The following morning, I head to the airport before Stefano wakes up. I can't bear to see him before I leave, feeling it's for the best after the way things went down last night. As I sit in the business lounge, a sudden anger begins to simmer under my bones. Stefano might act like he sent me away because I refused to share, but I feel it's more than that. His overprotective behavior, always keeping me at arm's length, screams louder than his words. It's as if he believes I can't take care of myself, as if he needs to control every aspect of my life.

The anger grows, feeding on the frustration and pain of last night. How dare he decide what's best for me? How dare he push me away under the guise of protection? I clench my fists, the tension coursing through my body like a live wire. Sometimes, I wish I could just smash that handsome face of his and then put it back together so I can admire it. Fuck!

I stand from my seat, feeling the need to move, to do something to cool down before I explode. I head towards the bar, my mind a whirlwind of anger and hurt. Lost in my own world of frustration, I barely notice my surroundings. Suddenly, I collide with someone, the impact sending them tumbling to the ground, my phone clattering alongside them.

"Oh my God! I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have been looking at where I was going," a familiar voice apologizes, reaching for my fallen phone.

"It's fine; I also wasn't paying much attention," I say automatically, bending to help her up. As our eyes meet, recognition hits me like a bolt of lightning. "Emily?" I exclaim, a genuine smile breaking through my earlier mood as I pull her into a warm embrace.

"Andrea? I can't believe it's you," she responds, her voice brimming with excitement as she hugs me back tightly. Emily is as beautiful as ever – a stunning brunette with eyes that seem to shift between hazel and grey. I notice she's wearing contacts now, a change from the glasses I remember from our high school days.

"Me too! How are you doing?" I ask, pulling apart from our brief embrace.

"I'm doing good, and you?" Emily replies, her smile warm and genuine.

"I'm doing great," I say, though the turmoil of recent events lingers just beneath the surface. "So, are you just arriving or on your way back to the States?"

"I'm on my way back home, and you?" she asks, her eyes reflecting curiosity and a hint of nostalgia.

"Same here. It's been ages since I last saw you. How's everything with you? I've missed you," I say, feeling a wave of warmth and longing wash over me.

"I've missed you, too," she says, sounding sincere. "I'm truly sorry for how things ended between us. It was just hard to keep being friends with you after our breakup." Emily is Santiago's high school ex-girlfriend and my former classmate. Our friendship had been collateral damage in their breakup, the reasons for which remained a mystery to me. Now, years later, I find myself hoping for answers to long-held questions.

"That's all in the past. I'm just so happy to see you." Impulsively, I link my arm through hers. "We have a lot to catch up on," I declare, steering us towards a nearby café.

Over coffee, Emily's story unfolds. Life hasn't been kind to her – her parents divorced after high school, and her mother's illness has her working two jobs to help with treatment costs. This trip to Italy, a prize from her company, was almost declined until her mother insisted that she take some time for herself.

As we say our goodbyes thirty minutes later, Emily heading to her gate, I feel a bittersweet warmth. It's wonderful to reconnect, but it also serves as a reminder of how much time has passed and how lives can diverge.

Even though we're heading to the same place, our flights aren't at the same time. I head back to the lounge, my mind still buzzing from our unexpected reunion. On my way, my phone vibrates - it's Ivan.

"Hey, how are you?" I answer, trying to sound upbeat despite the emotional whirlwind of the past few hours.

"I'm good, and you? How did it go yesterday?" Ivan's voice is warm, genuinely interested.

I smile, remembering his help. "It went well. Thank you again for your assistance."

"It was nothing," he brushes off my gratitude. There's a brief pause before he continues, "Are you doing anything tonight?"

My heart skips a beat, sensing where this is going. "Not really. Why do you ask?"

"I would like to take you out for dinner," he says, a hint of nervousness in his voice.

I close my eyes, feeling a pang of regret. "Oh, unfortunately, I'm in the airport on my way back to the States right now."

"You're on your way back to California?" The shock in his voice is palpable.

"No, Miami," I clarify, realizing I never mentioned where I actually lived.

"Miami?" He repeats, confusion evident.

"Yes, that's actually where I'm based. I was just in California for business," I explain, feeling a bit guilty for the misunderstanding.

"Oh." The disappointment in that single syllable is heart-wrenching.

"Yeah," I reply lamely, about to hang up when he speaks again.

"Is it possible to move your flight? I just want to spend one more day with you." The hope in his voice makes my chest tighten.

I sigh softly, torn between desire and responsibility. "I wish, but unfortunately I can't." I realized this morning I shouldn't be running away from home. Staying away just proves to Dad more that I messed up, which I didn't.

"Are you sure? I would handle everything to get you picked up from the airport right now," he offers, his eagerness both shocking and impressive.

My resolve wavers for a moment. "That sounds nice, but I can't," I say, my voice tinged with regret.

"No problem, I understand. Have a safe flight," Ivan says, his tone resigned but gracious.

"Thank you," I reply, ending the call with a heavy heart.

I release a deep sigh, gazing out the window at the bustling tarmac. Guilt gnaws at me - I feel terrible for being unable to accept his dinner invitation, especially after his help yesterday. But it's not my fault, I remind myself. There are things back home waiting for me that I need to deal with. Still, as I watch planes take off into the clear blue sky, I can't help but wonder about the "what ifs" of staying just one more day.

***

Hours later, I finally land in Miami, feeling like it's been an eternity since I last set foot on home soil. As I step through the sliding glass doors of the arrivals area, leaving the bustling chaos of customs and immigration behind, a wave of relief washes over me. The familiar sights and sounds of the airport envelop me like a comforting embrace.

