Heather
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The limo ride is unbearably long. The kind where you start counting the seconds just to make sure time still exists. The air inside is thick with unspoken things, the one that press against your ribs and refuse to let go.

Javis slouches beside me, his fingers creeping toward my thigh like it's second nature. Like muscle memory. He's drunk-halfway gone, at least. I pretend not to notice, like always. His touch lingers even when he's not touching me, like a ghost I can't shake off.

Robin sits across from me, eyes locked on the window, her face carved from stone. She hasn't looked at me once since we got off the plane. I doubt she's planning to anytime soon.

Every time I steal a glance, she tenses-like even my existence is too much for her right now.

I've tried everything. Apologizing. Giving her space. Waiting for her to make the first move. Nothing works. She's built a wall, and I have no idea how to break it down.

Outside, the city fades into the Tuscan countryside, where cypress trees line winding roads like silent sentinels. The sun hangs low, casting a golden glow over rolling vineyards and terracotta rooftops.

It's the kind of scene people romanticize in travel blogs-"Italy's hidden gems" and all that.

But sitting here, trapped in this car, it doesn't feel like a dream. It feels suffocating.
The quiet is worse than the view-suffocating, inescapable. It leaves too much room for my thoughts, and I hate that. The stillness makes everything I've done feel heavier, like the weight of this place is pressing down on me.

The limo slows, and then I see the mansion.

Jesus.

I knew it'd be big, but this? It's ridiculous. Like something straight out of a period drama. The type of place where people sip expensive wine and talk in hushed tones about their third divorce.

Javis yawns, stretching like we didn't just live through the most emotionally draining week ever. Melanie is glued to her tablet, noise-canceling headphones on like she's physically rejecting the reality of this moment.

Meanwhile, the staff opens the doors, greeting us like we are royalty.

I'm not.

But I step out anyway.

Inside, it's even worse-vaulted ceilings frescoed with scenes straight out of a museum, cool marble floors that echo with every step, and endless hallways lined with towering archways and antique tapestries. The chandeliers glow softly, casting golden light over Renaissance paintings and furniture that probably costs more than my entire life. Everything is gleaming, pristine, untouchable.

Robin's mother is already giving orders in her usual perfect, clipped tone, like she didn't just get here too.

"Show them to their rooms so they can freshen up before dinner."

The staff move like a well-rehearsed play, grabbing bags, splitting us up like this is all part of some master plan.

Javis disappears with the other guys. Melanie gets a room at the far end, because of course she does.

And Robin and I?

Rooms right across from each other.

I don't believe in fate, but this? This feels way too intentional.

My room is huge-king-sized bed, fireplace, bookshelves stacked with things I'll never read.

It's perfect. It's suffocating.

I sit on the edge of the bed, gripping my hands together to keep them from shaking.

I should talk to Robin. I should cross the hall, knock on her door, force the conversation.

But I don't.

A knock startles me, a sharp break in the silence. My heart lurches before I can stop it-Robin?

I hesitate, staring at the door like I can will her to be on the other side. Like maybe, just maybe, she's finally ready to talk.

But when I open it, it's not her. Just one of the staff, standing there with polite detachment, asking if I'd like some tea, if I need anything to make my stay more comfortable.

I swallow down the disappointment, shake my head, force a smile. "No, I'm fine. Thank you."

The door clicks shut, and I exhale slowly, staring at the empty space where they stood.

There's nothing I want. Not tea. Not comfort. Not even to be here.

Minutes pass. Maybe hours. Time stretches, warping under the weight of everything I don't want to think about. I lie back. Sit up. Stare at the ceiling. Run my fingers over the hem of my shirt. Try to convince myself that I don't care. That it doesn't matter.

Then-footsteps. Slow, deliberate. A knock on Robin's door.

I freeze, every muscle in my body locking up.

Her mother's voice drifts through the hallway, smooth and controlled, carrying that same effortless authority she always has. Then another voice, lower, rougher-Javis. Maybe. I don't know. I don't want to know.

I should move. Do something.

I don't.

Instead, I sit there, stock-still, like if I stay quiet enough, I can pretend none of this is happening. Pretend I'm not waiting-hoping-for Robin's voice to slip through the walls, for some kind of sign that she's okay.

But the silence stretches. The voices fade.

I start pacing.

Back and forth, dragging a hand through my hair, my pulse picking up like I'm standing at the edge of a slope.

The walls feel closer now, pressing in, shrinking around me. It's this house. These endless halls. The tension sitting heavy in my chest.

I exhale sharply, trying to shake it off, but it clings to me, thick and unrelenting.

Maybe I care too much.

But no matter where I look, I see her. Her pretty eyes, her beautiful lips, her sweet smile. A smile I haven't seen in days because I am just dumb.

I end up at the window, staring out at the garden. It's breathtaking. Just like everything else in this place.

But all it does is make me feel smaller.

The voices down the hall fade, but the ache in my chest doesn't.

I don't know how to piece this back together.

I don't know if I even can.

I don't know if Robin will ever let me try.

...

Thanks for reading!