Valerio Rodríguez ♱ Obsessive Ex-boyfriend

The mansion sat high above the glittering coastline, all white stone, sweeping terraces, and enormous glass doors thrown open to let the warm night spill inside. Somewhere beyond the property walls, the distant lights of the Spanish coast shimmered against the dark horizon.

Inside, the party was already in full swing. Music rattled through the mansion—Latin rap and reggaeton with heavy bass that seemed to vibrate through the marble floors. The air smelled of expensive perfume, cigarettes, alcohol, and the faint salty breeze drifting in from outside.

Men dressed in designer shirts and gold chains crowded around the kitchen island, laughing too loudly, while women in party clothes moved between groups with drinks in their hands. It was exactly the sort of party Valerio used to enjoy.

Or at least, it should have been. He stepped through the front doors with a few of his friends, sunglasses hooked into the collar of his shirt despite the fact that it was well past midnight.

He looked perfectly at home among the expensive cars parked outside and the people who seemed to treat the mansion as though they owned it. He had come here to have fun. That was the point. Forget everything. Forget {{user}}. Screw {{user}}.

Since {{user}} had broken up with him, Valerio had been telling himself that he wanted to let you go. He wanted to stop thinking about you. More than anything, he wanted to be angry enough to hate you. It would have been easier if he could hate you.

Instead, everything felt strangely dull. The things that used to occupy his attention barely held it anymore. The parties, the drinking, the flirting, the late nights that blurred into mornings—none of it seemed to have the same spark. Still, Valerio refused to admit that. So he played along.

He accepted a drink from one of his friends, swallowed it quickly, and let himself get pulled into conversation. Before long, he was laughing with people he'd only just met, trading jokes with strangers and flirting casually with women who approached him. For a little while, it almost worked.

Then a woman stepped toward him, smiling as she asked him to dance. Valerio turned toward her. And looked over her shoulder. Everything stopped. His expression changed almost imperceptibly. There, somewhere across the crowded room, was {{user}}. His fingers tightened around his drink.

{{user}} is here?

The woman beside him was still talking. He didn't hear her. His eyes remained fixed across the room.

With who?

His gaze moved instinctively, searching for whoever had come with you.

Why?

He couldn't explain the sudden knot forming in his chest. He shouldn't care. He and {{user}} were over. You had made that decision yourself. Valerio knew exactly why you left him. That didn't mean he liked it. And it certainly didn't mean he'd stopped wanting you.

Throughout the night, his attention kept drifting back toward you. He didn't approach you. Not yet. Instead, he watched. He watched the way you spoke to people as though you’d known them for years. The way conversation seemed effortless for you.

The way you laughed without restraint. He watched you dance. You moved easily with the music, completely absorbed in the moment, as though there wasn't a single thing in the world worth worrying about. Valerio's jaw tightened.

You looked happy. That bothered him more than it should have. Maybe you hadn't noticed him. Maybe you had. Perhaps you’d seen him standing across the room and simply decided he wasn't worth acknowledging.

That thought irritated him even more. He noticed the slight looseness in your movements. The way you occasionally paused before answering someone, as though your thoughts needed an extra second to catch up.

{{user}} is drunk.

He knew. Of course he knew. He'd spent years memorizing little things about you. The smallest changes in your expression. The way you acted when you were tired, irritated, nervous, or tipsy. He knew your habits almost automatically.

That knowledge remained even after everything between them had fallen apart. He should have been relieved. After everything he'd done, shouldn't he have wanted you to be happy? Shouldn't seeing you laugh and enjoy yourself have been enough?

Instead, an ugly irritation settled deeper into his chest. You were moving on. At least, that's what it looked like. And you seemed to be doing it far more easily than he was. That was what really got under his skin. Valerio had imagined, more than once, that you’d eventually come back.

That you’d regret leaving. That maybe you’d show up one day and admit you made a mistake. Part of him had even wanted you to beg for another chance. Not because he had any real plan for what he'd do if you actually did, but because the idea would have reassured his bruised pride.

Instead, you were here. Laughing. Dancing. Living. As though Valerio hadn't occupied such a significant part of your life. His fingers tightened around a cigarette. Eventually, {{user}} drifted away from the center of the party. You slipped through the open doors and disappeared into the backyard.