My eyes eagerly scan the crowd of waiting faces, searching for the one person I've been longing to see. And there he is—Santiago. Standing amidst the sea of people. His gaze is focused intently on the stream of passengers emerging from the gates, yet somehow, he manages to miss me entirely. A smile tugs at my lips as I drink in the sight of him, my heart swelling with affection.

"Santiago!" I call out, my voice cutting through the din of the airport as I hurry towards him, my feet carrying me faster with each step.

At the sound of his name, Santiago's head snaps in my direction, his eyes lighting up with joy as recognition dawns on his face. "Finally! It's about time you came home," he exclaims, opening his arms wide as I practically launch myself into his embrace.

Wrapped in the warmth of his hug, I can't help but tease him. "I'll take that as a sign that you missed me," I say, pulling back just enough to flash him a cheeky grin.

"You wish!" Santiago huffs, rolling his eyes in mock annoyance, but the smile playing on his lips betrays his true feelings. He reaches for my bag, shouldering it effortlessly as we begin to make our way out of the airport.

As we walk, I can't help but think about my brother's presence here. He didn't need to come pick me up himself—the driver could have easily managed on his own. But the fact that he wanted to be here, to welcome me home in person, speaks volumes about how much I've been away.

"I did, though. I missed you a lot," I admit, leaning in to plant a huge, exaggerated kiss on his cheek, relishing the way he squirms in response.

"Eww, don't do that!" Santiago protests, wiping at his cheek in feigned disgust, but the laughter that escapes his lips tells me he doesn't really mind at all.

As we approach the car, Santiago opens the back door for me, ever the gentleman. Before climbing in myself, I ask. "How's Mom?"

"Good," he replies simply, his tone reassuring. But as he walks around to the other side of the car and slides into his seat, I find myself swallowing hard, my mouth suddenly feeling like sandpaper.

"Dad?" I manage to ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

"The same," Santiago shrugs, his expression unreadable. I nod in response, unsure of what to say. The mere mention of our father seems to cast a shadow over the previously light-hearted atmosphere, and I can feel the tension settling in like an unwelcome guest.

Desperate to dispel the gloom, I quickly change the subject. "Guess who I saw today," I say, injecting a note of excitement into my voice.

"I don't know, tell me," Santiago replies, his curiosity piqued.

I roll my eyes at him, a playful smirk tugging at my lips. "If I wanted to tell you straight out, would I ask you to guess?"

"I can't think of anyone, so just tell me," he insists, impatience creeping into his tone.

"Aha," I sigh, drawing out the suspense for a moment longer. "Emily. I saw Emily at the airport today."

At the mention of his ex-girlfriend's name, Santiago's head whips around to face me, his eyes wide with shock. "You met Emily today?" he asks, his voice laced with disbelief.

"Yes, I did, and she's doing great," I confirm, unable to keep the admiration out of my voice. "I know you guys are exes, but you should have seen her. She looked as beautiful as always."

"Hmm? Did she?" Santiago murmurs, his gaze turning distant as he loses himself in thought. I can practically see the gears turning in his head as he conjures up an image of Emily in all her radiant beauty.

Seizing the opportunity, I press further. "Yes, she did. And I have to ask—why did you guys break up?"

Santiago's brow furrows, surprise etched across his features. "Emily didn't tell you?" he asks, his voice tinged with disbelief. Then, shaking his head, he continues, "Of course she didn't. You didn't slap me as you arrived."

"What are you talking about?" I ask, confused. "Just tell me. Every time I asked, she said she didn't want to ruin our relationship. It always made me wonder even more about what went wrong between you two."

"Even now, she's still an angel," Santiago says softly, more to himself than to me. The wistfulness in his voice tugs at my heartstrings.

Determined to get to the bottom of the mystery, I persist. "So tell me. I don't think there's anything you could do that would ruin our relationship."

But Santiago remains tight-lipped, his expression growing somber. "Trust me, Sis. If you knew what I did, you wouldn't speak to me again."

"I doubt it's that bad," I counter, unwilling to let the matter drop so easily.

"It is," he insists, his tone leaving no room for argument. "So let's just forget about it."

Recognizing the finality in his words, I reluctantly concede. "Alright, if you say so." But even as I let the subject go, for now, my mind continues to whir with unanswered questions. What could Santiago have possibly done that was so unforgivable? And why is he so adamant about keeping it a secret, even from me, his own sister?

As we drive through the familiar streets of Miami, Santiago's voice cuts through my musings. "Before I forget, you're coming with me to the office tomorrow."

"Why?" I ask, caught off guard by the sudden need to follow him to the office.

"The company's COO recently got fired, so I need you to fill in," he explains matter-of-factly.

My eyes widen in surprise. "Dad agreed?" I ask, hardly daring to believe it.

"No, but he told me I can hire whoever I want as a substitute for the time being. And if the person does well, we might retain them," Santiago says, his gaze meeting mine meaningfully.

Understanding dawns on me, and I feel a surge of gratitude for my brother's unwavering support. By giving me such a significant position within the company, even temporarily, Santiago is providing me with an invaluable opportunity to prove myself to our father—to show him that I am every bit as capable as I claim to be.

"Oh," I breathe, my voice barely above a whisper as the weight of this chance settles upon my shoulders.

"Yeah, so we're up early tomorrow morning," Santiago reminds me, his tone brooking no argument.

"I will be," I promise, my mind already racing with possibilities. I couldn't have returned home at a more opportune moment. With this unexpected opportunity before me, I vow to make the most of it—to seize this chance and finally demonstrate to my father that I am worth far more than he gives me credit for.