Page 31

"Do you want me to show you a trick?"

Lilith asked without looking up, her voice soft but laced with that casual, teasing curiosity she sometimes wore like perfume.

The vapor was sweet and almost syrupy, tinged with something artificial and fruity—raspberry or bluberry or maybe even watermelon, Valentina couldn't really tell.

Lilith exhaled it slowly, deliberately, the smoke curling into a perfect ring that floated and broke apart mid-air like a thought forgotten mid-sentence.

She was sprawled across the office couch in a way that seemed entirely unbothered by time or etiquette or the fact that this wasn't technically her space. One leg hung over the side, her head tilted into the cushions, bare ankles crossed as she scrolled mindlessly on her phone.

Outside, the sky had surrendered to evening. The city's edges were swallowed by darkness, and the workday—at least the official part of it—had ended an hour ago.

Valentina didn't answer immediately. Her eyes were still fixed on the laptop in front of her, but her focus was already waning.

"No," she said eventually, her voice neutral.

But she looked up.

Of course she looked up.

Just in time to see Lilith blow another ring of smoke, smaller this time, followed by a giggle muffled by the sleeve of her sweater.

Valentina rolled her eyes. It was the kind of eye roll that only existed to contain the corners of her mouth from curving up.

It was ridiculous.

There was something absurdly domestic about it—this girl lying across her office couch like it was her birthright, vaping fruit-flavored smoke and laughing at her phone with one socked foot twitching softly to some rhythm Valentina couldn't hear.

It had become a habit, these visits.

Not an interruption.

Just a presence.

The office had always belonged to Valentina in that specific way spaces did when she had total control. But now it also belonged to Lilith, at least in the late hours.

Her laughter disrupted the stillness again—this time sharper, more amused, playing off something on her phone.

Then the laughter stopped.

Her screen lit up with an incoming call.

Lilith sighed. Heavily.

It was Oscar.

For a moment she stared at the name, thumb hovering like she was calculating the physics of throwing her phone against the wall. It wasn't the first time she'd fantasized about it, clearly.

But instead, she answered.

The voice that came through was immediate. Guilt-laced. Boyish in a way that grated on her tonight.

"That was so fucked up, I'm sorry, Lili."

Lilith exhaled, but this time there was no smoke—just tired breath and the feeling of too many things piling up in her chest without her permission.

Valentina looked up again. Her gaze lingered, unreadable. She didn't speak. But Lilith felt the attention like warmth near her skin.

"Whatever," Lilith murmured. Her voice was dull, not defensive.

She didn't want to talk about it.

Not here. Not in front of Valentina.

Truthfully, she didn't even feel mad at Oscar. There was no room for that today. Maybe she would've if the thing with their mother had gone badly. Maybe then she would've screamed.

But it hadn't.

"Was it that bad?" Oscar asked, his voice now slower, softer—steeped in guilt so thick it was almost amusing.

Lilith almost smiled.

"Nope," she said aloud. "It went alright."

There was a pause, and then she frowned at her own words like they didn't quite belong to her.

It had gone alright. And that fact was somehow more destabilizing than if it had gone terribly.

"What?" Oscar sounded genuinely confused now, almost hopeful.

Lilith let out a breath of laughter, dry and unbothered.

"Surprising, right?"

The old part of her—the one that still believed in poetic justice and cathartic revenge—might've liked to weaponize this moment. Maybe she still could. Maybe there was still something satisfying in the idea of holding it over him.

"What a great revenge plan."

She caught herself just before saying his name. Her eyes flicked towards Valentina, who was still working—or at least pretending to.

"No—it wasn't supposed to be—" Oscar started, but Lilith was already peeling away from the conversation like it was an old coat that didn't fit anymore.

"Listen," she said, her voice low, even. "If I need to be honest, I don't wanna talk. I'm not mad. It's fine. But next time think of something else."

She shifted again on the couch, folding herself smaller.

