I glance at my wristwatch, noting that Santiago is running a few minutes behind for our lunch date. As I wait, my mind drifts back to the whirlwind of the past month. The past four weeks feel like both an eternity and a blink of an eye since I woke up from the coma that nearly claimed my life. Physically, I've made a full recovery, and I've even returned to work. But emotionally, I'm still a tapestry of raw nerves and unhealed wounds.

The moment the doctor cleared me to fly, I fled the city. I couldn't bear to stay in the place where my heart had been shattered into a million pieces. But even back home, I can't escape the ache of missing him. Night after night, tears became my lullaby as I prayed desperately that he would come back to me, that the devastating breakup in the hospital had just been a terrible nightmare. Every morning, I wake up and reach for my phone, clinging to an irrational sliver of hope to see a text or missed call from him. And every morning, the cold reality hits me anew: it wasn't a dream. He's really gone.

Work has become my refuge, a labyrinth of tasks where I can lose myself and forget the pain, even if just for a little while. I throw myself into my job with a fervor bordering on obsession, desperate for anything to keep my mind from wandering to thoughts of Stefano. It helps, but the reprieve is always temporary. Memories are persistent ghosts, haunting me when I least expect it, and the cycle of grief begins anew.

In the midst of this emotional turbulence, there's been an unexpected shift in my relationship with my father. Dad didn't make a fuss when I returned to work. He even visited the hospital in California the next day. I suppose witnessing my brush with death made him finally realize the true meaning of losing me or not. I can never really know with my father.

I'm jolted out of my melancholy reverie by the sight of Santiago walking towards me, his familiar gait and warm smile a welcome distraction from the tempest raging in my heart. I take a deep breath, plastering on a smile of my own. For the next hour or so, I'll try to push aside thoughts of Stefano and focus on the present moment, on the brother who has always been my rock. It's not easy, but I know I have to keep moving forward, one small step at a time. Even if my heart feels like it will never be whole again.

"Hello, Sis, sorry I'm late," he says, sliding into the seat across from me.

I force a smile. "It's fine; you're always late."

"I know, but I need to change that. How are you doing?" His eyes hold the same mixture of worry and pity I've seen in everyone's gaze since Stefano left me.

Mom is the worst, treating me like I'm made of glass. I know they mean well, but their concern only serves as a constant reminder of my pain. "I'm fine, don't mind what Mom says. I'm doing okay. I haven't cried myself to sleep in two weeks, so that's progress, right?" I try to inject some levity into my voice.

Santiago nods, but the concern doesn't leave his face. "I'm glad to hear that."

Eager to change the subject, I wave over a waiter to take our orders. Once we've placed them, I turn back to Santiago. "So, how are you doing? How are things with Emily?"

He hesitates, fiddling with his menu. "I'm doing well, but things with Emily are a bit weird."

"What do you mean?" I ask, my brow furrowing.

"I didn't tell you this because of what you were going through, but Emily forgave me."

My eyes widen in surprise. "Really? That's amazing!"

But Santiago doesn't share my enthusiasm. "Not really."

"What do you mean?" Confusion colors my tone.

As I process Santiago's words, a memory suddenly surfaces. Suddenly, it hits me – Emily's plan. I can't believe I'd forgotten about it; I was actually happy they were finally together. Santiago must have picked up on something being off. I need to tread carefully here.

I lean forward, feigning curiosity. "Oh, why do you think that?"

"The way she forgave me was too easy. I expected her to make me suffer or take more time, but she didn't. She told me she forgave me as soon as I tried to speak with her after our fight about me paying her mom's hospital bills. It doesn't feel right."

The urge to spill Emily's secret itches at the back of my throat, but I swallow it down. As much as I want to help my brother, I can't betray Emily's trust. But I also can't stand the thought of Santiago getting hurt. The weight of this secret presses down on me, and I make a decision. I need to speak to Emily about this plan of hers to make her understand it's not working and put an end to it.

A wave of frustration washes over me as I realize how deeply I've been drawn into their relationship drama. I'm caught in an impossible position, torn between my loyalty to my brother and my friendship with Emily. The line between right and wrong blurs, leaving me adrift in a sea of conflicting emotions. How did I end up as the reluctant keeper of secrets in a love story that isn't even my own?

"I understand what you mean," I say slowly, choosing my words with care. "I'll talk to her and see if I can get a sense of where she's really at."

Relief floods Santiago's face. "Thank you, Sis. You're the best."

