Page 27

Peace had never been a constant in Lilith's life.

It came in brief flickers, the way headlights sometimes sweep over the ceiling in the middle of the night—unpredictable, momentary, and gone before she even had the chance to understand it had been there.

She often missed it while it was happening, too consumed with the noise in her mind to recognize the silence it threaded through.

Only in retrospect would she catch glimpses of it, like fingerprints on glass, proof of something that had touched her without asking for permission.

Now, Lilith felt like the universe had shifted just slightly enough to betray her—every conversation weighted, every silence louder than it should be. Everything she touched seemed to resist her.

She hadn't spoken to Valentina in three days.

Three days since that hollow conversation—if one could even call it that—left her pacing her apartment like a ghost of herself.

She couldn't decide if they'd fought, or if silence had simply grown too loud to ignore.

Something about the way Valentina looked at her that night made her feel both exposed and untouchable.

Like Lilith had finally crossed a line she didn't understand, and Valentina had simply. .. closed the door.

Lilith had hoped—quietly, stubbornly—that the woman would reach out.

But she hadn't.

And Lilith couldn't bring herself to.

Not because pride stood in her way. No, it was fear. A thick, visceral terror that maybe—just maybe—Valentina was done. That her silence wasn't a pause, but an ending. That her patience had limits Lilith had foolishly ignored.

Still, there was no room for those thoughts now. Not when she was sitting in a cozy, muted restaurant across from her father, with Oscar beside her.

Everything about the room was warm. The gentle clink of cutlery, the soft hum of conversation, the golden light pooling over wood and wine glasses. It should have been comforting.

But Lilith felt like she was locked in a cage with no door.

At one point, her hand even twitched with the absurd urge to flash a help signal to the couple sitting nearby. Maybe even call Gabrielle.

"Did something happen?"

Her father's voice wasn't accusatory—just observant, indifferent in the way only a man used to avoiding conflict could be. He glanced between his children, neither of whom had made eye contact with each other since they'd sat down.

Lilith had forgiven her father.

Not because he'd earned it, but because she didn't have the capacity to carry one more unresolved thing. Forgiveness, for her, was less about grace and more about survival.

Oscar didn't miss a beat. He tilted his head towards her with that telltale gleam in his eye—the one that meant he was about to make her life harder just for the fun of it.

"Yeah, Lilith," he said, feigning innocence. "Did something happen?"

It was a small cruelty. But he knew how to aim it well.

"No."

She forced a smile, narrowing her eyes just enough to make it look natural.

The word was directed at their father more than her brother.

Their father had decided long ago that his children's messes were theirs to sort.

They were adults now. Adults, which apparently meant they were expected to suffer privately.

"How's work, Oscar?" their father asked, moving on.

Oscar shrugged, leaning back in his chair like he owned the space around him. "It's good. Our boss is pushing us pretty hard lately. We've got a big deal."

His eyes flicked towards Lilith as he said it. Just for a second. And he looked like he knew something had happened.

"We're opening a theatre with few other companies and investors. I hadn't expected it to be so big."

His voice softened near the end, shifting into something more genuine. For a moment, he sounded like he was really updating their father, like the younger version of himself still trying to prove something.

Lilith had disappeared into her thoughts again.

The kind of thoughts that didn't come in words, just temperature shifts—cool and quiet, like the mind was trying to imitate winter to protect itself. She sat there, barely tasting the food, barely hearing the conversation, her presence a careful performance.

She was somewhere else entirely—floating in the middle of that silence Valentina had left behind—when a touch pulled her back. A light pressure on her shoulder, followed by a voice full of charm and sunlight.

"Lili, amore."

She looked up, slowly.

And there it was.

Not just the final nail in the coffin of a terrible day—but the kind of cosmic punchline that made her want to look straight into the sky and say: Really?

"Chiara."

Her voice came out like a cough dressed as a greeting.

She rose to her feet out of instinct, her limbs remembering social etiquette while her brain short-circuited from the sheer absurdity of the timing. Chiara leaned in with a side hug, her perfume floral and expensive, her warmth effortless.

It wasn't that Lilith disliked seeing her. On a different day she probably would've smiled too wide. But today? Today it felt like a trap wrapped in silk.

"Sorry about that evening," Chiara said, eyes skimming over Oscar and her father like she was trying to assess whether this was a safe conversation. "I was a little bit..."—she giggled, soft and airy—"tipsy."

Lilith smiled, brittle at the edges.

"It's okay. It was... amazing."

She winced internally. Amazing. What a stupid thing to say.

