Her tone wasn't loud. It wasn't casual either.
A beat of silence stretched between them.
Santiago leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing just enough to change the air.
"You sound… invested," he murmured.
Low. Controlled.
He let the word hang for half a second, then added, quieter, heavier:
"Are you jealous?"
A pause.
"Or is it something else?"
His voice dropped further.
"Do you still love him?"
The question wasn't curious.
It was a blade, slipped between ribs with surgical precision.
Daniella stared at him.
Then a short, disbelieving breath escaped her.
"Love him?"
Daniella jerked upright as if the suggestion had slapped her.
"Heh… me? Love him? No way!"
The words came out sharp, instinctive, almost a laugh—but beneath it sat something colder. Clear. Immediate. Rejection.
Because the thought of Carlos Eduardo didn't stir emotion.
It stirred memory.
Expectation.
Control.
A life that would have never been chosen for her, never by her.
Her gaze hardened.
