As soon as we stepped back into the villa, the cool air from inside was a welcome relief against my flushed skin.
I wiped the faint sheen of sweat from my forehead and glanced over at Zaya, who, as always, looked completely unbothered despite our impromptu basketball match. She headed toward the kitchen without a word, her movements smooth and deliberate.
"I'll make some lemonade," she said over her shoulder, her voice calm and steady, as if we hadn't just spent the last hour running around and trash-talking each other on the court.
"Sounds good," I said, flopping onto the plush couch in the living room. The room was massive, like everything else in this house, with soft gray tones and sleek furniture that made it feel both luxurious and slightly impersonal.
As Zaya disappeared into the kitchen, I looked around, trying to distract myself from the lingering heat in my cheeks.
