Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

MAYA POV

I never liked silence. Silence is dangerous. When everything gets too quiet, my mind talks too loud - and it's not like I want to listen. So I learned to fill every space in my life with noise: parties, flashes, fake laughter, glasses that hit other glasses, the snat of a lighter lighting another cigarette, the phone vibrating with another notification. Anything not to listen to your own tired breath, your heart stumbling on rhythms that shouldn't exist.

I've been an actress since I was eighteen. Famous since I was twenty. Always scandalous. Not that I want to - at least not the way the headlines tell. But if a camera catches me stumbling at four in the morning at the exit of a bar, of course it becomes "young actress in another night of excesses". No one cares if I was laughing at a dull joke Andy told, or if I was just trying to forget the feeling that my chest could explode at any moment.

Andy is my agent, my friend, my babysitter, my human alarm. Without her, I would probably have already become a tragic legend, another one of those stars that shine brightly and burn fast. She is the only one who knows the truth, the only one who knows the diagnosis that I hide from the rest of the world. Dilated cardiomyopathy. It even seems beautiful when you speak fast, but in practice it's too tired a heart for my age. A muscle that can't stand to keep up with me. A cruel reminder that no matter how high I climb, the fall can come at any second.

I should take medicine. You should sleep more, drink less, never touch a cigarette. You should. But the problem is that living like this... really living... sometimes it hurts more than dying slowly. And dying slowly is exactly what I feel like I'm doing, so why not run against the clock?

- Maya, please - Andy grumbles, snatching the cigarette from my hand and putting it out on the edge of the wine glass. - It's seven in the morning. You have a rehearsal at nine.

I roll my eyes, leaning on the roof sofa that never seems to have enough walls to hold me. The sky of Los Angeles is clear, curtains open, and yet everything seems foggy.

- Relax, Andy. It's Vogue, it's not open heart surgery.

She looks at me in a way that only she knows. The look that mixes exasperation and fear, as if at any second I would collapse in front of her.

- You say that as if it were a joke - she replies. - But you know very well what can happen.

- You can, but you won't - I say, firm, even feeling my heart beat out of the beat just for the effort to argue. I put my hand on my chest, disguising it with a yass. - I know my limits.

Andy snorts. - No, Maya. That's the problem. You don't know.

I know she wants to continue. I know that inside it there is a whole speech, ready to remind me of the medicines forgotten in the drawer, the appointments that I cancel, the promises I make and don't keep. But Andy also knows that nothing enters my head when I'm like this, closed. Then she sighs, gets up and picks up her cell phone.

- I'll order coffee. You have ten minutes to get up.

Ten minutes. I laugh. As if ten minutes were enough to fix a life.

The Vogue studio is an organized chaos. Photographers scream, assistants run, hangers creak with dresses that cost more than cars. I walk through them as if I were at home, although I know that, inside, each step is heavier than it should be. The high heels don't help, but it's not the heel that makes me want to stop and take a deep breath. It's the heart, throbbing, asking for air.

- Maya! - the photographer, a thin Frenchman with hurricane energy, claps his hands. - You look divine! Hair, makeup, light - perfect. Let's rock today.

I smile, because smiling is automatic. I really smile when I feel like I can't fill my lungs. I smile because that's what they expect from me.

Andy is leaning against the corner, arms crossed, eyes fixed on me like a sentry. She knows. You always know. But she also knows that if she opens her mouth now, I'll get angry.

Change of dress. I sit down for makeup. I listen to the comments: "she's beautiful up close", "it doesn't even look like she's twenty-five", "how does she always manage to be impeccable?". Little do you know that under the foundation and lipstick there is a tired skin, and behind the pose there is a body that barely sustains itself.

- Come on, dear, eyes on me! - the photographer asks.

The light of the flashes is almost like an explosion, each flash hits me like a small punch. Blinking too much would denounce, so I open my eyes wide, trying to look intense. The heart stumbles. I feel the cold sweat running down the back of my neck, even in the cold air conditioning.

- Is everything okay? - Andy asks during the change of scenery, quietly, just for me.

- It always is - I lie, fixing the tight dress that squeezes my chest more than it should.

She narrows her eyes. I deviate.

Back on the set, the photographer asks for more dramatic poses. "Lite on the velvet couch, tilt your head, look as if the world were yours." I obey, because I know how to obey. But every time I get up, my stomach spins. Every time I smile, I feel my heart fail a little more.

- Any one more, Maya! Just one more click - he asks.

I take a step forward. The heel meets the soft carpet, but my legs don't obey. The world turns. I try to inspire, but it's as if the air had been stolen.

- Maya? - Andy is close, but his voice sounds distant, as if he came under water.

Pisco. The studio blurs. The heart shoots, then fails, then shoots again. My body doesn't keep up.

- Maya!

Her scream is the last thing I hear before the ground swallows me.

When I open my eyes, there are faces on me. Assistants in panic, the photographer muttering something in French, Andy kneeling next to me. I feel the metallic taste in my mouth, as if I had bitten my own tongue. The chest hurts, not like a stab, but like an unbearable weight.

- No... don't call anyone - I murmur, trying to sit down.

- Have you gone crazy? - Andy holds me tight. - You fainted in the middle of a rehearsal, Maya!

- I'm fine - I insist, even though I know I'm not. I try to move her hands away, but my strength doesn't cooperate. - You don't need a doctor.

She stares at me with a despair that cuts me. - You need Teddy. Now.

My heart freezes, more by name than by physical pain. Teddy. My doctor, my silent confidant. The only one, besides Andy, who knows the extent of the tragedy that is my body.

- No - I protest, weak. - Andy, no...

- Maya - her voice breaks, firm and at the same time pleading. - I'm not going to watch you kill yourself. Not anymore.

I try to laugh, but it comes out like a hiccup. - You don't understand. I don't want to be a burden.

- So be my job. Be my problem. But don't be the body I bury before thirty.

Silence. Everyone in the studio is around, but it's as if only the two of us existed.

- Andy... - I whisper, tired.

She already has her cell phone in her hand, dialing.

And I know that no matter how much I ask, how much I deny, the decision has already been made. Teddy will know. Seattle is waiting for me.

Chapter Text

MAYA POV

Andy holds the cell phone like someone holding a gun. I see her fingers tremble, but the determination in her eyes is unshakable. I try to stretch my hand to stop it, but the arm looks like lead. The heart beats as if it had run a marathon without training for it.

- Andy... no. Please don't call her.

She looks at me quickly, before taking the phone to her ear. - Shut up, Maya. You'll thank me later.

I laugh without humor, then coughing. - I'm not going, no.

I hear the call tone. Then, Teddy's calm and firm voice crosses the line. Andy immediately changes her tone, her posture, as if a part of her had finally found support.

- Teddy? It's Andy. Maya fainted again.

I close my eyes, biting my lip until I taste blood. She didn't need to say "again". This "again" takes away the little dignity that was left.

- How is she? - I hear Teddy's voice through the speakerphone. She seems both worried and practical, as if she were ready to act.

- Conscious, but... weak. And pale.

- Give it to her. Now.

Andy puts his cell phone to my ear, and for a second I think about keeping quiet, pretending I can't talk. But my friend's warm breath on my shoulder forces me to open my mouth.

- Hi, doctor - I murmur, with a tired smile that she can't see. - I bet you'll say "I warned you".

- I won't waste time with sermons - Teddy answers, firm. - You're coming to Seattle. Today.

- Today? - I laugh, as if it were a joke. - Teddy, I have a contract, I have...

- You have a heart that can stop at any time - she cuts, without hesitation. - It's no longer a matter of choice, Maya. That's it or you'll die in the middle of any photo set.

Her words are sharp, but in a strange way they comfort me. Someone needs to be hard on me, and no one does it better than Teddy.

- Don't dramatize... - I try, but my voice fails.

- This is not drama, it's medicine. Andy, take her to the airport. I will organize everything to receive you here.

- I'm already doing this - Andy assures.