She wasn't even sure what had been so amazing. The brief illusion that she had stepped into Valentina's world without shattering it? Maybe just how warm it all felt, like being wrapped in a life that wasn't hers.

"You have to tell me what you use," Chiara gushed, brushing a single finger through the length of Lilith's hair. "It's so soft,"—just like that evening when she'd played with it while saying goodbye, fingertips lingering as if trying to memorize the texture

Lilith gave a small, stunned laugh as Chiara pulled out her phone.

"Let me give you my number," she said, already typing.

Lilith nodded, pulling out her own. The exchange felt quick and blurry, like something happening to someone else.

And then Chiara was gone.

Lilith sat back down, her body settling with the weight of the entire encounter, like she'd just narrowly dodged a bullet and still got grazed.

Oscar turned slightly towards her. His tone was mild, almost friendly—like he'd forgotten how mad he was at her, genuinely curious now about Lilith's friends.

"Who was that?"

She blinked at him, and for a second—just one—she considered lying. Telling him it was an old friend, someone from uni, someone harmless and far removed from the mess she was barely managing.

But then a laugh threatened to escape her throat, and there was no use fighting it.

So she shrugged. Looked at him with all the tragedy of someone being devoured by the gods for sport.

"Valentina's sister."

There was a beat.

Then another.

And then Lilith laughed—low, breathy, a little wild.

The kind of laugh you let out when the elevator breaks down and your phone dies and it starts to rain. A laugh that said: of course. Of course she would run into Valentina's sister during the most emotionally catastrophic lunch of her life.

She buried her face in her hands, her voice muffled and dry as she muttered,

"Oh God."

As if maybe, if she said it softly enough, reality would rewrite itself.

?

Lilith had never been good at brave decisions.

She liked to think she was, sometimes—liked to pretend that walking through her life with all its sharp edges had made her steel. But it hadn't. Not really. Her kind of strength was quiet, almost invisible, like a soft defiance that only showed up when she was already halfway through the storm.

Still, today, she decided to stop hiding.

Not because she wasn't scared—she was. But because she was tired. Tired of the way silence echoed louder than arguments. Tired of dragging the weight of guilt behind her like a broken suitcase. Tired of pretending she didn't miss Valentina in every breath.

So, she texted her.

The message was plain, almost embarrassingly so. Can we see each other? No preface. No apology embedded between the words. She sent it quickly, like yanking off a bandage.

And Valentina—Valentina who could be so unreadable, so deliberate—replied with nothing but a time. Just that.

It was somehow more terrifying than a paragraph.

Now, hours later, Lilith sat beside her again, fingers wrapped around a ceramic mug of hot chocolate, its heat the only thing anchoring her.

The terrace was soft with lamplight, its woven chairs and potted herbs reminding her of the restaurant where Valentina took her after the hospital.

The coziness of it all felt cruel in contrast to the stiffness in her chest.

The ride had been nearly silent. Words had been exchanged, but only the ones necessary to fill space—not the kind that filled hearts.

Valentina had driven like she always did—with calm certainty, with elegance even in her stillness. She looked out the windshield like nothing could touch her, and Lilith had watched her in quiet awe, unsure if it comforted her or made the distance between them feel wider.

But this was her moment now.

The air was cold. Her nerves were colder. She exhaled slowly, looking down into her drink before daring to speak.

"What I'm about to say might sound shallow but..."

Her voice was fragile, like she was walking barefoot over glass. She glanced up, met Valentina's gaze—steady, waiting.

"I'm sorry."

"I shouldn't have acted the way I did," she continued, her words small but clear. "Which is... I mean, it's obvious. I lost control of my emotions and made everything harder. I know that."

She didn't want to look at Valentina, but she did. And the woman didn't interrupt. She just listened, like she always did when it mattered most.

"I think that woman just got under my skin in a way I didn't expect. And I wish I'd just told you that."

She lifted the mug to her lips and sipped, not because she needed the warmth anymore, but because she needed the pause.

Valentina tilted her head slightly, studying Lilith's face with a kind of quiet intensity. Her gaze lingered on Lilith's cheeks, now tinged pink from the cold, and something soft flickered across her features.

"You apologize a lot," she said, her tone light but honest. "And most of the time, you really don't have to."

Lilith blinked, surprised by the gentleness.

"I wasn't mad," Valentina went on. "I just wanted you to tell me."

Lilith frowned, her brows drawing together in a small crease.

"I think I was embarrassed," she murmured.

"To tell me?"

There was something tender in Valentina's voice then. Not surprised. Just sad for her.

