Erika leaned against the wall, her fingers gripping the fabric of her shirt. "So, he found a way into my apartment. This is not good. I have to do something." She exhaled sharply, pushing away the unease creeping into her chest.
She changed into a pair of wide-legged pants that framed the curve of her hips, pairing them with a sleek, blue sleeveless top. Her damp hair cascaded over her shoulders, strands clinging to her skin as water droplets traced slow, lazy paths down her collarbone.
With a sigh, she rubbed her face and made her way to the balcony, the cool night air brushing against her exposed arms. The city stretched before her—golden streetlights flickering like fireflies, distant car horns humming in the background.
She had hoped the fight outside would be over by now, but the silence only made her more anxious. **Had they left? Or had something worse happened?** She hesitated before glancing down at the square near Ronald's house.
Her breath hitched.
Rafael was on the ground.
Erika's heart pounded in her chest as she watched him struggle to push himself up, his movements sluggish.
"Damn it!"
Ignoring the way her damp hair whipped against her face in the night breeze, she hurried out of her apartment, descending the stairs two at a time. Her bare feet slapped against the marble floor of the building's lobby before she burst onto the street.
By the time she reached them, Rafael was already leaning against his brother, blood trickling from the corner of his lips.
"Stop this!" Erika's voice rang out, sharp and urgent. She positioned herself between them, her chest rising and falling with deep, uneven breaths.
Ronald scoffed, brushing his knuckles against his chin as if checking for a scratch. "What? Should I let him attack me instead?" His voice was rough, tinged with frustration, but his eyes—his eyes held something deeper, something raw.
"You're deceiving yourself if you think he's the victim here," he added.
Erika clenched her fists, ignoring the way her stomach twisted. She barely noticed when Rafael draped his jacket over her shoulders, the scent of leather and smoke enveloping her. The fabric was warm, damp with his blood.
Her fingers curled around the lapels.
Ronald smirked bitterly, shaking his head. "Of course."
Before she could say anything, Fastino rushed over. "What the hell is going on here?" he demanded, grabbing Ronald by the arm and dragging him back toward the house.
Erika turned to Rafael, who leaned heavily against the wall beside her apartment building. His head was tilted back, eyes closed, a small furrow forming between his brows.
She stepped closer. "Are you okay? Can you walk?"
His dark lashes fluttered open, gaze locking onto hers. For a moment, he said nothing. Then, with a quiet intensity, he asked, "What's between you and him?"
Erika's lips parted, but the words caught in her throat. The way he was looking at her—desperate, almost pleading—unnerved her.
"This isn't the time for that," she said instead, reaching out to touch his face. Her thumb brushed the blood from his lip with a featherlight touch.
Rafael caught her wrist. His grip was gentle, his fingers warm against her skin. "Answer me, Erika."
She swallowed, suddenly aware of how close they were. "Why does he care so much?"
"Let me treat your wounds first," she murmured. "Then I'll answer."
Rafael studied her for a moment, his jaw tightening. Then, finally, he gave a small nod.
---
Inside her apartment, she carefully cleaned the cuts on his hands and face. The dim glow of the bedside lamp cast soft shadows across his sharp features. He was watching her, his gaze unreadable.
She felt his muscles tense under her touch as she placed the last gauze on his arm.
"There," she whispered, stepping back slightly. "All done."
Rafael exhaled slowly, his fingers curling around the edge of the bed. But he didn't take his eyes off her.
"What's between you and Ronald?" His voice was quieter now, but no less demanding.
Erika hesitated.
Before she could speak, the sound of shattering glass echoed from the balcony.
She spun around, heart hammering against her ribs.
"What the—"
Rafael grabbed her wrist before she could move. "Stay here," he ordered, standing up.
But Erika pulled away, her instincts screaming at her to check.
She stepped onto the balcony, her pulse roaring in her ears.
Then she saw him.
Ronald.
Standing there as if he belonged. He lifted his hand in a casual wave, his phone clutched in his other hand. His golden-brown eyes twinkled with amusement.
"Hi," he said, as if he hadn't just shattered a vase trying to climb onto her balcony.
Erika's jaw dropped.
Before she could unleash her fury, Rafael appeared behind her, his presence dark and heavy like an impending storm. His eyes flickered between Ronald and Erika, his expression unreadable.
Ronald ran a hand through his hair. "Relax, I just came to get my phone. I left it here."
He reached out, brushing his fingers against the strands of her hair.
Rafael moved.
Before Erika could react, Ronald suddenly pulled her into his embrace, his grip firm around her waist.
"I missed you," he murmured.
A sharp, deafening silence followed.
Erika barely had time to process what was happening before Rafael turned on his heel and strode toward the door.
"Wait!" She pushed Ronald away, her heart racing. "Rafael!"
But he was already gone.
Panic surged through her as she rushed out of the apartment. She sprinted down the stairs, but by the time she reached the street, his car was gone.
Erika stood there, panting, her hands clenching into fists.
**No, no, not this kind of misunderstanding.**
She pressed her knuckles against her forehead. "Damn it!"
She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "I should've just answered his stupid question."
Determined, she turned back inside, grabbing her keys.
She knew where she needed to go.
---
The next morning, Erika arrived at Rafael's house. The guards let her in without hesitation, which surprised her. She had expected them to turn her away.
She stepped inside, scanning the luxurious interior. The scent of coffee and expensive cologne lingered in the air.
A smooth, confident voice interrupted her thoughts.
"Morning, beautiful lady."
Erika turned.
A man with long, dark hair and piercing brown eyes leaned against the sofa, a small note in his hand. His sharp features and the aura of quiet authority around him made it clear—this was someone important.
"You must be Rafael's wife," he said smoothly, adjusting his glasses.
Erika's brows furrowed.
"Rafael didn't come home last night," the man added.
Her stomach dropped.
She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to stay composed. "And who are you?"
The man smiled, a slow, knowing smile that sent a shiver down her spine.
"Someone who knows Rafael better than anyone," he replied. "And trust me, you've made a mess of things."
---