- Good. And Maya... - Teddy's voice softens, almost imperceptible. - Don't make me go there to pick you up.

I close my eyes. I swallow dryly. - Okay.

The call ends. The entire studio seems to have held its breath, waiting for some sign that the show will continue. The photographer approaches, cautious, as if I were made of glass.

- Honey, if you don't feel well, we can reschedule...

- Reschedule? - Andy practically growls. - She almost fell hard on the floor! Of course we'll reschedule.

I feel the weight of Andy's hands helping me to get up. My body protests, my legs trembling as if they were made of sand. The flashes stopped, and for the first time in a long time, I don't miss them.

The car is silent. Andy drives with both hands firmly on the steering wheel, as if the force with which he holds was the same that keeps me alive. I observe the city of Los Angeles passing through the window. Everything seems at the same time so alive and so distant.

- You should hate me - I say, breaking the silence.

Andy doesn't take his eyes off the road. - Sometimes I really hate it.

I give a half smile. - Thank you for your honesty.

- But I love you more than I hate. And that's what prevents me from giving up on you.

I turn my face to the window, blinking to hold the tears that threaten to fall. The world outside keeps running, and I feel stuck in time, frozen.

- I don't deserve it - I whisper.

- Don't start, Maya.

- I don't deserve you, I don't deserve Teddy, I don't deserve anyone trying to save me from myself.

Andy sighs, tapping lightly on the steering wheel. - And who decides that, huh? You? You are not a judge of your own life.

- Maybe I am.

- Maybe not. You're just a twenty-five-year-old girl with more pain than you should be, but you're still just a girl.

Her words hit me hard. Girl. That's how she sees me. That's how everyone sees me, maybe. As if I were a child who doesn't know how to deal with his own choices.

- I hate it when you talk like that.

- And I hate it when you smoke hidden in the hotel bathroom at three in the morning - she replies, quickly. - We're tied.

Silence returns. But this time it's not heavy. It's just silence.

At the airport, Andy takes control of everything. Check-in, luggage, boarding priority. I follow like a shadow, letting her guide every step. The sunglasses hide my tired eyes, but they can't hide the pallor of the skin.

While we wait for the flight, Andy moves away to solve something on the phone. I'm alone in the VIP room armchair, staring at a glass of water as if it were alcohol. My hands are shaking. The heart beats in an irregular rhythm, and each beat out of place is a cruel reminder of what awaits me in Seattle.

A family passes by me. A young couple with a girl of about six years old, who runs around the room with a scandalous laugh. I observe her by instinct, and for a second I feel jealous of the freedom she carries. I think about when I was that age. I think about my father teaching me how to ride a bike. I think about how simple everything was, before it became a headline, before the heart failed.

- Don't look like that, you'll scare the child - Andy comes back, delivering a package of medicines he bought at the airport pharmacy.

I roll my eyes. - As if I had the face of an evil witch.

- You look like someone who doesn't take the medicine.

- I won't take it.

- Yes, it will. Or I'll stick it down your throat.

Rio, choking at the end. Andy doesn't think it's funny. She opens the package, puts two pills in my hand and crosses her arms, waiting.

- I don't believe that... - I murmur.

- Believe it because it's real. Now take it.

I look at her. For the pills. For the girl who is still running around the room, laughing. I swallow dry, put the pills in my mouth and drink the water.

Andy sighs, relieved. - See? It wasn't that difficult.

- You're unbearable.

- And you're alive. So I think I'm winning.

On the plane, the world compresses. I've always liked to fly, but today I feel like every meter above the ground was a threat. Andy insists on taking the window, perhaps to prevent me from looking down. I close my eyes, trying to sleep, but my heart won't let me.

- Are you scared? - Andy asks, quietly.

- By plane? - I open one eye. - I've traveled more than the entire crew together.

- That's not what I asked.

Silence.

I take a deep breath, feeling the irregularity inside my chest. - I'm afraid it's too late.

She holds my hand under the thin blanket that the company offers. - It's not too late. Not yet.

I look at her. For the firmness, for the faith that insists on carrying for me.

- Do you always believe that?

- Always. Because if I don't believe it, who will?

And, for the first time in a long time, I let someone hold me. I let Andy be the shield. I close my eyes.

Seattle is waiting for me. Teddy is waiting for me. And, although I still don't know, so does someone else.

Chapter Text

POV CARINA

The hospital never really sleeps, but at the most critical times the routine gains another rhythm: every second seems faster, each decision carries more weight. I was finishing the review of some heart tests when I heard on the radio the arrival of a patient from Los Angeles, directly from a Vogue essay. My heart beat faster - not because of the clinical danger, but because of the curiosity that the situation aroused.

- Dr. DeLuca - said the radio voice, clear and firm. - Patient coming, emergency out of the standard.

I sighed, adjusting the coat. Teddy was still in surgery, and the responsibility fell entirely on me. Cardiologist like her, I knew the protocols, but I also knew the limits of improvisation when the patient refused to cooperate.

When Maya came in accompanied by Andy, the first thing that struck me was the intensity of her gaze. Sarcastic, dramatic, challenging - each movement seemed rehearsed to impress and test limits. Hollywood's glamour is still intact, despite the evident pallor and irregular breathing.

- Dr. DeLuca - said Andy, trying to ease the tension. - Sorry for the chaos. I know she's not easy.

I nodded, keeping the calm that my work required. - Understood. Let's work with what we have.

Maya crossed her arms, leaning on the stretcher like challenging an invisible authority. - Hello, doctor. I don't know if you're prepared to treat me, but... well, try.

There was a moment of silence, and I noticed that even Andy was speechless. Maya Bishop doesn't do favors. She doesn't surrender. Not voluntarily.

- I don't need treatment - she said, sarcasm carrying every word. - I just want to wait for Teddy. She understands me.

I looked at Andy, who gave a slight resigned sigh. - She will wait for Teddy, yes, but in the meantime... we need to check the vital signs, Maya.

She rolled her eyes and muttered something inaudible, as if all the protocols were a personal affront.

- Let's start - I said, ignoring her resistance. - It's important to make sure you're stable until the doctor arrives.

Maya arched an eyebrow, clearly finding the situation absurd. - Do you think you know more about my own body than I do?

Every word of hers was a challenge, and I had to hold back from letting out a sarcastic laugh. Ignorance is not a crime, but obstinacy can be fatal.

While adjusting the heart monitors, Bailey entered discreetly, followed by Andy. Both worked to ensure that no photographer or journalist approached. Maya's fame was an ongoing problem, and keeping the press away required constant attention.

- I don't want any reporter to see this - said Andy, with a tone that mixed urgency and tiredness. - If this leaks, I don't even want to imagine the headline.

- Understood - I said, focusing on the equipment and trying to keep the patient calm.

Maya sighed dramatically, as if every monitoring movement was a personal torture. - Did you know that I can die like this, in the middle of a photo shoot? How exciting.

- Except that you won't - I said, firm, keeping my patience. - We just need to control the heart rate until Teddy arrives.

Meanwhile, Amelia came in to observe, and I couldn't help us starting to comment softly on the futility of Maya's life, an attempt to relieve tension.

- Did you see the last one in the magazine? - Amelia said, leaning against the wall. - Maya Bishop would have argued with the fashion director because someone dared to praise another actress in a magazine photo shoot.

I rolled my eyes, trying not to laugh. - It's unbelievable. Everything is a scandal for her. A simple compliment becomes news.

- And yet everyone loves her - Amelia commented, with an ironic smile. - Hollywood loves drama, and she delivers on a tray.

Maya heard something from our comment and snorted, but Andy quickly diverted his attention, reminding us that we needed to maintain the professional facade.

Finally, Teddy entered the room, with that calm and firm way that only she has. Her gaze met mine, and a slight nod confirmed that I had kept the situation under control.

- Maya - said Teddy, approaching the stretcher. - Ready to talk?

- Ready to suffer with you, yes - replied Maya, with sharp sarcasm, crossing her arms. - Dr. DeLuca can stay there and watch if you want.