"Yeah... She was just so mean," Lilith said, her voice growing even quieter. "I got you flowers because I thought it would be nice. You've done so much for me, and I wanted to say thank you. She called it pathetic."

The word tasted like rust on her tongue.

"And now, not only are you without the flowers, but you also had to deal with me being a mess."

She let out a breath that sounded too heavy for someone so small. But the words kept coming, as if the silence of the last few days had turned into a flood.

"I wanted to get you something else, but I've got no money left," she added, a sheepish whine curling at the edges of her voice as she gripped the mug tighter.

"I'll handle it, okay?" Valentina said softly, eyes locked onto Lilith's. "And I'll buy new ones. Don't worry."

"But they won't be from me," Lilith mumbled, pouting like a child who'd dropped something precious and irretrievable.

Valentina gave her a small, unreadable smile.

"I'll treat them just as if they were."

And there it was again—that impossible calm. That patience Lilith still didn't fully understand. That quiet, unwavering way Valentina had of making her feel safe without ever saying the word.

Lilith didn't understand how the woman could be so...nice. So gentle, when she had every reason not to be.

It made Lilith want to cry.

"I... I missed you."

The words stumbled out of Lilith's mouth before she had time to polish them.

She laughed softly to herself—half in embarrassment, half in disbelief that she'd actually said it out loud. It sounded awkward, almost childish, like she had rehearsed it in front of a mirror and still flubbed the delivery.

But Valentina only tilted her head, eyes glinting under the warm terrace lights.

"Did you?" she asked, and her voice was so calm, so unreadable that Lilith couldn't tell if she was teasing or genuinely curious.

Lilith nodded before she could overthink it. A quick, eager little gesture that betrayed just how badly she wanted this to be okay again. She debated whether to return the question—whether she was brave enough to ask the one thing she had really come here needing to know.

It was silly, maybe. It's been only three days.

"Did you... miss me too?"

She asked it quietly, the hope in her voice unmistakable. Her eyes searched Valentina's face, looking for any flicker of discomfort or rejection.

Instead, Valentina smiled—small and sly, with narrowed eyes like she was pretending to be annoyed.

"My office has been suspiciously peaceful," she replied. "I was starting to worry."

Lilith smiled, her lips curving up like the clouds had just parted.

It felt so easy again.

Like that night at Chiara's. Like the hospital room. Like the restaurant terrace that smelled of basil and rain.

"I'm making a comeback," she said, tilting her head in quiet defiance.

"I'm patiently waiting," Valentina replied, her voice as soft as a cushion—firm, but inviting.

And maybe it was that gentleness. Maybe it was the stillness in the air, or the way the lights made everything glow like a memory. But something inside Lilith cracked.

Her throat tightened, and before she could stop it, tears began to well up in her eyes.

She tried to blink them away, to laugh it off, to say something breezy and light—but it was too late.

Her shoulders trembled, and a small sob escaped her lips. She turned her face away, hoping to hide it, but Valentina was already moving—already reaching out.

"Oh god, sweetheart, what is it?"

Her hand found Lilith's hair, stroking it gently, smoothing it down like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her touch was soft, almost reverent.

Lilith let out a teary laugh and sniffled, her voice breaking as she whispered, "I don't know... I just feel... nice."

"Yeah. Nice," she echoed to herself, as if the word alone might hold it all together.

Valentina moved closer—her chair scraping gently across the terrace floor—and leaned in until their knees nearly touched. She brought her hand to Lilith's cheek and wiped the tears away without hesitation.

"You missed me that much?" she teased, voice playful but quiet.

Lilith didn't answer. She just looked at her.

The closeness between them was new—intimate in a way that felt both terrifying and safe. Their faces were inches apart now. And for the first time, Lilith saw Valentina not as the poised, untouchable woman across the room, but as someone tangible, real.

Her gaze roamed—over the sharp cut of Valentina's cheekbone, the precise line of her eyeliner, the small mole on her cheek.

She reached up, slow and unsure, and gently tapped Valentina's straight nose with the tip of her finger.

"Your nose..." she murmured. "I like it. It's nice."

But the second her skin made contact, she panicked. Her finger flinched back like she'd crossed some invisible boundary, as if touching Valentina was something she hadn't earned yet.

She looked down, flustered.

And that stillness—once again—felt like the kindest answer in the world.

The silence came like a tide pulling them under—not drowning, but carrying. It moved through the space between them with quiet confidence, the kind of hush that doesn't need to be broken to feel full.

Lilith let her gaze fall to the mug in her hands, now half-empty and cooling too fast. The ceramic was still warm against her palms, a faint comfort. She hesitated for a second, then wordlessly extended it towards Valentina.