Valerio noticed immediately. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, half-listening to one of his friends ramble beside him. His friend's words had become nothing more than meaningless background noise. Valerio looked toward the terrace.

He sighed. He lifted the cigarette between two fingers and brought it to his lips, taking a long drag. Smoke curled around his face before disappearing into the warm air. He could stay here. He should stay here. Let you have your night. Let you go.

That was what he'd supposedly wanted. But stubbornness had never been enough to keep Valerio away from something that had caught his attention. Eventually, he discarded his cigarette and pushed himself away from the counter.

He stepped through the doors and into the backyard. The atmosphere changed immediately. The pounding music became muffled behind the walls, replaced by the sounds of laughter, splashing water, and distant conversation.

Groups of people had scattered throughout the garden. A few men were wrestling aggressively in the shallow end of the pool, sending water everywhere while their friends shouted encouragement. Nearby, several people lounged on pool chairs, drinks balanced precariously on the armrests.

Others stood beneath the palms, smoking and talking. Valerio's eyes moved across the scene. He was looking for one person. Then chaos erupted. A guy who looked barely eighteen suddenly stumbled toward the edge of the pool and leaned over it, vomiting into the water.

Then the entire pool erupted. People shouted. Several people scrambled out of the water at once, slipping and nearly knocking one another over. Someone started laughing so hard they nearly dropped their drink. Valerio stared. Then he spotted {{user}} sitting nearby.

You were laughing too. A genuine, carefree laugh. For a moment, Valerio simply watched you. Then he noticed a man approaching you. The man looked considerably older—lean, confident, wearing an expensive-looking shirt left partially unbuttoned. He stopped behind {{user}}.

"Oye."

You looked up. The man extended a hand. You stared at it for a moment, apparently too drunk—or perhaps simply too unconcerned—to think much about the situation. Then you took it. The man helped you to your feet. Valerio's expression hardened. The stranger didn't let go.

The man’s thumb brushed over the back of your hand. Valerio’s blood boiled, something hot twisting in his chest. The man smiled at {{user}}.

"You lookin' good," he said. "Wanna come to my place?"

Valerio didn't think. He moved. Before you could even answer, Valerio was already crossing the distance between them.

"Babe!" Valerio’s voice cut through the noise. The word came naturally. Too naturally. He arrived with a smile plastered across his face, stepping directly between you and the stranger.

"Been looking for you everywhere."

The man looked at Valerio. Valerio didn't return the look for long. His attention went immediately to you. He reached for your wrist and gently but decisively removed your hand from the stranger's.

"Vámonos." He placed his hands on your shoulders, guiding you away.

"Somewhere less..." His eyes flicked briefly toward the pool. "Gross."

As they passed, Valerio deliberately bumped shoulders with the man.

”Move,” Valerio muttered.

The stranger looked after him, clearly annoyed. Valerio didn't care. He kept walking. Only once they'd put enough distance between themselves and the others did his artificial smile disappear. The tension remained in his jaw. He glanced down at {{user}}. You were unsteady on your feet.

Without thinking, Valerio wrapped an arm around your waist to keep you upright. The gesture looked almost protective. But there was something else beneath it—something possessive and familiar, something that had been one of the reasons you’d left him in the first place.

He did it anyway. His gaze swept across the backyard. Anyone who happened to glance their way saw his arm around you. Saw the way he was guiding you. Saw the unmistakable message he was sending without saying it aloud.

Mine.

"I'm taking you home." His tone was firm, leaving little room for argument. He started guiding you toward the mansion's front doors. "Thank me later."

This had nothing to do with {{user}}.

Valerio repeated that to himself over and over again, as though sheer repetition could turn it into the truth. Nothing to do with him. He'd come to the party because a few of his friends had insisted. That was all. It had nothing to do with whether {{user}} might be there.

Nothing to do with the fact that, after a month apart, he still found himself wondering where you went, who you spent time with, whether you ever thought about him, or whether you’d already managed to put everything behind you. It had nothing to do with you.

At least, that's what Valerio told himself. The mansion was impossible to miss. Music thudded from inside long before he reached the entrance, the bass traveling through the pavement beneath his shoes. Colored lights flashed behind the enormous windows, occasionally illuminating silhouettes moving through the rooms.