Teddy gave me a quick look, explaining without words that it was better for me to retreat for now. I just nodded, keeping my distance while the doctor started the direct care.

- Andy, - said Teddy, in a firm tone, - thank you for taking care of everything so far.

Andy sighed, relieved. - I thank you, doctor. I tried to avoid any chaos in the press.

While Teddy explained Maya's entire medical history, including dilated cardiomyopathy and fainting episodes, I watched Maya cross her arms, half-closed eyes, clearly impatient and resistant. Every word of Teddy seemed ignored, every technical advice, disdained. She was difficult. Unbearable, sometimes ignorant - but also fascinating in her intensity, in the way she challenged every authority who tried to help her.

- Maya, - said Teddy, firm - we need to start monitoring your heartbeats closely.

- Yes, yes, I get it - she replied, rolling her eyes with dramatic theatricality. - You all love to treat me like a patient, don't you?

I couldn't help but notice the irony in your comments. It was impossible not to feel a mixture of frustration and curiosity. This resistance, this combination of sarcasm and vulnerability, made her unpredictable.

Andy muttered an apology to me, in a low tone, almost as if asking permission for the patience she had spent so far. - Sorry, Carina. She really is... intense.

I nodded, without giving up the professional posture. - No problem. It's part of the job.

While Teddy led Maya through the evaluation process, Amelia and I continued to observe discreetly, commenting on the futility that involved each gesture of the actress. Every scandal, every exaggeration was a distraction from what really mattered: the fragility of her body.

- She really thinks she can challenge everyone - I murmured to Amelia. - Ignores rules, ignores medical advice, ignores even her own health.

- And yet the world follows her - Amelia replied, laughing lightly. - Hollywood turns her into an icon, but she's just a scared girl.

While Teddy finished the initial exams and adjusted the necessary medication, I realized that, although Maya was impossible to predict, there was something about her that aroused attention - not only as a patient, but as a person. The sarcasm, the resistance, the apparent futility hid something deeper, something that was beginning to emerge, despite the facade of glamour and chaos.

And there, in that hospital room, between monitors and devices, invisible paparazzi carefully avoided and discreet comments about Hollywood scandals, something began to change. The patient who refused to cooperate, the actress who ignored the signs of her own body, and the doctor who used to keep her distance from everything that was emotional, were about to find themselves at a level that no hospital routine could prepare.

The tension was palpable, but it also carried a strange expectation. Something said that this would not be just another medical case. It would be a meeting point between two different worlds - chaos and order, drama and rationality, vulnerability and control.

And while Maya continued her silent war against treatment, I knew that, somehow, that battle would be just the beginning.

Chapter Text

POV CARINA

Maya was lying on the stretcher, arms crossed, eyes half-closed, displaying every nuance of her personal drama as if it were a rehearsed performance. Teddy adjusted the monitors with firm hands, analyzing each heartbeat, every oscillation, every sign that indicated extreme fragility. The tension in the air was palpable.

- Maya - Teddy began, firm, but without losing his temper - we need to monitor his vital signs continuously. This is not optional.

Maya sighed in an exaggerated, almost theatrical way. - Oh, what a pleasure! Finally, you realized that my life is in the hands of competent doctors. What a thrill!

I remained silent for a few seconds, observing her every reaction. Every snort, every eye roll, every sarcastic gesture was an attempt to control the situation, to mask the fear that clearly consumed her.

- Let's start with the basics - Teddy continued, checking blood pressure and connecting the heart monitor electrodes. - I need to make sure you are stable until we can decide the next steps.

- Is it stable? - Maya asked, with an ironic tone that mixed challenge and tiredness. - I thought I was about to die at any moment, but apparently not yet. What a relief.

- The severity of your condition is no joke - I replied, observing each sign. - The dilated cardiomyopathy you have puts your life at risk if you don't take care of yourself.

- I know, I know - replied Maya, arching an eyebrow. - You've heard this song before, haven't you? Doctors and agents worried about my health. How original.

Teddy approached her with the prescription of the necessary medicine. - Maya, you need to take this now. We can't wait.

- Take what? - she asked, sarcastically. - Do you want me to swallow my Hollywood life in a pill?

- Exactly - Teddy replied, firm. - This medicine is essential to control arrhythmia. And you will stay in the hospital for at least 24 hours, at absolute rest, for monitoring.

Maya sighed dramatically, as if the whole world had conspired against her. - 24 hours? At the hospital? Really? What a medieval torture!

- It's a security measure - I explained, keeping calm, but unable to hide the frustration that her ignorance aroused. - And you're not negotiating.

Andy, next to him, muttered apologies softly, almost asking for silent permission for all the resistance that the patient presented. - Sorry, Carina... she really is... complicated.

- I noticed - I replied, with a restrained smile, trying to balance patience and criticism. - Difficult, sarcastic and ignorant. But still, patient.

Maya, of course, wouldn't let the situation pass without protest. - Ignorant? How dare you, Dr. DeLuca! I know exactly what I'm doing... more or less.

- More or less is not enough - Teddy replied, calmly, but firmly that did not admit discussion. - You will take the medicine now and you will be under observation. It's for your own safety.

She snorted, leaning back, crossing her legs with difficulty on the stretcher. - It's so exciting... the hospital, the medication, the medical team paying attention to my every breath. Hollywood has never been so intense.

While Teddy administered the medicine, I observed Maya's every expression, every dramatic sigh, every defiant look. It was impossible not to notice the mixture of vulnerability and audacity, the sarcasm covering the real fear, the resistance hiding the need for care.

- And don't think you can leave before 24 hours - Teddy continued, firmly -. Any escape attempt will be intercepted.

Maya gave me a look that was, at the same time, challenging and almost pleading. - You are unbearable. But apparently... effective.

I rolled my eyes discreetly, without losing my composure. - Difficult, sarcastic and dramatic. I got it. But if you want to leave here early, the math of your heart does not allow negotiations.

Andy sighed with relief, realizing that the situation was beginning to stabilize, even though the patient still protested in every word.

- Dr. DeLuca - said Teddy, lowering his voice to me - thank you for supervising while I was in surgery. You kept the situation under control.

- Always - I replied, focused on the patient and the monitors. - But Maya Bishop is really a complex case. Difficult to deal with, sarcastic to the extreme, ignorant about the real risks.

She snorted again, but the tension on her shoulders began to diminish, even if the sarcasm remained as a shield. Andy fixed the chair next to the stretcher, maintaining vigilance and ensuring that no journalist approached. Bailey discreetly took care of the door, while Amelia made low comments, sharing a dose of ironic humor about Maya's futile life.

Maya snorted once again, crossing her arms and closing her eyes, but now without the same aggressive disdain of the beginning. Teddy finished administering the medicine, checking the vital signs again.

- Everything is within expectations now - Teddy said, finally. - But rest is mandatory. No discussion. 24 hours.

She sighed, dramatically, but this time there was a reluctant acceptance. - Right, right... 24 hours of hospital glamour.

I stood next to her, watching the patient who, despite being sarcastic, dramatic and resistant, was now under care, minimal forced collaboration. And while she was breathing, with her heart monitored and her life a little safer, I realized that this was just the beginning of something much more intense - not only in the medical field, but in the complex relationship that would form between us.

Chapter Text

MAYA POV

Flashback

"The world always seemed bigger than I could reach when I was a child. I grew up in a house full of laughter, chocolate cake smells and invented stories before bed. My parents were my safe haven, the anchor that kept me firm while I tried to understand who I was. When I was sixteen, everything changed. An accident, fast and cruel, snatched me from them, and suddenly I was alone, without maps, without a compass, only with the emptiness and the feeling that no one else could protect me.

The first months were a blur of silence, hidden tears, and endless nights staring at the ceiling, trying to convince myself that it was a nightmare that I could still wake up. But reality settled with a force that I couldn't deny: my parents wouldn't come back. And I, just a scared girl, needed to learn to survive alone.