The ceiling had never looked particularly interesting, but right now, it was something to stare at.

There was a moment where it struck her—how stupidly funny it would be to tell Oscar where she was right now.

In Valentina's office.

Alone with her.

The thought was so absurd and oddly delightful that she laughed—genuinely laughed—and ended the call as fast as her fingers would let her.

Lilith exhaled again, the blue light of her phone screen casting soft shadows on her face as her thumb dragged across it mechanically.

She wasn't even watching anymore. The videos—once chaotic enough to distract her, absurd enough to make her laugh—now played in the background of her mind like static on a forgotten TV. Everything just moved past her like a train she didn't care to catch.

She felt nothing today.

And in the quiet lull of her inner world, that felt like relief.

No spiraling thoughts, no self-loathing waiting in the corner, no heavy sadness pressing against her chest. Just a flat calmness, not warm exactly, but still preferable to the ache of too much feeling.

It was on this emotional plateau—this strange version of peace—that she spoke.

"Do you want to go grocery shopping with me?"

The words slipped out casually, almost thoughtlessly, like tossing a paper into the wind and not caring where it landed.

Her fridge was empty. That much was true. She had been living off cereal and tea for the past three days and was fully aware it wasn't sustainable. But this wasn't really about food. This was about finding some excuse—any excuse—to be around the woman currently sitting not too far from her.

The woman she adored more than she had the courage to admit.

Valentina didn't blink. Didn't even look surprised. She responded with the same calm indifference that matched Lilith's tone.

"When?"

Lilith made a small sound in her throat, almost a hum, as her eyes lifted from her phone. She tilted her head slightly, like the thought had only just begun to form.

"Right now?" she offered.

And somehow, that's how they ended up there—two hours later, walking slowly down the echoing aisles of a nearly empty grocery store.

Not the one Lilith usually went to, the cramped shop a few blocks from her place with humming refrigerators and perpetually sticky floors.

This one was cleaner, wider, better lit.

Valentina's choice. She had insisted on it with a strange kind of firmness, something subtle but not dismissible, and Lilith had agreed without hesitation—partially because she didn't really care, but mostly because Valentina had also added, in a tone so nonchalant it could've been mistaken for generosity, "I'll pay. "

Lilith wasn't above accepting free food. Especially not when it came with the bonus of Valentina's company.

They passed rows of boxed goods, and for a moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the world.

"If I cooked tonight..." Lilith began, her voice casual but her eyes a little too hopeful, "would you come over for dinner? Or are you going to pretend you have mysterious CEO things to do?"

She truly looked like a puppy in that moment—soft-eyed, uncertain, waiting for a treat or a rejection.

She kept her tone light, tried to pass it off as teasing, but the question carried more weight than she let on.

"Depends on what you're cooking."

It wasn't a yes. But it wasn't a no, either.

Lilith let the edges of a smile tug at her lips, then moved ahead slightly, brushing her fingers over a few ripe avocados she had no intention of buying.

"Whatever you want?" she asked, looking up at her again—not expecting an answer, just hoping for a sign.

Valentina seemed preoccupied, running her fingers gently over the skin of a tomato, as if determining whether it met her standards. Her silence could've meant anything.

Still, Lilith watched her.

Not in a creepy way, she told herself—just with the kind of reverence you give to something beautiful, something you still can't quite believe is real.

And then, finally, Valentina turned her head.

Their eyes met.

Just for a second.

And she nodded.

A small, subtle gesture—but it made something in Lilith's chest pull tight with quiet happiness.

She felt her body shift with the urge to move, her legs taking her down the next aisle almost too quickly, like she needed space from her own excitement.

She had developed this habit lately—stepping away when she got too close. Not because she didn't want to be near Valentina. Quite the opposite.

But proximity was dangerous.

Because the closer she got, the more she wanted to lean in.

To kiss her again.

Which was, of course, both the thing she wanted most—and the thing she feared more than anything.