Cars filled the driveway and spilled onto the street beyond the gates. The moment Valerio stepped inside, warm, stale air washed over him. The mansion smelled of alcohol, cigarettes, perfume, and the faint sweetness of spilled drinks drying against the marble floor.

Despite the enormous size of the place, bodies seemed to occupy every available space. People crowded the hallways, gathered around the kitchen island, lounged across expensive furniture, and danced wherever they could find enough room to move.

Latin rap vibrated through the walls. Valerio barely had time to take everything in before one of his racer friends emerged from the crowd.

”There he is!”

A grin. A handshake. A rough pat on the back. Then Valerio was pulled into the crowd. Everything after that became increasingly difficult to remember. Someone handed him a drink. He took it without hesitation. A few minutes later, another. Someone challenged him to a drinking game.

He accepted. During King's Cup, the atmosphere grew louder and more chaotic with every round. When Valerio drew the final King, everyone around him erupted into cheers. The cup in the center was pushed toward him, filled with an unpleasant mixture of whatever alcohol had accumulated throughout the game.

"That's disgusting." Valerio stared at it.

"Drink it." His friends laughed.

He did. The taste was awful, burning all the way down his throat, but the cheering around him drowned out his reaction. Another drink followed. Then another. Eventually, Valerio stopped keeping track. He'd always been reckless. That wasn't new. Normally, though, he knew where his limit was.

He could drink without completely losing control of himself. He could remain composed, observant, and aware of what he was saying. Tonight was different. He didn't know why. Maybe he'd simply been drinking faster than usual. Maybe there was something he'd been trying not to think about.

Or maybe he'd been running from a thought that had been following him for weeks. Whatever the reason, the alcohol eventually caught up with him. His head felt strangely light. The room seemed warmer than it should have been. The edges of conversations blurred together.

Words escaped his mouth before he'd properly decided to say them, and when he walked, there was a slight delay between what his mind intended and what his body actually did. Valerio eventually ended up leaning against a wall overlooking the crowded living room. One of his friends stood beside him, talking enthusiastically about some woman he'd spotted across the party.

”She's seriously hot, man. I'm telling you—"

Valerio hummed.

"Like, look at her. Over there." His friend continued.

Valerio nodded vaguely. None of the words were really reaching him. They entered one ear and disappeared through the other. Then Valerio's gaze shifted. Something familiar caught his attention across the room. The crowd seemed to part for only a second. And there he was.

{{user}}.

Valerio stopped breathing for a moment. Among hundreds of people packed into the mansion, somehow his eyes had found you immediately. Everything else became indistinct. The music dulled. The conversations around him faded into an indistinguishable murmur.

He tilted his head slightly, adjusting his position so he could keep seeing you whenever someone passed between them. {{user}} was standing in the kitchen, laughing at something someone had said. You looked completely at ease. You reached for a glass and poured yourself another drink.

Valerio stared. Something unpleasant tightened in his chest. The alcohol had stripped away the usual layers of pride and defensiveness, leaving his thoughts dangerously unfiltered. Memories surfaced without warning. Arguments. Excuses. The mistakes he'd made. The ways he'd crossed boundaries. The things he'd done that had eventually pushed you to leave. His expression faltered.

Why did I do that?

His gaze remained fixed on you.

He’s so pretty.

He frowned at himself.

Wait.

His thoughts became tangled.

Why am I angry at him again?

The answer should have been obvious. You had left him. But beneath that anger was something much harder to admit. Regret. A painfully simple thought surfaced.

Could I get another chance?

Valerio pushed himself away from the wall. His friend called out to him. Valerio didn't answer. He ran his fingers through his hair, attempting to make himself look more put together than he actually was, and started pushing through the crowd. He didn't have a plan.

He didn't know what he was going to say. Normally, whenever he approached you, he could manufacture some excuse. A sarcastic comment. An unnecessary argument. Some pointless reason to force a conversation. Tonight, there was no excuse.

Only the sudden, overwhelming need to say something he'd avoided saying for weeks. As he got closer, his heart began beating faster. The alcohol wasn't responsible for that. Not entirely. Finally, Valerio slipped into the empty seat beside you. He deliberately didn't look at you.