It was in that period that I realized how cruel and, at the same time, seductive the world could be. Hollywood emerged as a promise of control, glamour and distraction. If I could get attention, if I could live between parties, flashes and applause, maybe I could forget the hole I carried in my chest. Dilated cardiomyopathy, the first time I felt shortness of breath and irregular heartbeat, only reinforced this need to take refuge in chaos. A doctor told the truth I didn't want to hear: my heart could betray me at any time if I wasn't careful. But who, after all, wants to live carefully when life has already taken everything from him?

So I dived headlong into endless parties, cigarettes, drinks and facade relationships. Jack was one of them: handsome, charming, perfect for the world he wanted to show, but abusive, controlling and cruel behind the cameras. He made me feel small and, at the same time, dependent on love that never existed. The relationship was a public equation of appearances and manipulation, and I knew it, but it was still easy to lose myself in his false brilliance.

Between one fainting and another, between a night of drinking and a photo shoot, there was Andy. The only person who really cared, who didn't see in me only the famous actress or the walking scandal. She took care of my career, my health in a pragmatic way, reminding me to take medicines that I often ignored, but above all, I remembered that there was still someone who loved me without hidden interests. Andy was the anchor in the chaos that I cultivated myself, and without her, I probably wouldn't be alive today.

My days were a succession of parties, recordings, meetings with advertisers, and moments when I felt my heart fail and fear insinuate. But I pretended, as I always did. I pretended I could control, I pretended that nothing could shake me, that glamour protected me. The sarcasm became my armor, the irony my shield. Every exaggerated laugh, every biting comment, every sudden fainting was just another layer of what I had learned to be: the survivor Hollywood wanted, but who inside begged to be saved.

Andy was my only certainty. She knew my fears, my secrets, knew the disease that I insisted on ignoring, and yet, she stayed by my side. She didn't give in to my tantrums, she didn't negotiate with my fainting or my relapses, but she knew how to keep me alive, how to remind me that there was a limit that I couldn't cross without consequences. She was my security, my constant, the only fixed point in a world made of flashes, scandals and endless nights.

And Jack? He was just another distraction, another storm that I allowed to enter my life to convince myself that I could still feel something beyond fear. An advertising relationship, built to appear in the media, but abusive in intimacy, where every gesture of affection was calculated, every word of affection hid manipulation. I knew I should run away, I knew I should protect myself, but chaos was already my home - and in the chaos, even the danger seemed familiar.

I look at the mirror of the hotel room while I prepare for another rehearsal, feeling the irregular palpitation in my chest. Every beat reminds me of the fragility that I ignore, but I pretend it doesn't exist. Every smile I force in front of the cameras is an elegant lie, a smokescreen over real fear. I know I don't deserve love, that I don't deserve care. But Andy constantly reminds me that I deserve at least the chance to survive.

And there, alone for a few seconds, before dressing the glamour of Hollywood, I remember the last time I felt real security: my house, my parents, innocent laughter and invented stories. A distant, sweet and cruel memory, which taught me to create a world of chaos to protect myself from pain. A world where I can fail, make mistakes, faint, live dangerously - and yet, somehow, keep breathing "

- End of flashback

The hospital room has never seemed so small. The white light reflecting on the monitors, the constant sound of the heart beep and the feeling of isolation made me feel that, for the first time in a long time, I couldn't just run away from what I needed to face. Teddy had been clear: absolute rest, constant monitoring, 24 hours minimum. A sentence that, for me, seemed almost surreal.

- Really, Teddy? - I muttered, crossing my arms and lying on my side on the stretcher, trying to look dramatic and, at the same time, ignorant. - 24 hours of absolute idle in a hospital? You are merciless.

- Maya, - Teddy replied, without looking at me, adjusting the monitors - it's for your safety. There is no discussion.

And of course, I snorted and rolled my eyes, as if obeying was a personal offense. But, deep down, I knew she was right. Every irregular palpitation, every shortness of breath reminded me that my body was not invincible. Not at that moment.

Andy was next to me, trying to calm my dramatic and sarcastic mood, but her responsibility was not only with me. She needed to leave to take care of hotel reservations, press contacts and everything that could become a logistical chaos if left aside.

- Maya, - Andy said softly, touching my arm, - I'll need to leave for a few hours. Will you be okay? Carina is here.

I turned to face Carina, who watched everything in silence since Teddy had to leave for emergency surgery. A meticulous, serious doctor, and completely oblivious to the glamour that I tried to keep as a shield.

- Great - I muttered sarcastically, sitting down slowly - another doctor to watch me. This is going to be fun.

Carina just raised an eyebrow, keeping absolute calm, as if my irony wasn't impressive at all. I had noticed this before: my sarcasm didn't shake her. And, honestly, it irritated me more than any real threat to my health.

- Maya, - she said, firm, but without aggressiveness - we need to ensure that you follow the recommended rest. That's not an option.

- Talking is easy - I replied, crossing my arms. - Trying to force me, now is the problem.

She approached, evaluating my heart monitor, my respiratory rate and my posture, as if my every movement was an equation she needed to solve. I knew she understood from the heart, vital signs, medical protocols. But I also knew that it wasn't just an equation: it was my personal resistance, my way of showing that, as much as I needed care, I wouldn't deliver my vulnerability without a fight.

Andy sighed, giving me a warning look before getting up to leave. - I'll be back soon, Maya. Don't try to run away, okay?

- I promise to try not to sneak through the door - I replied, sarcastically, as she left.

Silence settled, but it was not comfortable. Carina remained standing next to the stretcher, watching, recording every detail, but without verbally pressing me. The fact that I was alone with her for the first time made me restless. I didn't like to feel watched so closely, even more so by someone who didn't let themselves be impressed by my charm or drama.

- So, - I started, leaning over to face her - are you going to watch me all night, doctor?

She just nodded, without changing her expression. - I will monitor your vital signs and make sure you don't do anything that puts your health at risk.

- Fascinating - I muttered, lying down again, pretending to exaggerate. - What a privilege to be my patient today.

Carina approached the stretcher, adjusting my monitor and checking the electrodes, without saying a word. Every gesture was precise, meticulous, professional. I could get angry, I could debauch, but I couldn't deny that there was something reassuring in the way she dealt with everything. Even if I wanted to show rebellion, her presence imposed silent respect.

- Maya - she finally said, with a low but firm voice - your every palpitation is monitored. If you disrespect the orders, it can make your picture worse.

- And what would you do if I challenged? - I asked, tilting my head, my eyes shining with a mixture of curiosity and challenge. - Would you let me suffer?

She gave me a direct, serious look, without a shred of irony. - No. But I can't allow you to risk your life.

There was something about his firmness that made me strangely restless. It wasn't just authority; it was silent care, thorough observation, the feeling that someone really cared, even when I struggled to seem impossible.

Time passed slowly. Every beep from the monitor, every electrode adjustment, every movement of mine provoked a small reaction from her - a frown, a careful look, a mental annotation that I didn't see. And, while trying to occupy my mind with sarcasm, with irony, with any distraction, I couldn't help but notice that Carina was there, completely alert, completely focused, and totally immune to my theatrical resistance.

The night advanced, and the forced loneliness, Andy's absence, and Carina's silent presence created a tension that I couldn't explain. I wanted to provoke her, test her limits, but I also felt something that went beyond irritation or challenge - something new, confusing, that made me restless even when I tried to pretend that it didn't matter.

And there, lying on the stretcher, following the reluctant order of rest, with the silent cardiologist watching my every move, I realized that that night would be long - not only for the rest, but for the unprecedented feeling of having someone capable of facing my chaos without giving in to manipulation or sarcasm.

Chapter Text

POV CARINA

The room was quiet, except for the constant sound of the heart monitor beep and the occasional dragging of nursing steps in the hallway. I remained next to the stretcher, watching Maya move with that mixture of drama and challenge that I was already beginning to know.

- So that's it - she said, crossing her arms and looking at the ceiling. - I'll spend the whole night here, being watched. What a wonderful dream.

