"Can I stay here with you, Sofia?" Beatrice's voice was gentle—almost hesitant, as if she wasn't sure she had the right to ask.
Sofia flinched.
She hadn't expected that. She had been sitting in the villa's quiet lounge, wrapped in the silence she came here to find. The soft hum of the night breeze, the faint rustle of the curtains—she had come here to be alone, to breathe without judgment, to feel without pretending. And now... Beatrice.
There had been a time when she would've given anything to be close to her again—to rebuild whatever had broken between them. But things had changed. She was pregnant now. Carrying a child who didn't ask to be part of any of this chaos. And the woman standing before her, no matter how much she seemed changed, was still the same person who once tried to shatter her.
Sofia looked away. Her voice was quiet, but firm.
"I don't think that's a good idea, Beatrice. I came here because I needed to be alone."