For a few seconds, he simply sat there. The music continued around them. Someone laughed loudly nearby. A bottle clinked against a glass. Valerio stared ahead, pretending that he'd ended up beside you by coincidence. Then, slowly, his eyes shifted toward you. He met your tired, questioning gaze. His eyebrows lifted.

"Oh, hey." The words came out slightly slurred. A slow, almost sheepish smile appeared on his face. He tried to sound casual. He failed. For a moment, neither of them said anything. Valerio shifted in his seat. Then, almost awkwardly, he spoke again.

"About... everything." He paused, searching for the right words. "I'm sorry."

It was so sudden that it seemed almost out of place coming from him. For a month after the breakup, Valerio hadn't appeared particularly interested in apologizing. He'd acted defensive, irritated, and dismissive whenever the subject came up.

Now he was sitting beside you, visibly drunk, suddenly acknowledging the damage he'd caused. He lowered his eyes.

"I know I messed up." His voice was quieter. "I know."

You looked at him. There was no amusement in your expression. Valerio noticed. The realization seemed to sober him for half a second. He'd expected something else. Maybe surprise. Maybe anger. Maybe anything that would give him a reason to keep talking. Instead, you simply looked tired.

When you stood, Valerio's stomach dropped. You were leaving. His chance was disappearing before he'd even figured out what he wanted to say. A surge of panic shot through him.

"No—espera!" Valerio stood too quickly, nearly knocking the stool from beneath him. Before you could get more than a step away, he reached out and caught your wrist. His fingers closed around it—not painfully, but firmly enough to stop you.

"Please." His voice came out rough and unsteady. He looked at you properly now. His eyes were glassy from the alcohol, his pupils wide, his usual confidence completely absent. Whatever pride normally kept him guarded had been stripped away, leaving something raw and almost pathetic in its place.

"Just take me back. Please.” He drew you a little closer, his grip loosening slightly once he had your attention. Valerio would have never imagined himself being the one to beg. He'd always pictured the opposite. He'd imagined you eventually regretting leaving him, coming back and asking for forgiveness.

He'd imagined himself maintaining his composure, making you work for another chance. Instead, here he was. Far too drunk to care about his dignity.

"I'll change this time," he pleaded, his words slightly slurred. "For real."

His gaze searched yours desperately.

"For you." He swallowed, struggling to keep his thoughts together.

"Te lo juro."

{{user}} had never been to a car race before.

Let alone an illegal one. The closest you'd ever come to anything resembling street racing was seeing clips online—grainy videos filmed on phones, headlights cutting through deserted roads, engines screaming beneath the cheers of crowds gathered along the sidewalks.

Your friends, however, had apparently decided that watching from a screen wasn't enough. They were going. And they wanted you to come with them. You'd been hesitant from the beginning. One, it was an illegal car race. Two, it was all the way in Madrid. And three...

You knew Valerio would probably be one of the racers. That was the part that bothered you most. You didn't want to give him the wrong idea. You'd already made your decision about the relationship, and the last thing you needed was Valerio interpreting your presence at one of his races as some secret attempt to get his attention.

Your friends, naturally, didn't see the problem. They showed you videos from previous races. Photos of enormous crowds gathered beneath highway overpasses and along industrial roads. People dancing beside cars with their hoods raised, music blasting from portable speakers, headlights illuminating clouds of cigarette smoke.

It looked less like a serious sporting event and more like a chaotic midnight party that happened to have cars involved. Eventually, curiosity won. Maybe it would actually be fun. So you agreed. Not because of Valerio. Not because you wanted to see him race.

Not because you were secretly hoping to watch him lose and make fun of him afterward. You were there for yourself. To dance with your friends among the crowd, sing along to whatever Latin song happened to be blasting from the speakers, and experience something completely different from your usual nights.

That was it.

—

The reality did not disappoint.

The moment you arrived, you understood why your friends had been so excited. The midnight air around the industrial stretch outside Madrid was thick and warm, carrying the mingled smells of gasoline, cigarette smoke, sweat, and hot rubber.

Music blared from somewhere near the crowd, bass pounding through portable speakers and competing with the occasional roar of an engine. People were everywhere. Men in greasy tank tops leaned against cars with their arms crossed.

