Page 29

"Valentina."

That's what both Lilith and Valentina heard as they stepped out of the empty theatre room, the kind of silence clinging to their shoulders that only lingers once the lights have long dimmed and the play is over but still echoing somewhere in the velvet of the chairs.

Their heads turned in unison, a slow, effortless choreography born of being pulled from something warm into something watchful.

And Lilith saw him.

The same man from the office. That tall, expensively put-together man who carried himself like someone used to being heard, someone too familiar with entering spaces like he owned them.

The kind of presence that left no room for interruption—especially not from girls like her.

She had disliked him unfairly from the start because he interrupted her and Valentina, shattering the fragile moment between them.

Valentina smiled, that quiet kind of smile she reserved for people she didn't mind knowing.

Lilith, without needing to think, began preparing her body to stand politely beside her—maybe smile, maybe nod, maybe even step away if the tall woman wanted a moment alone with him. It wouldn't be the first time Lilith had been expected to disappear gracefully.

But then—she saw Oscar.

He was standing next to the man, half-shadowed and holding a glass of whiskey with the kind of casual grip that made it look like it had been there all evening. He looked effortless, but his gaze—when it met hers—was anything but. It landed too directly, and stayed too long.

She widened her eyes, just faintly, an instinctive gesture of acknowledgement and unease.

Of course she had known he would be here.

But even knowing that, she had allowed herself the small luxury of hope.

Hope that in a crowd large enough, fate might not recognize her.

That she could slip through the night unseen, untouched by the parts she wasn't ready to collide with.

When she had arrived earlier, taking in the buzzing room and the beautiful strangers, she'd exhaled in relief.

It had felt like she could simply exist beside Valentina, uninterrupted—like a secret that no one else needed to discover.

And the much broader man seemed to take in her presence not with surprise, but with quiet recalibration. His gaze moved between her and Valentina, not with judgment, but with a question forming silently behind his eyes.

She wasn't quite standing beside Valentina so much as behind her—softly, as though unsure if she was meant to be fully seen.

Their eyes met and held for just a beat too long. Not awkward, but deliberate. A beat heavy with the realization that things were not what he'd assumed. That perhaps, from the very beginning, he'd missed something important.

"And this is..." he asked, smiling as though the question came without weight.

There was no sharpness to his expression, only genuine curiosity. Whatever he had expected, it wasn't this.

He wondered, almost amused with himself, if that moment in front of Valentina's office had mattered more than he realized. If it had, and if Valentina was about to reprimand him for it, he was ready to be scolded.

"Lilith," Valentina answered before he could finish his sentence.

Her voice was low, but it didn't hesitate, and the way she looked down at Lilith as she said it—softly, with something close to fondness—made the name feel like more than an introduction.

Lilith returned a shy smile, the kind that fluttered around the edges, unsure if it should land.

"Rhys," the man said, giving her a small wink that didn't feel too flirtatious, only warm.

He seemed unexpectedly... normal. Pleasant, even. There was no arrogance in the way he spoke, no superiority in the angle of his shoulders.

And just like that, Lilith found herself loosening a thread of the tightly wound dislike she'd carried for him. Perhaps she wouldn't have to hate him after all.

Still, the question remained—gentle, but insistent.

Who was he to Valentina?

Before she could reach for an answer, Rhys turned to Valentina again, his expression brightening as he exclaimed, "You don't even know how happy I am."

He was still blurry with drink, but his happiness didn't feel performative—it felt real.

And in that moment, Lilith took a quiet step to the side.

Oscar hadn't stopped looking at her. Not once. Even now, as his boss stood talking with Rhys, as laughter mingled with expensive cologne he kept his gaze on her.

Lilith moved to stand beside him without a word.

She didn't need to ask what he was thinking. She already knew.

And though she was ready for whatever came next—whatever he wanted to say—she knew one thing clearly, quietly, all the way down to her ribs:

She preferred that Valentina didn't hear it.