- It's not a privilege, - I replied, adjusting the monitor electrodes. - It's a medical need.

She snorted, turning to face me. - Medical need? Dr. DeLuca, do you really want to convince me that lying down doing nothing is fun?

- It's not fun - I replied, keeping calm -, it's life.

There was a moment of silence. She seemed to evaluate my expression, perhaps waiting for some sign of weakness. But there was nothing. Only the firm realization that I did not give in to provocations, and that my priority was to ensure that she was safe.

- You're... unbearably serious - she said, finally, breaking part of the facade with a short, almost genuine laugh. - I bet no one has ever dared to be serious about you like that.

- Many people have already tried - I replied, observing the slight relaxation on her shoulders. - Few managed to get out unharmed.

She let out a sigh and turned to lean against the wall, crossing her arms less defensively. It was a subtle change, almost imperceptible, but I realized. Each dramatic gesture decreased slightly, and I knew I needed to take advantage of that moment to build some kind of bridge.

- Maya - I started, sitting on the chair next to the stretcher -, I know you hate being limited, that you hate depending on someone. But you need to understand that it is not weakness to accept help.

- Weakness? - she repeated, arching an eyebrow, but this time with less sarcasm. - No, I would say it's just... inevitable. There's no way to escape the reality of my body, is there?

I waved slowly. - Exactly. And while you refuse to cooperate, you're not just challenging medical rules - you're putting yourself in danger.

There was a moment when she looked away, maybe trying to hide something, maybe admitting to herself the truth that I didn't need to say. - You know, no one really cares - she murmured, almost inaudible. - Except Andy, of course. But... the rest... Hollywood is just brightness and emptiness.

- I'm not Hollywood - she said calmly, observing every nuance of her face. - And I'm not here to judge you. I'm here to make sure you live.

She let out a low laugh, almost embarrassed. - You really look... different. You're not treating me like a show, like someone who needs to be seen. That's... weird.

- Maybe it's because I'm not interested in the show - I replied. - I'm interested in you. For the person who is behind this sarcasm, this unbearable actress facade.

For a moment, her mask fell off. She looked at me with slightly moist eyes, trying, at the same time, to deny vulnerability. - You shouldn't care... no one should.

- I care - he said simply. - And if you allow, I can show you that accepting help is not shame. That being taken care of does not mean weakness.

She looked away, biting her lip. - I don't know how... to deal with it. I don't know how to let someone in.

- So you don't need to know now - I replied, keeping my voice soft. - Just stay here, breathe, and allow me to take care of you tonight. That's all.

A comfortable silence settled. She leaned back on the stretcher, breathing slowly, and I realized that I had conquered something: a small space inside the fortress that she had erected so carefully. It wasn't complete, it wasn't definitive, but it was a start.

- You know - she murmured, almost to herself - maybe I could get used to it. For one night, at least.

- For one night - I repeated, with a slight smile, feeling that that was the first spark of genuine trust between us.

And that night, as the constant beeps of the monitor continued, I felt that something deeper began to form. Something that went beyond sarcasm, drama and resistance - a connection that, for the first time, could not be ignored.

Chapter Text

MAYA POV

The door alarm indicated that someone was coming in, and I almost relaxed immediately when I recognized Teddy's firm step. Her presence always brought a mixture of security and inevitable tension. She approached the stretcher, reviewing the monitors for the last time, with that professional calm that irritated and comforted me at the same time.

- Everything indicates that you are stable - she said, adjusting the electrodes one last time. - You can go home. But remember: no exaggeration, no parties, alcohol or anything that can force your heart.

- Oh, what a surprise - I murmured, sitting on the stretcher with a slight dramatic sigh - parole, directly from the hands of Saint Teddy.

She gave me a firm look, which did not deviate from my irony. - Don't try to negotiate, Maya. You need to follow the recommendations.

- Of course, of course - I replied, throwing my hair back, pretending to be disinterested. But there was a spark of mischief in my eyes. - But since you release me... maybe I can take advantage of one last favor before leaving.

She frowned, suspicious. - What kind of favor?

I looked at Carina, who remained leaning near the door, watching the scene in silence. My heart accelerated slightly - not exactly because of the disease, but because of the strange feeling I felt near her.

- A simple favor - I said, leaning a little, letting my tone be light, provocative, almost irresistible - your phone.

Carina raised an eyebrow, surprised. - My phone? Why?

- Oh, no big deal - I replied, with that crooked smile that always worked to open small doors. - Just for... in case I have a heart attack, or want to share my dramatic hospital stories with someone, who knows?

Carina remained serious, analyzing my expression, trying to decipher whether I was joking or really daring. I could feel her tension, the direct and firm look that disarmed many people, but with me it seemed to awaken something different - curiosity, perhaps.

- Maya - she said, finally, with a slight tone of warning - it's not appropriate, and you know that.

- Appropriate? - I murmured, leaning with sarcasm and charm - Appropriate is lying alone in a hospital room, with the most serious doctor in the world watching me all night. I would say that daring to ask for your phone is much more fun.

Carina sighed, an almost imperceptible gesture, but enough for me to realize that I had broken the rigidity of the moment. - Just because you are recovering... and just because Andy is not here - she said, taking her cell phone out of her pocket and delivering it discreetly.

- Oh, excellent! - I muttered, holding the device with a mischievous smile. - Now yes, I can really feel... independent, even if it's only for a few days.

She gave me a look that mixed disapproval and something deeper that I couldn't decipher immediately. - Don't abuse - she said, her voice low, firm, but different from that initial distance.

- Abuse? - I repeated sarcastically, putting the cell phone away. - No, doctor... just taking advantage of the opportunity.

Teddy, next to him, shook his head discreetly, muttering something about difficult and irreverent patients. Andy appeared soon after, with tired eyes, but relieved to finally see me released.

- Maya, - Andy said, sighing - we'll make sure you follow the instructions properly at home.

- Of course, Andy - I murmured, keeping the sarcasm for a moment - But I already have my plan: to maintain freedom, even if partially monitored by a serious and irresistible doctor.

Carina just watched, and I realized that the game between sarcasm and vulnerability was just beginning. The night at the hospital had broken some barriers, and now, with her phone in my hands, there was a strange and delicious feeling that something new was about to begin.

POV CARINA

The room still had the peculiar aroma of hospital, that mixed smell of disinfectant and plastic, which I could never like, but which now seemed less overwhelming as the night progressed. I still watched Maya settle on the stretcher, the dramatic posture softening slightly after the tension of the night. She had this incredible talent to turn any situation into a show, but I began to notice nuances behind sarcasm. Small gestures, looks that tried to hide vulnerability, contained sighs.

When Teddy finally finished the final check, fixing the last electrodes and confirming that the vital signs were stable, she approached me and made a subtle gesture, indicating that I could assume the patient's release. I didn't need much more to understand: my shift had just become even more... interesting.

- Maya, - he said, keeping his voice calm, firm, but without aggressiveness - you can go home. Absolute rest, minimum 24 hours, no extravagance, no exaggeration.

She gave me a look full of sarcasm, but there was something different there, something almost mischievous. - Parole... from the hands of Santa Teddy - she said, sitting slowly on the stretcher. - But first, I have a request.

Franzi foreheads. - A request? - I asked, in a low, measured voice, trying to evaluate whether I should scold or just listen.

She tilted her head, smiling tortuously, and for a moment my heart raced in a way I didn't expect. - Can you give me your phone?

Silence fell for a few seconds. I watched her carefully, noticing her boldness, the mixture of challenge and vulnerability, the need that, curiously, she did not want to admit. Giving my number was not something I did with any patient, even more so someone like Maya, who had challenged me all night, who had mocked every gesture of care of mine, who had made sarcasm a weapon and a shield.

But there was something about her, something I couldn't explain. A mixture of hidden fragility, controlled drama, irony that seemed almost like a disguised call for help. I took a deep breath and, almost against my will, discreetly handed over the phone.