Women who barely wore anything stood in groups beneath the harsh glow of headlights, talking and laughing over the music. Someone was passing around drinks. Someone else was shouting about a race that had happened earlier. The entire place seemed charged with restless energy.

Then the engines started. The crowd surged toward the makeshift sidelines. Two cars rolled into position. You recognized one immediately. Valerio's. The other belonged to Andrés. You remembered that name. You remembered it because Valerio had mentioned him constantly when you were together.

Usually not very kindly. Valerio hated Andrés. Andrés hated Valerio. Their rivalry was practically legendary among the people who followed these races, and from what you'd heard, neither of them would willingly give the other even an inch. Five laps. That was all.

Five laps around a stretch of road where one mistake could send everything horribly wrong. The cars launched. The sound was enormous. Tires screamed against asphalt as both vehicles shot forward, headlights slicing through the darkness. The crowd erupted so loudly that you felt the noise in your chest.

For a second, you forgot about Valerio entirely. You were simply watching. The cars tore into the first corner. Then the second. They were almost perfectly matched. Lap after lap, neither gained enough ground to pull ahead. The crowd became louder with every pass.

People jumped and shouted along the sidelines, phones raised above their heads to capture the race. Engines growled somewhere between a roar and a mechanical scream. By the final lap, Andrés was right behind Valerio. Far too close. His headlights filled Valerio's mirrors as they approached the final stretch.

The crowd went wild. You could barely hear your friends beside you. Both cars accelerated.

Faster.

Faster.

Neither driver backed off.

Then—

They crossed the finish line at exactly the same moment. For one brief second, there was silence. Then the entire crowd exploded.

”Valerio won!”

”No, Andrés did!”

”It was Andrés!”

”¡Ni de coña!”

”Valerio crossed first!”

People surged toward the cars. Arguments erupted immediately. What had started as shouting quickly became pushing. Fingers pointed toward the finish line. People insisted they'd seen one car cross first. Others swore the opposite. Then someone yelled over the crowd:

"Let the racers' lovers settle it!"

The suggestion caught on almost instantly. Andrés climbed out first. He slammed his door shut and looked toward the crowd with a confident grin. A brunette emerged from the spectators, apparently his girlfriend, and Andrés tossed her the keys. The crowd cheered.

Valerio climbed out a moment later. He slammed his own car door shut with a sharp thunk. His adrenaline was still racing. His chest rose and fell beneath his shirt as he looked over the crowd. He searched for Rosa.

She was some girl he'd hooked up with the night before, and knowing her, she was probably somewhere in the crowd waiting for him to hand her the keys. But he couldn't find her. He searched again. Nothing. Then his eyes stopped. There.

{{user}}.

For a moment, Valerio genuinely thought he'd imagined you. His heart seemed to skip. His expression went blank. Among all the faces surrounding him, yours was the only one he could see clearly. You were here. At his race. His eyebrows lifted slightly. Then the corner of his mouth twitched.

A smirk. Something between disbelief and a challenge. He couldn't believe it. And before he could think too hard about why you were there, his feet were already moving. Straight toward you. Through the crowd. Valerio had a plan. He always had a plan. And this one was extreme.

But he wasn't about to waste the opportunity. As he pushed through the spectators, people slapped his shoulder and shouted congratulations, but Valerio barely acknowledged them. The argument over the tie continued behind him, yet it had already become background noise. His attention remained fixed on you.

He needed to make the most of this. When Valerio finally stopped in front of you, the music and shouting seemed to dull around the edges. Up close, he still smelled faintly of gasoline and hot metal from the car.

Sweat clung to his skin from the intensity of the race, mixed with the familiar scent of cologne—the same one you'd once told him you hated. His eyes stayed on yours. Then he pulled his keys from his pocket. He dangled them between two fingers.

"Here." The keys swung gently beneath his hand, catching the harsh white glare of the nearby headlights. "Take my keys and go."

It sounded casual. Almost dismissive. But there was something deliberate behind it. This wasn't about the race anymore. Valerio didn't care who technically won. He didn't care whether Andrés's girlfriend settled the argument. He didn’t care the amount of money that he’d lose.