"So..." Lilith mused aloud, her head tilted in quiet consideration, her brows softly furrowed in thought. "Pasta with shrimp and white wine?"

It was something she'd cooked before on the nights she wanted to feel like a person who had her life together. And if she was going to feed Valentina, she wanted to do it right.

Valentina barely looked up as she reached for some vegetables Lilith mentioned before, her tone dry and unimpressed.

"You do know there are other meals in the world, right?"

Lilith scoffed under her breath, pretending to be offended, watching as Valentina placed the vegetables into the cart with a kind of precise elegance.

It had become obvious by now that Valentina was the one actually doing the shopping—checking dates, weighing products, pushing the trolley forward.

Lilith, on the other hand, floated around her like a small satellite—talking, teasing, orbiting.

And truthfully, she liked it that way.

"Sorry," she drawled dramatically, grinning as she leaned a little closer. "Would you prefer caviar and truffle oil? Should I hand-roll some gnocchi while I'm at it? I'm sure I can forage for some wild mushrooms, too—anything for your refined palate."

Valentina, without missing a beat and without even glancing at her, replied, "Honestly? I wouldn't put it past you."

Lilith let out a soft laugh, the sound bubbling from her chest like something involuntary and sincere. Her shoulder brushed against Valentina's for half a second, and she pretended not to notice.

"You're getting pasta," she said, her voice low and warm. "If you're lucky, I might even salt the water."

"How generous of you."

Lilith drifted towards the fruit section.

"You'll survive," she called back. "I make up for it with charm."

Valentina didn't look at her, but Lilith could hear the precise timing of her voice as she responded.

"Debatable."

Lilith let out a dramatic sigh, spinning slowly in front of a pyramid of oranges before pouting in mock injury.

"I don't know why you're always so mean to me, Miss Salvatore."

Valentina's eyes rolled before her mouth could even catch up, a gesture full of dry affection, though she tried to hide it beneath her usual composure. She tossed a small container of raspberries into the trolley with a kind of practiced aim, her voice clipped but not cold.

"Don't call me that."

Lilith's gaze flicked instantly to the fruit, a knowing gleam in her eyes as she stepped closer again.

"Why?" she asked, letting the word linger, soft and teasing. "Because you like it?"

The tone was flirtatious—too flirtatious, if she was honest. But she couldn't help herself.

She fluttered her lashes shamelessly, then gestured towards the berries. "Aww. You remember?"

"I remember everything."

Lilith blinked, caught a little off guard, then tried to smooth it over with something lighter.

"That sounds mildly concerning," she quipped, before slipping away, disappearing into the snack aisle like a vanishing thought.

"Was it intentional that you brought me into a store that doesn't have any good snacks?"

Lilith stood in the middle of the snack aisle with furrowed brows, her fingers slowly dragging across the unfamiliar, overly sleek packaging of things that claimed to be guilt-free and naturally flavored. She squinted at a bag of dried beetroot crisps like it had personally wronged her.

"This place is a scam," she mumbled, scanning the shelves with increasing desperation. "What is this? A rich person's grocery store dystopia? Where are the real snacks?"

She pulled out a glossy, overpriced box of kale chips and held it up with theatrical disdain.

"Kale chips?" she repeated, as though even saying the words felt offensive. "That sounds like punishment."

She looked over her shoulder, expecting at least a hint of sympathy, but Valentina only shook her head as she continued pushing the cart forward with that same composed elegance, completely unaffected by Lilith's dramatics.

"Stop whining," Valentina said calmly.

But instead of walking past the aisle, she paused—just long enough to reach out and pick up a bar of chocolate. Not the expensive dark kind with 95% cocoa and notes of Himalayan salt. No. This one was milk chocolate. Sweet. Silly and unapologetically average.

And without a word, she dropped it into the cart.

?

Lilith felt like a guest in her own apartment.

She stood awkwardly by the counter, one hand loosely holding a wooden spoon, not stirring anything, just—existing.

It was strange, the way space could shift without physically changing.