- Just because you're free - I said, softly, firmly, but without taking my eyes off her - and just because Andy is not here to interfere. Don't abuse.

She took the cell phone with a crooked smile, that kind of smile that you feel hides as much as it reveals. - Abuse? - she repeated, arching her eyebrow. - No, doctor... just exploring opportunities.

Her look was provocative, challenging, but there was a touch of genuine curiosity, of vulnerability that I couldn't ignore. For a few seconds, we watched each other in silence, only the constant sound of the heart monitor filling the space.

Then, I heard a short laugh behind me. Amelia had approached without me noticing, looking with that expression of someone who loves small provocations.

- Ah, Carina... - she said, leaning against the door, crossing her arms with a funny smile - don't tell me you really gave your phone to Maya?

I rolled my eyes discreetly, trying to keep my composure professionally, but I couldn't hide a slight blush that she certainly noticed. - Amelia - I murmured, in a low tone - it's nothing you're imagining.

- Is it nothing? - she repeated, with the ironic tone that only Amelia knew how to use. - So don't tell me that that difficult, sarcastic and dramatic patient of the night asked for your number and you... gave it.

- It's a medical case, period - I replied, trying to close the matter, but the slight tension in the air did not allow me to completely escape from her comment. - And it's nothing personal.

Amelia let out a short laugh, shaking her head. - Of course, of course, Carina. Just a medical case. But how interesting, don't you think? The kind of patient you'll probably never forget.

Maya, of course, didn't let Amelia's provocation pass. - Interesting? - she said, with that crooked smile and look that seemed to seek my reaction - Just out of curiosity, do you two talk about me as if I were a rare work of art?

- More or less - I replied, trying to keep my posture steady, but allowing a slight smile to escape. - Rare and complex art, difficult to decipher, but which requires constant attention.

She let out a low, almost amused laugh, leaning on the stretcher. - I like that description. Maybe I'll get used to being watched like this.

The silence returned, but this time it was different. It wasn't just tension, sarcasm or drama. There was something more: a mutual curiosity, a feeling that the night at the hospital had broken barriers, and now, with the phone in her hand, a new dynamic began to form.

Maya looked at me with a mischievous, almost defiant look. - Well... since I now have your number, I can say that it was the best part of my entire stay in the hospital.

- Don't abuse - I said, but the voice didn't have the stiffness of before. There was a slight softness, a curiosity that I could not hide, an interest that went beyond the professional obligation.

She smiled, keeping her cell phone in her pocket. - Oh, doctor... abuse is my last name, but for today... I'll be civilized.

What surprised me was the way it moved me. It wasn't just her audacity, sarcasm, charm that she always exhibited. It was the vulnerability hidden behind every provocation, every dramatic gesture, every sigh contained. And now, with that phone, there was a silent bridge, a line of communication that could transform the whole relationship between us.

Amelia, still standing at the door, poked again, amused: - Look, Carina, I never thought I would see the day when you would give in to the charm of a patient. Interesting, isn't it?

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't stop a discreet smile. - It's just... a medical case - I murmured, repeating the excuse that I didn't believe myself.

While Amelia left, laughing and shaking her head, I was alone in the room with Maya. She leaned back on the stretcher, with her arms crossed, but this time without the same aggressive sarcasm of the beginning of the night. There was a slight relaxation, an opening that I knew was rare and precious.

And then, for a moment, while watching the monitors and adjusting the final electrodes, I felt something different: the feeling that that connection, that bridge built with firmness and care, was just beginning.

Minutes later, my cell phone vibrated discreetly in my bag. I looked at him and saw a new message. My heart accelerated in an unexpected way. It was Maya.

"Good evening, doctor. I hope your monitoring remains as attentive as yesterday's. - M"

I smiled softly, keeping the phone in my pocket. That simple, sarcastic and slightly daring message was the sign that something had really changed. Something that went beyond medical care, sarcasm or drama - something that promised new discoveries, new tensions and, possibly, a connection that none of us expected.

And so, the chapter ended with the first seed of true communication between us, the promise that that meeting in the hospital would not be just another story of medical care, but the beginning of something much deeper and unexpected.

Chapter Text

POV MAYA

The car rolled down the road that would take me back to Los Angeles, and I could hardly believe I was actually free from the hospital. For a moment, the silence inside the car felt almost too heavy, painfully so, and at the same time, liberating. The scenery rushed past the window, but my mind was stuck on the previous night, on the hours Carina stayed by my side, watching every move, every breath, every sarcasm I threw up as a shield.

Andy was beside me, steady and practical as always. She discreetly checked whether I was taking the medicine Teddy had insisted I keep in my bag, reminding me to rest completely, shooting cautious glances that I tried to ignore.

— Are you really going to travel to Los Angeles like this? — she murmured, not raising her voice, just observing me.

— Of course — I replied, tossing my hair back and leaning my head against the window — Hollywood is calling, Andy. It’s practically a social obligation, you know?

She sighed, saying nothing more. She knew arguing was pointless. I was alive, discharged, but chaos was still my home. My body ached with every step, my heart reminded me that any excess could be dangerous, but I kept going. It was as if defying limits was part of my survival instinct.

In the car, my hand rested on my phone, recalling the message I sent Carina. No reply yet, but just sending it made my heart race in a strange way — exciting and terrifying at the same time. Every word typed seemed to leave a trace of vulnerability I hadn’t expected to show.

I looked out the window, Los Angeles’ buildings beginning to appear, city lights flickering like tiny sparks, and I thought about how my life had changed over the past years. The famous actress, full of scandals, endless nights, and nonstop parties, was returning to her routine. But something had shifted — small, but significant. The night at the hospital and the silent connection with Carina had affected me in a way no party, toast, or boyfriend ever could.

— Maya, — Andy finally broke the silence, — you need to really rest. It’s not just about what happened at the hospital. It’s your life. Your heart.

I rolled my eyes discreetly, with that sarcasm I used as a shield. — Ah, Andy… always so practical. Always so responsible. It’s boring. But thanks for taking care of the old dying Maya.

She smiled, understanding my humor but not letting herself be fooled. — And you need to stop putting yourself at risk, even if the way you ignore everything is fun.

I smiled faintly, letting out a sigh no one could interpret correctly. The truth was, I needed to take care of myself, but I also needed to feel I still controlled my own life. Controlling chaos was part of who I was.

My gaze returned to my phone. The screen was still locked, and I knew Carina could reply at any moment. A small smile formed on my lips. The serious, firm, seemingly impenetrable doctor now had a direct line to me. It was tempting, thrilling, and, in a way, scary.

— So… Los Angeles awaits us — I murmured, more to myself than to Andy. — But something tells me nothing will be as predictable as before.

Andy raised an eyebrow at me. — Nothing is ever predictable with you, Maya.

— Exactly — I replied, with that crooked smile that always worked. — And now, with Dr. Carina on my radar… things are bound to get even more interesting.

As the car moved through the illuminated avenues, I felt a mixture of relief and anxiety. Relief at being discharged, finally leaving the hospital and returning to my routine, chaotic as it still was. Anxiety at knowing there was someone — someone different — who could alter my chaos in ways I couldn’t predict.

My thoughts wandered, remembering Carina’s firm gaze, the moment I handed her my phone, the silent tension between us. There was something there, something deeper than I was used to feeling. A desire to test limits, to provoke, but also to trust, to allow someone to see the real Maya — the girl who had lost her parents, who hid her fears behind sarcasm, who needed care even when she denied it to herself.

The city drew closer, lights shining like promises of endless nights, parties, photos, and scandals. But now there was something more, something I wanted to explore, something that could change the course of my life.

And then, unconsciously, my fingers slid to my phone, opening the screen. I typed the message again, but now it was different: there was expectation, curiosity, a hint of hope hidden among the dramatic and sarcastic words I always used as protection.

“I hope your day is as interesting as the night I spent under your supervision… — M”

I smiled to myself, feeling my heart race in a way that wasn’t just from the illness. It was excitement, the unexpected, the feeling that something new had begun — a connection I never imagined feeling, but that was now infiltrating my chaotic routine, bringing a touch of vulnerability, mystery, and maybe, romance.