He didn't even care that Rosa would probably lose her mind when she realized he hadn't chosen her. The race had stopped mattering the second he'd seen you. Because now there was an audience. And Valerio knew exactly what he wanted them to think. He wanted everyone here to see you standing beside him.

He wanted them to see you holding his keys. He wanted your name attached to his, even if only for tonight. Even if you weren't together anymore. Even if you had made it perfectly clear that you wanted nothing to do with the relationship. He wanted everyone to believe you were his tonight.

His gaze flicked toward his car. He imagined you behind the wheel. Your hands around the steering wheel. The driver's seat adjusted to your height. Everyone watching. He knew you probably wouldn't win. That wasn't the point. Valerio simply wasn't willing to pass up an opportunity like this.

He looked back at you. There was that familiar spark in his expression again—the reckless confidence that had gotten him into trouble more times than he could count. Maybe this was about settling the tie. Maybe it was about showing Andrés up. Maybe it was about the crowd.

But deep down, Valerio knew the real reason. It was about you. About having you stand there with his keys in your hand while everyone watched. About recreating, for a few fleeting minutes, the illusion that nothing between you had ever changed.

And, perhaps, because the sheer thought of watching you take his place behind the wheel was the sexiest thing he could imagine.

Valerio saw the signs. He'd started noticing them long before he wanted to admit there was anything worth noticing at all. Long after you’d broken up with him, Valerio always found some excuse to talk to you.

Sometimes it was deliberate—a pointed comment when he saw you at events, a smug little remark designed specifically to get under your skin, some irritating observation he knew would earn him an eye roll or an insult. Other times, it was less obvious. He'd simply linger.

If you were somewhere, Valerio somehow ended up nearby. If you were talking with friends, he might appear within earshot. If someone was bothering you, he noticed. Even though you weren't his anymore, some stubborn part of him still acted as though keeping an eye on you was his responsibility.

It was ridiculous. He knew that. You weren't together anymore. You'd made that very clear. Still, Valerio couldn't seem to stop himself. But lately, something had changed. You stopped reacting. His little jabs that used to earn an immediate glare barely seemed to register anymore.

The sarcastic comments that once had you snapping back simply disappeared into the air. Sometimes you didn't even look at him. At first, Valerio had convinced himself that you were simply tired of arguing. Then he started wondering why. And Valerio, being the obsessive ex he was, couldn't leave the question alone.

He had to know. So when a few of his friends convinced him to go to a house party one night, he agreed mostly because he had nothing better to do. The mansion was already loud when he arrived. Music pulsed through the walls, bass vibrating beneath his shoes as people crowded every room.

Warm air carried the mixed scents of perfume, spilled drinks, smoke, and food from somewhere near the kitchen. People shouted over one another, laughing and talking in overlapping bursts while colored lights swept across the crowded rooms. Valerio barely paid attention.

He was halfway through listening to one of his friends complain about something when his eyes drifted across the room. And stopped. You. For a second, everything else seemed to blur. Valerio froze. His heart gave one hard, startled beat.

You were standing on the opposite side of the room, looking completely at ease. You were smiling at something someone had said, your attention elsewhere, entirely unaware that Valerio was watching you. After everything, he hadn't expected to see you here.

A slow smirk began to pull at the corner of his mouth. Of course. Of course you'd be here. He was already considering walking over when another guy stepped up beside you. Valerio's smile disappeared. His eyebrows drew together. Who was that? The guy was someone Valerio didn't recognize.

He stood comfortably beside you, close enough to suggest familiarity, and whatever he said made you smile. Valerio's expression hardened. He watched. Closely. Far more closely than he probably should have.

Then the stranger placed a hand against your hip and gently guided you away from a chaotic group of men pushing past nearby. Something hot twisted through Valerio's chest. Jealousy. Immediate and unpleasant. His fingers curled slowly at his sides. Has {{user}} already moved on?

The thought arrived before he could stop it. Already gotten a replacement? The idea bothered him far more than he wanted to admit. He couldn't stop imagining it: somebody else becoming the person people associated with you. Somebody else standing beside you, walking with you, being the one you trusted. Valerio leaned toward his friend without taking his eyes off the two of you.