"I don't even know what to say anymore," Oscar sighed, voice low as his eyes dropped down to his sister like he was trying to gather her from memory.

And Lilith, instinctively, sighed too—less from exhaustion, more from the bewilderment of how everything had become so impossibly tangled when it didn't need to be. She didn't understand why he was making this so complicated.

So she decided not to tiptoe.

"What are you so unhappy about?" she asked, her voice measured but earnest, and before he could twist it into an argument she added quickly, "Please just tell me. Let's not argue."

But Oscar didn't answer with words.

Instead, he gave her a look—one of those painfully familiar, wordless stares that siblings shared when they knew each other too well. A look that said: You already know.

And she did. But she hated it.

"Nothing will affect you," she said fast, almost desperate, like the words could act as a shield before his thoughts turned any darker. "I swear."

Oscar let out a quiet scoff and threw his hands into the air, soft and frustrated.

"How can you be so sure about that, Lili?" His voice wasn't angry. If anything, it was aching. "Do you really think she's not the kind of person who would—" he paused, squinting as if searching for the most absurd example—"I don't know, fire me? Make my life harder?"

Lilith blinked at him, brows pinched together in disbelief. The suggestion sounded almost laughable coming from her lips.

"She wouldn't do that," she said slowly, like the very concept didn't belong in reality.

But to Oscar, it didn't sound absurd.

"That's exactly what I'm worried about. You'll get under her skin, and then the next day, I'm out of here."

Lilith bit the inside of her cheek. She didn't have proof—no contract, no guarantee—but she had something she trusted more: her instinct.

She wasn't entirely sure, no. But she was sure enough.

"You won't," she said, voice softer now, almost helpless. "God, I swear you won't."

Oscar didn't respond with the usual resistance. He didn't fight. He didn't try to convince her she was wrong. He just stepped closer, the smell of whiskey and something colder brushing off his clothes.

"I love you, Lilith," he said, and the way he said it wasn't soft—it was heavy. "But when you'll cry about her... don't act like you didn't see it coming."

And just like that, he turned and walked away.

Lilith stood there pouting faintly, lips curved down, a little crease forming between her brows. She didn't know whether to be relieved that it hadn't turned into one of their infamous fights or quietly offended that he'd spoken like she was blind, foolish, naive.

But she didn't have time to decide—

"Everything's alright?"

Valentina's voice cut through the quiet, low and smooth.

Lilith turned towards her slowly, offering the softest smile she could muster. "Yeah."

Because honestly, with Valentina near her, it did feel alright. Even if just temporarily. Even if everything inside her was still shifting.

But Valentina didn't buy it.

She raised an eyebrow, her version of a question mark, trying to pull more truth from Lilith without pressure.

Lilith let out a breath and admitted, "We just argued a little, but everything's fine. Really."

Her eyes were wide, honest, tired. She meant it. Or at least, she wanted it to be true.

Valentina nodded, accepting the answer without pressing further. She didn't question Lilith's words, just tilted her chin slightly and said, almost commandingly, "Grab your jacket."

Lilith blinked, hesitating only a moment before turning towards the coatroom, where all the expensive fabrics hung like silk shadows. She sifted through them, searching for her own jacket, feeling something inside her sink as she did.

Was that it?

Was the night over?

It was almost disappointing, the way Valentina's tone made it sound so final. Like the evening had reached its limit. Like her presence had an expiration time Valentina wasn't willing to stretch.

But then—

Valentina took her hand and led her past the noise, past the crowd, up the stairs with a certainty that said otherwise.

She wasn't leading her to the exit.

She was leading her to the rooftop.

And just like that, the evening wasn't ending at all.

It was only just beginning again—somewhere quieter. Somewhere higher.

The rooftop didn't look quite finished.

Bare concrete, a few scattered construction tools, shadows stretched across exposed beams—the kind of space that whispered potential but hadn't yet been shaped into anything soft or lived-in.

But Lilith, who had started to recognize the small cues of Valentina's style—the preference for warm lighting, deep textures, wood and linen and soft candles—could already picture what this place would one day become.