Valentina didn't question it. She simply took the mug—elegant fingers curling around the shape Lilith had just held.

She drank the rest in one slow sip, then placed the mug gently on the table with a soft, deliberate click. Her own coffee sat beside it.

Lilith rolled her eyes just slightly, a private protest against Valentina's taste, but her lips curled with affection.

"Can I ask you something?" she asked, tilting her head.

Valentina gave her the kind of nod that wasn't just an answer—it was an invitation.

"I just sometimes wonder..." Lilith began, her voice slower now, quiet like she was stepping barefoot across a cold floor. "That day when we first met—why were you so..."

She didn't finish. The word wouldn't come. Nothing seemed fitting.

But Valentina laughed, soft and knowing.

"Mean?" she supplied.

Lilith blinked, then gave her a sheepish smile.

"That's still in your mind?" Valentina asked, her voice tinged with amusement, but also something gentler.

Lilith shrugged. "Nope. Just... wondering."

Valentina leaned back in her chair, eyes sweeping over the terrace like she was replaying a memory only she could see.

"Exhausting day," she murmured. "Not my proudest moment.''

"I guess I never apologized properly, hmm?"

Lilith laughed under her breath, not expecting it. Not needing it. But it still reached her somewhere she hadn't known was waiting.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart."

Lilith exhaled, slowly. Her chest felt tighter and lighter all at once.

"When your employee spoke to me like that..." she began, her voice thinner now, softer around the edges. "I don't know. I guess it reminded me of how it felt that first day. With you."

Valentina didn't say anything.

But she didn't look away.

"I think I doubted you for a second. And I hated that I did."

Her eyes glistened, not from tears but honesty. "I was just... disappointed."

And then she smiled. Not forced, not polite—something delicate and real, like the first bud of spring pushing through half-frozen soil.

A smile meant for only one person.

Maybe the world wasn't always chaos. Maybe peace was just this: a small table, an apology, and someone who listens.

Valentina had made sure Lilith was certain about attending the theatre opening the next day—her voice calm, deliberate, not leaving room for doubt but still asking. That was her way. Even her affirmations came wrapped in quiet care. And once she was reassured, she drove her home.

But tonight wasn't like the others.

Valentina stood by her car after the ride, one arm casually folded across her waist, the other hand tucked into the pocket of her coat. She looked down at Lilith with the sort of fondness one might reserve for something breakable.

"You need to start dressing warm," she murmured.

Her eyes dropped—subtle, almost apologetic—to Lilith's legs, barely covered by sheer black tights. There was no judgment in her voice. Just concern, so tender it made Lilith's chest tighten.

Lilith nodded softly. She could feel the cold in her bones now, in her fingertips, but it wasn't the cold that kept her frozen in place.

She thought, for a second, about asking Valentina to come upstairs. Just tea. Just a few more minutes. She thought about the way her apartment felt too quiet lately, and how maybe her voice would sound less hollow with Valentina in the room.

But she didn't ask.

She told herself this was enough. That her presence—this quiet moment with her under the dim streetlight—was a kind of closeness that should be honored, not questioned.

Except... Lilith had never been good at leaving things untouched when her heart longed to reach.

So she stepped forward.

Then another.

And without asking, without even breathing too loudly, she slipped her arms around Valentina's waist. Her fingers, cold and unsure, pressed gently into the fabric of her coat.

She laid her head against her chest—not possessively, not dramatically—just politely. Like she was asking to stay for a second longer.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Her voice barely broke the air between them, but Valentina still heard it. She laughed, soft and surprised, the sound brushing against the top of Lilith's head like a promise.

Valentina didn't pull away. Didn't move. Her hand rested lightly on Lilith's back, her touch feather-soft, like she was afraid of pressing too hard and ruining whatever this was.

"See you tomorrow?" Lilith whispered, blushing, her face practically softly pressed against Valentina's breasts.

"You won't cry from missing me too much?" Valentina teased, her voice low and warm.

"I'll try to."

Lilith knew she felt happy.

And that terrified her.

Because happiness—true, soul-warming happiness—was a quiet kind of dangerous.

It made her feel too exposed. Too visible. Like something terrible could touch her now that she had something worth protecting.

Rejection. Disappointment.

Those weren't just words to Lilith. They were ghosts.

She'd spent years learning how to live among them, how to pretend she didn't hear them knocking.

And now—just when everything felt kind, just when her chest was no longer hollow—she found herself wondering: Would she survive it if this crumbled too?

Lilith wasn't sure if her small, breakable heart would be able to handle whatever came next—not when it already felt so much.