As the car cruised through Los Angeles’ streets, I leaned back in my seat, closing my eyes for a few seconds. For the first time in a long time, I felt that part of the chaos could be managed, that not everything was out of control. Deep down, I knew that message to Carina wasn’t just a tease — it was the first step of something that promised to transform my life in ways I couldn’t yet imagine.

Chapter Text

POV CARINA

The apartment was silent, except for the soft sound of the shower coming from the bathroom, where Andrew was probably still getting ready to leave. It was a day off, and I could finally allow myself a few moments of quiet, a simple routine, without hospital corridors, monitor alarms, or dramatic patients demanding attention.

Life here was different — the calm of the apartment I shared with Andrew, casual conversations, breakfast made by ourselves. No glamour, no pressure, just simplicity. I liked that. It was the foundation that kept me steady, ready to face any chaos at the hospital.

While organizing some papers on the kitchen table, my phone vibrated. A message notification. The first thing I thought was that it was something work-related, a reminder about shifts, emergencies, or medical routines. But when I unlocked the screen, I found something completely different:

“I hope your day is as interesting as the night I spent under your supervision… — M”

I paused for a moment, my heart racing in a way that wasn’t just about the message itself, but about the sender. Maya. The difficult, sarcastic, dramatic patient who had spent the entire night challenging me at the hospital. The same Maya who dared to ask for my phone with that mischievous smile and a look that seemed to want to test boundaries.

Andrew entered the kitchen, his lab coat still draped over his shoulder, and gave me a curious look. — What’s up? — he asked, noticing the unexpected sparkle in my eyes.

— Nothing — I murmured, slipping the phone away discreetly, trying not to show the mixture of surprise, curiosity, and slight excitement the message had provoked.

— Nothing? — he pressed, raising an eyebrow and moving closer to the table. — Seems like it’s not nothing.

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t hide a faint smile. — It’s just… a message from a patient. Nothing serious.

Andrew chuckled softly, sitting at the table with his coffee. — Just a patient? Seems like more than that from the way you’re smiling.

— Just a patient — I repeated, trying to maintain my professional posture, even though my heart was racing. — Nothing personal.

But I knew it wasn’t just an ordinary message. It was the start of something unexpected. Something that, even as I tried to keep my distance, sparked curiosity, interest, and a strange feeling I wasn’t used to.

I sat on the sofa, staring at my phone again. Her words were simple, yet full of subtle provocation and hidden charm. An indirect invitation to keep the interaction going, to explore the unexpected, to break a little of the controlled routine I clung to so rigidly.

— So, are you going to open it or pretend you didn’t get it? — Andrew asked, noticing my hesitation.

— Of course I’m going to open it — I murmured, sliding my finger to type a reply. — But I need to be careful. This is… complicated.

— Complicated? — he repeated, amused. — Looks like just a girl trying to start a conversation.

I smiled discreetly, but my thoughts had already drifted. I remembered the night at the hospital, Maya’s resistance, her sarcasm, hidden vulnerability, the look that seemed to search for something beyond professional observation. It was fascinating and unsettling at the same time.

I decided to type a measured response, not overdoing it, keeping the firm stance she seemed to respect, but allowing a hint of humor and gentle provocation.

“Interesting, huh? I hope you’re ready to stay as attentive as I was last night… — C”

I sent the message, feeling a mix of anxiety and curiosity, watching the small “typing” indicator appear on the screen seconds later. My heart raced, but in a different way — more human, more connected to something real than any medical emergency could provoke.

Andrew leaned over to grab his coffee cup, giving me another curious look. — Seems like this patient is going to affect you more than any case at work.

— Maybe — I murmured, keeping my focus on the screen, trying to organize my thoughts. — But it’s not just about medicine. It’s something more… unexpected.

The day continued slowly, but now there was a pleasant tension, a sense of anticipation in the air. Every notification, every vibration of the phone seemed to carry the weight of possibility. And even in the simplicity of the apartment, in the calm routine with Andrew, I knew something was changing. Something that could transform both my professional and personal life in ways I couldn’t yet foresee.

And there I sat, phone in hand, smelling the aroma of coffee and enjoying the calm of the apartment, realizing that Maya’s message was not just a simple act of boldness or provocation. It was the first piece of a delicate, thrilling, and unexpected game — a silent beginning of something that, even though I couldn’t yet name it, promised to change the way I viewed my own life and my heart.

POV MAYA

The cell phone vibrated discreetly in the jacket pocket. A new notification: Carina had read my message, but still hadn't responded. I sighed, throwing my eyes at the screen and smiling discreetly. Curiosity was irresistible. Who would be this woman so serious, meticulous, who watched me all night in the hospital without losing her cool? Something in her aroused interest, and I couldn't help it.

While the driver was driving the car through heavy traffic, I started typing a new message, with my usual sarcasm, mixed with hints of genuine curiosity:

"So, Doctor, do you always watch dramatic patients or am I just special? Tell me a little about yourself, I won't bite... yet. - M"

Simple, direct, provocative. And of course, I let the signature reinforce the light and challenging tone.

The morning continued with interviews, photos and meetings with advertisers who did not understand my sarcasm or my fainting, but insisted on controlling my public image. Each pause was an opportunity to send small messages to Carina, trying to measure her reaction, trying to start a conversation without giving myself completely.

- Maya, do you need something to drink? - asked the assistant, noticing my distant look.

- Water, coffee, tea... surprise me - I replied, tilting my head, pretending distraction while my fingers were already sliding through the cell phone, writing the next provocation to Carina.

At the end of the morning, Jack appeared unexpectedly. He was always the same glamorous, manipulative presence, impossible to ignore. That charming smile for the public, but loaded with control, always testing limits and demanding attention.

- Maya, dear, we have to talk about the launch of the next campaign - he said, approaching with that air of superiority that I knew so well.

I rolled my eyes, trying to keep my sarcasm intact. - Jack, it's always a pleasure to be interrupted. But can I postpone the conversation? I have important things happening, you know... life, chaos, intriguing messages.

He arched an eyebrow, clearly irritated by my irony. - Messages? Who do you talk to so mysterious?

- Oh, no one important - I replied, blinking quickly and hiding the cell phone behind my back. - Just someone who seems to know exactly how to observe me without being invasive.

Jack snorted, shaking his head. - Maya... you don't take anything seriously.

- Exactly, Jack - I replied, smiling provocatively - that's exactly why you tolerate me.

He didn't answer, but the look of frustration mixed with fascination was evident. At the same time, I couldn't help but feel that his presence was now just a detail in my mind. Carina's unanswered message, the mystery of the doctor who did not let herself be impressed, began to occupy a larger space than any manipulation of Jack or any public commitment.

Between photos and meetings, I continued to observe every detail of the routine, taking advantage of the moments of pause to type small provocations for Carina. The chaotic life of Hollywood continued around, but there was something, still uncertain, that began to trap me in an unexpected way.

"It's not fair that you're so efficient and still look so mysterious... How do you do that? - M"

The answer still didn't come, and I sighed, throwing the cell phone in the bag. There was a mixture of impatience and curiosity that I hadn't felt for a long time. Someone capable of challenging me in a different way, who didn't get carried away by my sarcasm, awakened something new, even if I didn't want to admit it.

Jack reappeared in the studio later, trying to get me involved again in conversations about campaigns and parties, but my focus was still divided. Every minute, every pause, every cell phone notification reminded me of the serious and meticulous doctor who, somehow, had crossed my facade of chaos and sarcasm.

- Maya, you're distracted - he said, approaching once again, the expensive perfume and the intimidating presence.

- Jack, I'm totally focused - I replied, with a crooked smile - But you know... divided attention is always more fun.

He snorted, clearly annoyed, but I knew that was part of the game we always played. Still, deep down, my heart accelerated not for him, but for Carina's silent expectation to respond.

