I’ve never seen Mr. Vale this hands-on before. Guess the rumors about him being emotionally distant were exaggerated.
Those arms should be illegal. Fixing wires is clearly not his only talent.
Stop showing off, Camila. We all know who’s going to be standing beside him at future galas.
The screen blurred as my grip tightened until the phone creaked faintly in protest.
She was brilliant at it—subtle, public, unmistakable. Every move designed to stake her claim without ever saying it outright. I’d been there once. Leonardo used to do the same with me—posting candid moments from business trips, charity events, late-night strategy sessions, small smiles caught between meetings. Back then, it felt solid. Unbreakable.
Now, I was nothing more than a footnote in his history.
I exited the chat and muted the notifications, refusing to watch her replace me in real time. Despite the ache twisting in my chest, my resolve remained steady. Walking forward still felt right—even if it hurt.
I stepped into the estate house that had been my home for nearly a decade. Eight years of shared space, shared routines, shared silence. Every room carried echoes of what we’d been—what I’d believed we were building.