Her kitchen, once small and familiar, now felt cavernous and foreign, touched by something heavier than presence—it was Valentina, standing there like she'd always belonged.

And Lilith forgot.

Forgot where her plates were stacked, forgot how to move comfortably through her own home, forgot that this wasn't a dream because the most attractive woman she had ever seen was in her kitchen, casually chopping garlic with frightening precision.

Valentina still dressed in her sharp work clothes, sleeves rolled up just enough to expose her forearms, blazer discarded, hair only slightly out of place, a strand falling forward with every movement of the knife.

Lilith thought about reaching over and tucking it behind her ear.

Then thought better.

After the groceries were hauled in, Valentina had, of course, taken it upon herself to organize everything—her need for order almost endearing if it didn't make Lilith feel so gently managed.

She had said she would cook. She'd insisted.

But somehow, Valentina was doing half the work anyway, slipping into the moment like she had done it a thousand times before.

"So..." Lilith began, stirring something now that didn't really need stirring. "Who's Rhys exactly?"

Valentina didn't pause, but she did look up—those unreadable, pretty green eyes briefly flicking towards Lilith.

"Why?" she asked, her tone neutral, a single brow raising. A strand of her hair fell forward again, and Lilith nearly lost her train of thought trying to fight the urge to reach for it.

"He texted you when we were at the store," Lilith said, sheepishly. "And I might've... peeked."

Her voice dropped at the confession, her eyes narrowing with soft guilt.

Valentina exhaled a sound that could barely be called a sigh—more like a knowing murmur.

"Of course you did."

She didn't sound surprised, at all.

"We met at uni. Him, Amber, and I. Somehow we just... stuck."

"He looks scary," Lilith said after a moment, recalling the tall, broad-shouldered man whose text had lit up Valentina's screen. "Like... terrifying. Maybe it's the size. Or the eyebrows."

Valentina smirked faintly, almost entertained.

"You'd get along."

That made Lilith blink—genuinely stunned.

It was such a strange, simple thing to say. And yet, something about it settled low in her chest. Like a wish. Like an invitation, unspoken.

"We work together sometimes. Projects. Events. He's useful when he wants to be."

The word work made something flicker in Lilith. It was hard to explain. Maybe it was the casual tone, or maybe it was just the fact that Valentina had always sounded like she didn't need anyone.

Which made her next question feel far riskier than it probably was.

Lilith tried to say it like it didn't matter. Tried to lace it with humor.

"Do you work with Katherine too?"

There was a beat.

And Lilith swore she could almost see Valentina restrain the eye roll.

"It was a one-time thing," Valentina said as she reached for the bottle of white wine, her voice casual, almost dismissive, but something in the moment didn't quite match the tone.

Lilith watched her closely.

The soft pop of the cork came a second later, but it was the way Valentina's hand gripped the neck of the bottle—how her knuckles whitened slightly with the motion—that made Lilith's cheeks warm unexpectedly.

She looked away, embarrassed at her own body's reaction to something so mundane.

"Okay," Lilith said, smiling awkwardly, trying to play it off. That weird, fumbling thing people did when someone mentioned an ex and you didn't know what to say but still wanted to know everything—because you were nosy, not because it mattered. Not really.

"She sounded so malicious," Lilith added, leaning on the counter as the scent of garlic began to fill the air. "Almost like that bitch who thought she could insult my flowers."

Valentina laughed warmly.

Lilith grinned at that, emboldened.

"Is she still traumatizing other people?" she asked, crossing her arms like she was about to deliver a verdict. "Did someone slap her already?"

And maybe Lilith should have felt satisfied—like she'd won some small battle—or even happy, hearing Valentina's next words. After all, that woman had been so unpleasant, so cold and sharp.

But Lilith didn't feel that.

Oscar's words flickered faintly in her mind, the weight of them mingling with this moment, grounding her in something more complicated than simple victory.

"No, Lilith. She got fired."