"Of course, I'm your only sister." I flash him a grin, but inside, my stomach churns with unease. I hope I'll be able to convince Emily to drop her plans and truly forgive Santiago. A bittersweet ache fills my chest as I watch my brother's hopeful expression. Part of me yearns to see Santiago and Emily find their happy ending, a chance at love that slipped through my own fingers. Maybe, in some small way, helping them heal could be a balm for my own unresolved heartache.

***

After lunch, I return to the office with a determined plan to talk to Emily about Santiago. A flicker of hope ignites within me as I park my sleek black Mercedes E-Class W213 AMG in the underground garage. The familiar scent of leather and polish fills my nostrils as I step out, my heels clicking against the concrete floor.

The private elevator whisks me up to my floor, its soft hum a stark contrast to the thundering of my heart. As the doors slide open, I'm greeted by the bustling energy of the office.

"Hi, Boss, how was lunch?" Emily's cheerful voice cuts through my thoughts as I pass her desk. Her eyes, bright with curiosity, meet mine.

"It was good," I reply, my voice steady despite my inner turmoil. "I had lunch with Santiago. Can I see you in my office?"

"Of course, Boss," Emily responds, rising from her seat. The rustle of her pencil skirt accompanies her footsteps as she follows me into my office.

Once inside, I settle into my plush leather chair, its familiar embrace offering little comfort. Emily perches on the edge of the visitor's chair, her posture tense with anticipation.

"So, how was lunch with Santiago?" she asks, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her blouse.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the conversation ahead. "It was good. We spoke about you."

Emily's eyes widen, a mix of surprise and wariness flickering across her face. "Really? What did he say about me?" Her voice quivers slightly, betraying her eagerness to know.

"He believes something is not right about the way you forgave him," I say carefully, watching her reaction.

A flash of panic crosses Emily's features. "Really? Why? Did he catch on to my plan?" Worry seeps into her voice, her fingers now gripping the armrests of her chair.

I lean forward, my elbows resting on the polished surface of my desk. "He hasn't yet, but I think it's only a matter of time before he does."

Emily's face falls, disappointment etched in the lines of her frown. "No, I need to make him suffer the way he made me suffer," she insists, her voice laced with bitterness.

I feel a pang of sympathy for both Emily and my brother. "Does he really have to, Emily? Don't get me wrong, I know what my brother did was horrible, but he loves you. I think he's worthy of your forgiveness."

Emily's eyes flash with indignation. "You're just saying this because you're his sister. Your brother doesn't love me. He just sees me as a prize to be won!"

I pause, choosing my words carefully. "I don't think so because Stefano..." As his name leaves my lips, I feel a sharp ache in my chest. Memories of our breakup at the hospital flood my mind, and I can feel tears welling up in my eyes.

"Andrea, are you okay?" Emily's voice softens as she reaches out, her warm hand gently squeezing mine. Concern replaces the anger in her eyes.

I blink rapidly, forcing back the tears. "I'm fine," I manage, quickly wiping away a stray teardrop. Taking a steadying breath, I continue, "He told me that Santiago already won the bet before, so he's not after you to prove a point. He's after you because he truly loves you."

Emily's expression softens, a glimmer of hope breaking through her skepticism. "How sure are you guys that Santiago loves me?"

"I'm 100% sure my brother is in love with you," I assert, my voice filled with conviction.

Emily's shoulders slump slightly, her defenses beginning to crumble. "Even if he is, how am I going to forgive him for what he did?"

I lean back in my chair, my voice gentle but firm. "Forgiveness doesn't happen overnight; it takes time. I believe as long as the person who deceived you is trying to seek your forgiveness, you should always be open to try and forgive that person."

Emily's brow furrows, doubt clouding her features. "It's not that easy, and you might be wrong."

"Emily," I say softly, "it's normal for you to have your doubts if Santiago is sincere or not. I believe he is. You should really think about forgiving him."

She bites her lip, uncertainty evident in her voice. "I don't know; what if you're wrong, and he's only trying to prove a point?"

I meet her gaze, my eyes filled with understanding and encouragement. "Trust me, I'm not. Just think about it. You'll realize that the feelings Santiago has for you are genuine."

After a moment of contemplation, Emily nods slowly. "Alright, I will."

"Thank you," I say, a smile of relief spreading across my face. As Emily leaves my office, I feel a glimmer of hope that she'll realize Santiago's sincerity and give their love another chance.