonight, surprisingly.

Gabrielle's day had been just as cursed. Some idiot had backed into her car in a parking lot, and she'd nearly committed murder—emotionally, if not legally.

Lilith left the kitchen, hands sticky with citrus, and collapsed onto the couch beside her. She didn't just sit—she threw herself, sprawling over Gabrielle's legs and nuzzling into her stomach like a tired child.

Gabrielle lifted her hand instinctively, brushing a piece of Lilith's hair behind her ear.

Then she tilted her head, eyes softer now, asking—

"How do you feel?"

Lilith blinked, not looking up.

"Why do you ask?"

Gabrielle shrugged a little, her voice casual but laced with intention.

"We should go out."

There was a pause, and then—

"Drinks?" Lilith asked, already smiling like she knew the answer.

She probably looked like a bit of an alcoholic in that moment. But what did it matter? Nothing waited for her tomorrow. No lectures. No responsibilities.

Just her, Gabrielle, and the dull throb of irritation humming beneath her skin.

"Exactly," Gabrielle hummed, pushing herself up from the couch like it was a mission.

Lilith stayed where she was, stretched across the cushions, arms loose at her sides, staring up at the ceiling like it might hold answers she hadn't thought to ask.

And then—like a light flickering in the corner of a mirror—a thought arrived.

Maybe Oscar wasn't just talking about Valentina.

Maybe he meant the whole cursed building.

Maybe the problem wasn't just the woman—it was the world around her.

Lilith frowned.

And yet—that man. That stupid, smug, expensive-looking man and his hour-long meeting.

What the fuck did they talk about?

She wasn't angry, not really. Not enough to justify the restless ache in her chest. But it lingered there anyway, like a bruise forming from the inside out.

She took a deep breath and let it go.

A part of her wanted to believe it was a sign from the universe. A polite little shove.

Back off.

But another part of her—small, stubborn, full of inconvenient feelings—felt irritated at Valentina anyway.

Even though the woman had done absolutely nothing wrong.

God, she was even annoyed with herself.

The door to Gabrielle's room clicked shut as music started to play faintly behind it—something upbeat, something shallow.

Lilith stayed on the couch for a moment longer.

Letting herself feel a little stupid.

A little selfish.

A little too much.

?

"Is your secretary always that annoying, or is it just today?"

Amber sighed as she stepped into the office, her voice carrying the kind of theatrical exhaustion that made it hard to tell if she was genuinely bothered or just craving a stage.

She didn't wait for an answer—just sank into the plush couch, letting her arms drape dramatically over its edges like she was melting into it. Her gaze landed on Valentina.

"Which one?" Rhys asked, not missing a beat, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement as he leaned lazily into his chair.

"The black-haired one. I was graced with her screaming about some flowers. Like I care."

Amber rolled her eyes with practiced ease, the way someone does when they've been irritated by the same people too many times to count. This one wasn't her favorite. That was clear.

"Flowers?" Rhys blinked, something flickering across his face—so quick it could've been nothing. But then his posture shifted, subtly, like a string had been tugged.

For the briefest second, the image of a short blonde girl flashed through his mind.

He looked down at his watch, lips parting ever so slightly.

"Yeah. Pretty roses," Amber continued, brushing a stray hair from her cheek. "Shame they ended up in the trash."

Valentina looked up, slowly.

Her eyes, until then glued to her laptop screen, narrowed slightly.

"Roses?" she asked.

Amber hummed, a nonchalant sound, like she was bored of her own story already. "Someone's got a secret admirer. Or..." she tilted her head, "...an enemy with great taste."

Rhys let out a dry laugh. "Maybe I should get myself a date for the opening. Could use some floral drama of my own."

Amber didn't miss a beat. "Your taste is tragic. Like—seriously, someone should intervene."

Valentina barely looked up. "It's not even taste. It's self-sabotage."

Rhys gasped, hand clutching his chest in mock horror. "Oh, and yours is superior? We all remember who you dated once. Don't make me start naming names."

"Don't."

The word cut through the air so quickly, so sharply, that it left no room for interpretation.

Amber giggled under her breath, resting her chin on her palm. "He's not wrong though. That woman was a walking caution sign."

"Wait until I tell you about—" Rhys started, and then immediately caught himself when Valentina's eyes flicked up again, colder this time.

He swallowed the rest of his sentence.

Instead, he shrugged and turned to Amber, exaggerating his pout. "Shame you're not coming to the opening. Who's going to save me from another night of emotional damage?"

Amber rolled her eyes, her voice flat with practiced disdain. "I'm glad I'm not. Your dates always look like they might ask me for a threesome before dessert."

Rhys scoffed, leaning back. "Are you jealous because I actually have someone to spend my night with?"

And Valentina, without so much as blinking, murmured—

''I wouldn't be jealous of someone whose partners make them role-play just to keep the act alive.''

?

"I didn't know throwing flowers at my employee's face was your way of making friends, Lilith."

The message glowed from Lilith's phone screen, casting a bluish tint over her tired features. The letters didn't stay still—blurring softly like they, too, were drunk.

Lilith sat on the cold kerb of a long-abandoned shop, the kind with rust curling up from the edges of its signage and windows clouded with time. The street was quiet. Hollow. As if even the city had sobered up and gone to bed.

She had not.

Her fingers smelled like cigarette ash and cheap vodka. Her mouth tasted like the night—sour, burnt, and bitter in places she didn't want to touch.

Fourth cigarette.

She didn't know why Valentina's message made her roll her eyes. Maybe it was the playfulness. The lightness. Like the whole thing had been funny, like it hadn't left Lilith wanting the ground to open beneath her.

She brought the cigarette to her lips and took a drag so deep it scratched her throat raw.

''She was lucky it wasn't my shoe.''

The words spilled from her thumbs without thought, her fingers trembling slightly over the screen.

''Tell her she's a bitch.''

Send.

The kind of language Valentina didn't like. Lilith knew that. But she wasn't in the mood to be poetic. Not when her chest was a knot of anger and embarrassment.

And maybe if she knew what version of the story Valentina had heard—if she knew how twisted or sanitized it had been—she'd feel differently.

But right now? She only knew the weight in her chest.

She exhaled smoke into the night, watched it curl away like something leaving her body.

Her phone vibrated.

She looked down.

Valentina.

Lilith stared at the name on her screen. Her lips twitched into something like a laugh, but it didn't reach her eyes.

There was no universe where she was answering that call. Not like this.

So she let it ring.

Once.

Twice.

The third time, she groaned out loud, long and rough, dragging the back of her hand across her mouth as if to wipe the taste of the whole night away.

Some guy walking down the street turned to look at her, and for a second, she hated that too—the way strangers always felt like witnesses when you were already too exposed.

With a muttered curse and a head that felt far too heavy for her body, she answered the call.