She knew Valentina would make it beautiful.

She would make it a place Lilith would love to exist in.

But for now, they sat down on something that looked like a makeshift bench, part concrete, part wood, maybe an early attempt at transforming the space.

Lilith didn't care that it was cold or incomplete.

The city lay quietly around them, lights blinking in a soft hush, and the sky felt closer than usual.

Valentina reached into the pocket of her black blazer, a motion so casual it didn't immediately register. But when she pulled out a pack of cigarettes, Lilith's eyes lit up, the corners of her mouth twitching before she even said a word.

"I told you I'd give you one if you behaved," Valentina said, a trace of mischief in her voice. ''Consider this a...''

She paused, searching for the right word—something she didn't seem to do often—and Lilith caught it with ease.

"Reward?" she asked, tilting her head slightly as she looked at the brunette beside her, eyes playful and adoring.

Valentina gave a soft laugh, the kind that didn't always reach her mouth but shimmered around her presence anyway.

"Sure. Let's call it a reward."

She took out a slim cigarette, then a lighter, her movements elegant even in the dim rooftop light. With practiced ease, she lit it and held it out for Lilith like a small offering.

Lilith couldn't quite believe that Valentina Salvatore was lighting up a cigarette for her.

She smiled as she leaned in eagerly, lips brushing it as she took the first drag, warm smoke curling into her lungs.

But what made her pause was when Valentina lit one for herself too.

Maybe she shouldn't call this romantic. Maybe it was nothing.

But they were seated on a rooftop, alone, surrounded by the quiet city and the intimacy of small rebellion.

To Lilith, it felt like something.

She loved to talk. But she loved it even more while smoking, when everything felt slowed down and deliberate—when words were paced between exhales, when time didn't rush her.

"I came across Chiara the other day," she murmured.

"I know. She told me," Valentina replied, effortlessly.

Lilith rolled her eyes, a smile tucked into her voice. "You know everything, don't you?"

Valentina didn't answer—just offered one of her faint, knowing smiles, the kind that somehow made Lilith feel both seen and slightly undone.

"She was on a date," Valentina added after a pause. "With her boyfriend."

And maybe it shouldn't have warmed Lilith the way it did, but it did. Hearing Valentina mention her sister like that—sharing, unprompted, pieces of her life—felt like something sacred. Not quite vulnerability, but closeness.

"I wish I enjoyed that evening too," Lilith said, voice light, brushing humor. "Oscar looked like he wanted to stab me across the table."

She giggled softly, the sound low and tired but sincere. She leaned a little closer to Valentina—not obviously, not urgently—just enough that her body tilted towards her. Maybe seeking warmth. Maybe seeking her.

"Family dinner?" Valentina asked.

Lilith nodded, a small, reluctant gesture.

"Without your mom?"

There was something gentle in her tone—genuine curiosity. But the moment the word mom left her lips, Valentina saw Lilith's body tense. It wasn't dramatic, but it was there: the flicker of unease in her posture, the way her hand stopped mid-motion.

"Yeah, no..." Lilith said, head tilting slightly. "She's not really around. My parents divorced long ago."

She always hated this part. Not because it hurt—not exactly—but because it felt like a conversation that people expected to be sad.

Like she had to carry some kind of grief for it, when in reality, it was just a fact.

The awkwardness didn't come from the memory.

It came from how people responded to it.

"That must've changed a lot of things, hm?" Valentina asked.

She didn't sound like someone who was trying to pry. She sounded like someone who wanted to understand the shape of Lilith's world—its cracks, its weight.

"The divorce?" Lilith asked. "Not really. My dad is really great."

And that was the truth. The divorce hadn't left wounds—at least not ones that bled anymore. It wasn't the split that marked her. It was the woman who'd left the room long before the papers were signed.

Lilith smiled warmly, the memory of her father blooming softly in her chest like a quiet light.

"He has mastered being a parent," she said, voice gentle but certain.

