“Going somewhere?”

Victor. He was there as if he had expected her, falling into step beside her with that same easy confidence she remembered from university.

“I… just lunch,” she said lightly, masking the flicker of unease his presence stirred.

“Lunch,” he repeated, eyes sharp. “I didn’t text, knowing you’d say no. I also knew better.”

They walked side by side, unhurried, past the busy streets and cafés spilling onto the sidewalks. Victor’s tone softened, nostalgic, but firm.

“You know,” he said, “I never stopped thinking about you back then. In uni. I had a crush… and seeing you now, well… it’s still there.”

Soraya tightened her grip on the tote. “Victor… I’m married. That’s not something you can act on.”

A faint smile curved his lips, almost amused. “I know. That’s why I say this: your marriage isn’t real. You never mentioned him once while you were here. I can guess—you signed papers, and your silence now? That’s confirmation enough.”

Across the café, unnoticed at first, Hana’s phone raised slowly. Her fingers hovered for a moment before capturing a perfect shot: Soraya and Victor, walking and talking, close yet careful, the tension in the air palpable even in a frozen image.

Perfect, Hana thought, eyes narrowing. This is exactly what I need. He won’t know until I show it to him in person. She smirked, already plotting how to catch Reian off guard. One look at this, and I’ll see everything in his face—jealousy, suspicion… maybe even anger. Timing is everything.

The rest of the lunch passed with careful conversation, shared memories, the subtle tension of unspoken truths hanging between them. Victor’s every glance, every casual laugh carried a weight Soraya couldn’t ignore. Hana stayed a step removed, watching and calculating, her camera roll full of evidence waiting for the perfect moment.

By the time Soraya returned to the villa, the sun was beginning its slow descent. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat, her mind still replaying Victor’s words. She barely had time to set down her bag before Reian appeared, his expression measured, his voice calm but edged.

“So… what did you think of Victor’s confession today?”

Soraya’s brow arched. “How did that question come up?”

He exhaled sharply, and for a moment, the quiet house felt heavy. “Someone happened to see you two together.”

Her chest tightened, but her face remained composed.

“Since we’re married—by law—you should act like it. No man would be happy seeing his wife… cheat. Or hearing others talk about it.”

Soraya’s gaze sharpened. Her voice, low and steady, cut through the tension. “And I don’t want to hear lectures about loyalty from a man who has his ex living in the same house, cooking meals, and lingering as if nothing’s changed.”

Reian’s jaw tightened. Her words struck harder than he expected—not anger, not surprise, but a raw, unyielding truth.

“We have a name for what we are on paper, Reian,” she said, tilting her head, a faint defiance in her gaze. “But don’t lecture me on fidelity when your own house is full of reminders of the past.”

The room fell silent. Outside, the sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the villa. Inside, two hearts beat with awareness, measuring boundaries, one ignited with jealousy, the other calm but alert.

Hana, already back at the villa, smiled quietly to herself as she slipped the photo into her pocket. She knew exactly when and how she’d use it—seeing Reian’s reaction firsthand was far more satisfying than any text. The seeds of doubt were planted, and she would watch them grow.