Emilia's POV
The next morning, Emilia woke to the smell of burnt toast.
Groaning, she dragged herself out of bed and padded barefoot into the kitchen, her silk robe hanging loosely around her frame. Sure enough, Lily was standing by the toaster, fanning smoke with a dishtowel while muttering under her breath.
"Don't say it," Lily warned, not even turning around.
Emilia leaned against the counter, a smirk tugging at her lips. "I wasn't going to say anything. Except that maybe you should stay away from cooking. Forever."
Lily threw the dishtowel at her. "Rude. I was trying to make breakfast for you, thank you very much."
"Then why does it smell like the apocalypse?" Emilia teased, picking up one of the charred slices. It crumbled in her hand, blackened beyond salvation.
They both burst out laughing, the easy kind of laughter that came only from years of friendship. Emilia loved this—loved the comfort of having Lily by her side. It made the stress of the internship, the cold glares of Adrian Moretti, almost bearable.
But the warmth in the kitchen didn't last long.
Lily's phone buzzed on the counter, flashing a name across the screen: Ryan 💕.
Emilia rolled her eyes automatically. "Ugh. Your stupid boyfriend again."
Lily shot her a warning look but couldn't hide the pink flush on her cheeks as she picked up the call. "Hey, babe."
Emilia busied herself with the coffee maker, trying not to eavesdrop—but Lily's voice rose, sharp and exasperated.
"What do you mean you can't make it tonight? You promised!"
There was a pause, then Lily's face fell, frustration etched in every line. "Fine. Whatever. Do what you want." She hung up with a huff and tossed her phone onto the counter.
Emilia raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess. Cancelled again?"
Lily sighed, running a hand through her messy curls. "Yeah. He said something about poker night with his friends. Can you believe that? He's ditched me three times this week already."
"Of course I can believe it," Emilia said flatly, setting the mugs of coffee on the table. "Ryan is a selfish idiot. I've been telling you that since day one."
"He's not that bad…" Lily's voice wavered. "I mean, when it's just us, he's sweet. He makes me laugh."
"Lily, a guy who constantly cancels on you for poker is not sweet. That's bare minimum, and you deserve way more than minimum." Emilia sipped her coffee, irritation bubbling inside her. She hated seeing her best friend—her sister—settle for scraps of attention from someone who clearly didn't value her.
Lily stared into her mug, quiet for a long moment. "You don't get it, Em. Everyone leaves eventually. At least Ryan tries."
Emilia's chest tightened. She knew Lily's history, knew the trail of disappointments and broken promises that shaped her fear of being alone. Emilia reached across the table and squeezed her hand.
"I get it more than you think," she said softly. "But settling for someone who makes you cry more than he makes you smile? That's not love, Lil. That's fear."
Lily blinked back tears, giving a weak smile. "When did you get so wise?"
Emilia chuckled, though her throat felt heavy. "Probably somewhere between drowning in paperwork and being humiliated by my boss every day."
That broke the tension—they both laughed, and Lily wiped her eyes.
Still, the conversation lingered in Emilia's mind. She hated Ryan even more now, not just because he was immature, but because he didn't see what she saw every day: that Lily was extraordinary. Loyal, vibrant, full of life. She deserved someone who treated her like treasure, not like an afterthought.
---
Lily's POV
Later that afternoon, Lily sat curled on the couch, notebook in hand, while Emilia ironed her blouse for work the next day.
She glanced up at her friend and smiled softly. Emilia was always so careful, so precise—even with something as simple as ironing. She envied that steadiness, that determination.
But Lily also noticed the way Emilia's shoulders tensed, the way she sighed without realizing. Work was wearing her down. And though Emilia hadn't admitted it yet, Lily could see the name written all over her expressions: Adrian Moretti.
That infuriating, gorgeous man who made her best friend's blood boil.
"You know," Lily said suddenly, breaking the silence, "for someone who claims to hate her boss, you sure talk about him a lot."
Emilia whipped around, scandalized. "Excuse me?!"
"You heard me." Lily grinned mischievously. "It's always 'Adrian this, Adrian that.' I think you secretly like him."
Emilia nearly burned the blouse in her hands. "I do not! He's a playboy, Lily. A cocky, arrogant, infuriating—" She cut herself off, cheeks burning.
"—handsome devil?" Lily finished for her, laughing when Emilia threw a pillow at her.
"I don't like him," Emilia muttered, though her face betrayed her.
Lily leaned back smugly. "Mhm. Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart."
---
Emilia's POV
That night, when Lily went to bed early, Emilia found herself lying awake, staring at the ceiling.
Her best friend was in a messy relationship with a man who didn't deserve her. And Emilia herself? She was stuck in an internship under the most arrogant man alive—a man whose smirk haunted her even when she closed her eyes.
Different problems, same ache.
With a groan, she rolled over and buried her face in the pillow. "This city is going to drive me insane."
But even then… the last image that floated through her mind before sleep claimed her was not Ryan, not Lily, not work.
It was Adrian Volkov's dark, unreadable eyes