Valentina tilted her head, the cigarette poised elegantly between her fingers as she took a long drag, the smoke curling around her like a dark halo. Lilith really shouldn't find it attractive—the way she moved, so composed and effortless—but there it was.

"Daddy's princess?" Valentina teased, her eyes narrowing playfully.

Lilith scrunched her nose, a soft giggle escaping her lips. "Um... well, maybe?"

But what truly piqued her curiosity was Valentina's childhood—the pieces that made her the woman sitting beside her now. The woman who seemed so grounded, so good.

"What were you like as a kid? I can't picture it," Lilith asked, her voice soft, patient, inviting.

Valentina smiled—a slow, fond smile—as if replaying scenes from her past in her mind's eye.

"I used to throw entire tantrums if someone moved my alphabetically organized books," she said, voice tinged with amusement. "Chiara would do it on purpose, and I'd cry over it like someone died."

She paused, eyes drifting to the sky as if seeking something there.

Lilith watched her quietly, a soft smile curving her lips, absorbing every word as if it were a secret she'd been waiting to hear.

"I was rather simple, though," Valentina continued, voice lighter now. "I don't think I ever even went through a teenager phase."

"But once I left home for university," she added, eyes glinting with something unreadable, "the real fun actually began."

Lilith tilted her head, curiosity sparking. She could almost imagine Valentina then—sharp, a little wild maybe.

"I don't think I even want to ask about that," Lilith laughed softly.

"You don't," Valentina replied, eyes locking with hers for a moment before drifting away again.

"And now?" Lilith pressed gently, suddenly aware of how close they were—too close not to notice.

"Now?" Valentina echoed, exhaling smoke with a deliberate, almost lazy grace.

"How are you now?" Lilith asked, finishing her cigarette and stubbing it out with a quiet sigh.

Valentina smiled, a smirk playing on her lips as she answered softly, "Content. Occasionally torturing people for sport."

Lilith's mind faltered, caught in the vivid, unspoken thought that flickered dangerously close—that she would gladly be the one Valentina tortured.

As Valentina gently held the cigarette between her fingers, her eyes tracing the patterns of stars scattered across the ink-black sky, Lilith leaned in slowly, hesitating just a moment before taking a delicate drag from the woman's cigarette.

Valentina's gaze softened, a quiet smile playing on her lips as she murmured, "Little addict," the words warm and teasing, yet tender beneath the surface.

They settled into the stillness that wrapped around them like a fragile thread—rare, precious—each breath mingling in the cold night air as the world felt momentarily suspended.

Lilith's head found its way to Valentina's shoulder, the weight a small comfort, her eyes closing softly in an uncertain surrender to the peace.

Valentina remained still, her presence a steady anchor against the chill, the faint pulse of warmth from her skin a quiet promise in the dark.

They lingered like that, suspended between words and silence, until Valentina's voice cut through—a low, gentle question.

"Falling asleep again?"

"No," Lilith answered, a soft sigh escaping her lips as the cold air filled her lungs, sharp and invigorating.

She lifted her face, turning slowly to meet Valentina's eyes—those vivid green depths shimmering with something unspoken—and for a moment, the world narrowed to the space between them.

It struck her then, the clarity of the thought: Valentina Salvatore liked women.

Not that it was unexpected—this woman, with her effortless allure and quiet command, could surely choose anyone she desired.

But now, under the weight of the evening, the late hour, and the fragile intimacy wrapping around them, Lilith felt it like a secret being gently laid bare.

Every moment with Valentina had felt like a date, yes, but this—the quiet, the closeness—made it impossible to dismiss.

Oscar's cautionary words echoed faintly in the recesses of her mind, a challenge she hadn't expected to feel so fiercely in her chest.

She didn't know what she wanted—only that those green eyes, steady and searching, held a gravity she couldn't resist.

And so, without overthinking, without waiting for permission, Lilith leaned in—impulsively—pressing her lips gently against Valentina's, their mouths meeting in a quiet, tentative connection.