Morning light slipped through the thin white curtains of Eve’s old apartment, painting golden lines across the small wooden table where breakfast was already set. The smell of butter, garlic and freshly-brewed coffee filled the air.
Camila was humming softly, arranging cutlery while Mitre flipped a skillet of eggs with exaggerated concentration. It felt simple, domestic, peaceful in a way Ryan had never truly experienced before.
Eve laughed as Camila fussed over her plate, piling on fruit and toast like she was feeding a child.
“Dios mío, hija,” Camila scolded affectionately, “you’re eating for two. Don’t argue with me.”
Ryan smiled faintly, sipping his coffee in silence. For once, he didn’t feel like the heir of an empire or the son of scandal. Sitting here, watching his wife tease h