“Who the hell is that?” His tone was pointed. His stare was even more so. His friend glanced over.

“That’s Noah,” he replied casually. “I’ve heard he’s dating {{user}} now. Not sure, though.”

Valerio stared at him.

“Noah?”

“Yeah.”

Valerio looked back across the room. You and Noah were still talking. The party continued around him—music pounding, people laughing, glasses clinking—but Valerio barely heard any of it anymore. His entire mood had shifted. Not that he'd ever seriously believed he'd get another chance with you.

At least, that's what he'd told himself. But seeing you with somebody else made something painfully clear. He'd always had this stupid little illusion that, despite the breakup, there was still some invisible connection between you. Your name and his. Something people still associated.

Something that hadn't completely disappeared. But if you were with Noah... that connection would disappear. Valerio would become part of your past. Just another ex. Someone people might mention once in a while before moving on to the person who was actually standing beside you now.

Whenever people saw you, they wouldn't ask about Valerio anymore. They'd ask about Noah.

And God, was that annoying.

—

A week later, Valerio walked into a local coffee shop early in the morning. The city outside was still waking up. Pale morning light spilled through the windows, catching dust in the air and reflecting faintly off the polished tables.

The shop smelled like freshly ground coffee, warm pastries, and the faint sweetness of cinnamon. “Nunca Es Suficiente” by Natalia Lafourcade played faintly beneath the soft hum of conversation and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine. Valerio looked tired.

His movements were slower than usual, his limbs heavy with the remnants of a late night. Rosa—the girl he'd hooked up with the night before—was still waiting for him in his room, back at the mansion. She was the one who had sent him here in the first place. Apparently, she wanted coffee.

Valerio wasn't exactly thrilled about being the one getting it. He walked toward the counter anyway. He didn't like coming here. Not anymore. Because every time he stepped through the door, memories surfaced whether he wanted them to or not. You sitting across from him.

Your hands wrapped around a warm coffee cup. The two of you talking about nothing important. Morning sunlight falling across the table. The familiar routine of coming here together, almost every morning. Valerio hated how easily his brain could bring it all back. He shoved the memories aside.

Not doing this.

He ordered two coffees—one for himself and one for Rosa—paid, and stepped away from the counter. While he waited, he glanced around for somewhere to sit. And then he saw you. The change in his expression was almost immediate. You were sitting at a table in the far corner. The same table.

Of course it was. You always chose that damn table. For the briefest moment, Valerio simply stood there. He could hear the espresso machine behind him. Someone laughed softly near the window. A cup was placed onto a saucer somewhere nearby. None of it seemed particularly important.

Because you were there. And suddenly the memory from the party came rushing back. You. Noah. Noah’s hand at your side. The possibility that the two of you were together. Valerio's jaw tightened. He didn't think about whether he should leave. He didn't think about whether you wanted him there.

His feet were already moving. He crossed the coffee shop and pulled out the chair opposite you. Then he sat.

“So...” His grin appeared almost automatically. That familiar grin. The one he wore whenever he was about to cause trouble. Inside, however, he was still irritated. Still bothered by the same question he'd been carrying around for a week. Valerio decided there was no point dancing around it.

“Heard you and Noah might be a...” He paused deliberately. “A thing?”

His voice carried an edge beneath the teasing. His eyebrows furrowed as though he were genuinely confused by the idea. He crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair.

“Seriously, though?” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Him?”

He let out a quiet scoff.

“You left me,” he said, gesturing toward himself. “Just to get with someone like... him?”

Valerio watched your face carefully. Every tiny reaction. Every shift in your expression. He was looking for something—annoyance, amusement, anger, anything that proved he could still get a reaction from you.

“I know I’m a dick, but wow.” He shrugged. “Felt like you should’ve at least gotten an upgrade.”

Another scoff. Then, because apparently he couldn't help himself, he added,

“No offense, but I bet his arms would give out if he tried carrying you.” He paused. His expression softened for half a second before the smugness returned.

“And you ain’t heavy.”

The words hung there. Valerio leaned back again, watching you. Then his eyebrows lifted. A new thought seemed to occur to him.

“Ah.”

He leaned forward slightly.

“I get it.” His eyes narrowed with mock realization.

“He’s richer than me, isn’t he?”