The soft click of the dorm room door swings open as Leila steps inside, her small overnight bag tucked beneath one arm. The familiar scent of lavender and vanilla — Sofia's favorite diffuser — instantly wraps around her like a hug.
But it's not the only welcome she gets.
"You!" a voice screeches.
Before she can set her bag down, Sofia launches across the room and pulls her into a dramatic hug. "You're back, finally!" she mumbles into Leila's scarf, her words muffled but soaked in worry and relief.
Leila chuckles, easing into the warmth. "I didn't die, Sof."
"You fainted in a room full of executives," Sofia huffs. "That's practically death in my book!"
She pulls back just enough to inspect Leila from head to toe. "Okay, you don't look like a corpse. Suspicious. Are you secretly superhuman?"
"I'm breathing," Leila replies dryly, "and you're being dramatic."
Sofia flops back onto her bed with a groan. "You faint in a boardroom, disappear for days, and reappear being nursed back to life by a Sinclair. And you call me dramatic?"
Leila unzips her bag calmly, choosing not to respond.
But Sofia isn't done. Her eyes glint with something far more curious now. "Wait—hold on. Elias Sinclair? Why does that name sound familiar…?" She narrows her eyes. Then it hits her.
"Oh my God. Leila. The guy from the fashion show. The one we bumped into that night — that was him, wasn't it? That Elias was the Elias Sinclair."
Leila freezes for a moment before shaking her head with a sigh. "We didn't know back then."
Sofia gasps. "Wow. What's next — we find out he's secretly mafia or something?"
Leila snorts. "You've watched too many crime dramas."
"I'm just saying," Sofia lifts her hands, grinning, "if the suits, the brooding, and the absurdly tight-lipped best friend aren't a sign, I don't know what is."
Leila smiles, rolling her eyes, but doesn't deny the thought fully. She's still trying to make sense of it all herself.
"And you still haven't told me anything," Sofia adds, poking a finger into Leila's side. "I've been losing sleep over this mystery man."
"He's just my boss," Leila says plainly, hanging her coat. "His mother was kind. That's all."
Sofia watches her carefully. "Uh-huh. And I'm the Queen of France."
Leila changes the subject. "Tell me how your trip went. You had something big, right?"
Sofia lets it go — for now — and launches into a flurry of tales about her trip, late nights with designers, and the whirlwind of sketchbooks and fabric samples.
And for a while, it feels normal again. Like life before fainting spells and CEOs with unreadable eyes.
But as they settle into their beds that night, something unspoken hangs between them —
A quiet shift.
A question unanswered.
A story still unfolding.
The city lights blink from the high-rise window of his penthouse like scattered embers. Naples has always looked quieter from above, but tonight, the silence isn't calming.
Elias sits in the leather chair near the fireplace, one leg crossed over the other, nursing a glass of still water — his mind nowhere near the room.
Kai, sprawled on the opposite couch, tosses a cushion into the air with a lazy flick. "You've been weird ever since we dropped her off."
Elias doesn't look up. "Weird?"
Kai smirks. "For you, that means 'noticeably thoughtful' and 'not terrifying anyone all day.' Highly suspicious."
Silence. Elias continues scrolling through his tablet, but his finger has been hovering over the same photo for minutes now.
A discreet surveillance shot — one of the regular reports he gets from security. She's blurry in the frame, exiting the dorm building earlier that day, talking to Sofia.
Even through pixels and distance, Elias notices the fatigue that clings to her posture. The way she tugs the strap of her bag tighter on her shoulder. The brief smile she throws at Sofia.
"She looks tired," he says quietly.
Kai straightens slightly. "She just got out of the hospital, Elias. And she's back in class and work like nothing happened. What did you expect?"
Elias doesn't answer.
He remembers the faint tremble in her hands when she tried to sit up at the hospital. The way she flinched ever so subtly when his hand brushed hers. It wasn't fear of him — it was something deeper, older. Something about how she was taught to exist around men. A line drawn not from hatred, but from discipline.
It both humbled and unnerved him.
"She shouldn't be alone so often," he mutters.
Kai raises a brow. "She's not alone. She has that sunbeam of a roommate. And clearly she doesn't want your help. Or mine."
"She didn't ask," Elias says, "because she doesn't expect anyone to stay."
Kai sits forward, more serious now. "And you do?"
Elias doesn't respond.
He sets the tablet down, gaze distant again. The kind of distant that reaches deeper than thought — like standing on the edge of something he doesn't yet understand.
In his world, women smile with strategy. They dress to be seen. They lie with practiced ease and weaponize softness.
But Leila…
She exists like a closed book.
And somehow, he keeps turning the pages anyway.