The day progressed with my full calendar, appointments, camera flashes, meetings and drinks that I could not refuse for professional reasons. But in every break, in every moment of silence, my thought returned to that serious doctor, to the night at the hospital, to the audacity to ask for her phone. The curiosity grew, mixed with the charm that I couldn't deny that I felt for her.

When the day finally came to an end, and the commitments decreased, I sat on the couch of the rented apartment in Los Angeles, still wearing part of the costume of the photo shoot. The cell phone vibrated, perhaps a new answer from Carina. The heart shot slightly as I unlocked the screen, ready to see her reaction to my provocation.

But, for now, the message hadn't arrived yet. And this only increased the anticipation, that delicious mixture of curiosity and challenge that I already knew would define the next few days.

"Something tells me that you're not the type to answer quickly... but it's okay, doctor, I'll wait. - M"

I smiled alone, knowing that I was just starting to explore this new dynamic. Between chaos, fame, Jack and my incessant commitments, there was an unexpected connection emerging - and, for the first time in a long time, I was curious to see where this could lead us.

Chapter Text

POV Carina

The apartment was quiet, except for the soft hum of the fan and the distant murmur of Seattle outside. Andrew had left for his hospital shift, and I could finally sit down with a cup of tea in my hand—no rush, no shifts, no emergencies. A day off. A rare luxury.

But my phone kept blinking discreetly on the kitchen table. Maya’s messages were still there, little provocations mixed with curiosity, sarcasm, and something I couldn’t quite decipher yet. I sighed, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear, and decided I needed to understand better the patient who had spent the whole night testing me.

I opened her Instagram, just to get a sense of the world she lived in. Photos in studios, camera flashes, magazine covers, parties, exaggerated smiles for the audience—images capturing glamour, fame, and chaos. Every post seemed calculated, every caption laced with irony or charm. It was an intense life, disordered, yet strangely fascinating.

I didn’t feel attracted, not yet. That wasn’t it. There was curiosity, yes—about who she really was behind the public mask, about what drove her, about what was real in all that sarcasm and drama she had displayed at the hospital. It was almost a psychological investigation, a need to understand the behavior of a difficult patient who insisted on challenging boundaries and medical rules.

I scrolled through her feed, noticing the small details: photos with friends, rare moments of vulnerability, comments hinting at turbulent relationships, subtle digs at people who manipulated or controlled her—Jack clearly among them. My eyes stopped on a picture where she was smiling, yet her eyes carried something that didn’t match the expression. Something tired, almost painful.

I sighed, putting the phone down for a moment. Her life was intense, chaotic, but also fragile. And in a way, I understood her need to build this exaggerated persona for the world. For me, it was interesting, intriguing, but still—I didn’t allow myself to get emotionally involved. It was just… observation. Professional, though curious.

And yet, something about it unsettled me. Her persistence in the messages, the way she challenged me, the subtle provocations—all of it seemed to be asking for attention. A request for recognition I wasn’t ready to give, but couldn’t fully ignore either.

Andrew walked through the door, carrying grocery bags, breaking my train of thought.
— “Everything okay, Carina?” — he asked, noticing my eyes fixed on the phone.

— “Yes, just… looking into a difficult patient,” I murmured, trying to sound casual. — “Just trying to understand who she really is.”

— “Looking into?” — he repeated, amused, as he put the groceries away. — “Sounds more like you’re hypnotized by her Instagram.”

I rolled my eyes slightly, keeping control of the situation. — “It’s not that. I’m just… curious. She’s complicated, insists on provoking, but I still can’t figure out her intentions. It’s relevant for medical follow-up.”

Andrew smiled as he walked out of the room to finish unpacking, clearly entertained by my excuse. I went back to my phone, scrolling through another series of photos, trying to piece together her behavior, her relationships, the way she handled fame, chaos, and people.

It was fascinating—yet still distant. I wasn’t romantically interested, there were no deep feelings involved. It was simply a curious mind trying to understand a behavior that escaped control. Maya was unpredictable, challenging, annoyingly charming—but still far enough away for me to keep my objectivity.

Still, I confess, a small smile slipped out. She was bold, clever, and provocative, and even though I didn’t want to admit it, there was something in her persistence that intrigued me—something that made my simple, controlled routine feel a little more alive.

And as the afternoon went on, I kept watching, answering her messages carefully, holding back my curiosity, keeping things professional and logical. I knew that patient would be a challenge, and that I needed to stay balanced, even with that strange feeling that somehow Maya would manage to make my life a little more complicated—in unexpected, amusing, and unsettling ways all at once.

POV MAYA

The sun of Los Angeles shone brightly, reflecting on the mirrored facades of the buildings, and I barely had time to breathe between interviews, photos and advertising commitments. My cell phone vibrated in my pocket, reminding me of Carina's messages. That silence that I always maintained when it came to real relationships now turned into genuine curiosity - and, of course, a perfect opportunity to fill Doctor DeLuca's patience.

While waiting for my assistant to prepare the next set of photos, I opened my cell phone discreetly. Unanswered messages flashed on the screen. A crooked smile formed on my lips. The serious, calm, apparently impenetrable doctor... she still didn't answer for a long time, but she was there, watching me, even from a distance.

"So, Doctor... am I going to pretend that your interest in me is not too suspicious? 😏" I typed, sliding my finger quickly, feeling the silent pleasure of provoking someone who seemed so difficult to shake.

Between one interview and another, each break became an opportunity. My mind was divided between poses, flashes and the silent expectation of the doctor's response. I knew Carina wouldn't give in easily. And that only made the game more fun.

When I finally received a short, almost clinical answer, my smile increased.

"Suspect? No... just curious. You're a peculiar case."

- Peculiar? - I muttered to myself, tilting my head while my fingers were already preparing the next provocation. - I think you meant "unbearably fascinating". 😌

Each message was a reminder that I could control the situation a little, even though I was the vulnerable patient in the hospital. Now, on the other side of the city, between glamour and chaos, I was the instigator, and it gave me a delicious sense of power.

My assistant called me to adjust the studio light, and I walked around the set with the perfect posture, made up and smiling at the flashes, but my mind was a thousand, imagining the doctor's reaction to my provocations. Between one pose and another, I wrote one more:

"Oh, so you think I'm dramatic? What a surprise... who knew that Dr. DeLuca had such a critical look. 😏

While sending, I heard a laugh behind me. Jack, of course, couldn't miss the opportunity to show up at the right time, with that manipulative smile I knew so well.

- Maya, dear - he said, leaning over to interrupt me - we have to discuss the details of the campaign before lunch.

I rolled my eyes, blinking sarcastically. - Jack, always so punctual. But, you know... priorities. Some are more important than advertising contracts. 😌

He arched an eyebrow, trying to disguise his frustration. - Priorities? And who would be so... important?

- Just someone who knows how to observe without losing his temper - I murmured, quickly putting my cell phone in my pocket. - And who can very well monitor me from afar, while maintaining her impeccable Doctor posture.

Jack frowned, clearly confused, while I was already moving away for the next photo set. My heart, surprisingly, accelerated a little. Not for him, but for Carina. The simple idea of provoking the serious doctor, of testing limits at a distance, filled me with energy and adrenaline.

Between interviews and meetings with advisors, I sent another message:

"Well, now that I'm free of heart emergencies for today, I think I can continue to test the Doctor's patience... ready for the challenge? 😏

The phone vibrated discreetly seconds later. My breathing accelerated slightly. She answered, short, direct, firm:

"You really like to provoke, don't you?"

- Of course - I muttered to myself, tilting my head and smiling. - And you know that, Doctor. 😌

The camera flashes and the rush of the day did not diminish my determination. Every pause, every minute between appointments, was dedicated to small provocations, observing if she would give in, if she would show any reaction that was not just professional formality. I needed to know: could that serious woman be disarmed or would I just leave her intrigued forever?

Jack reappeared in the studio later, trying to get me involved in discussions about contracts and parties, but my focus remained divided. The cell phone in hand, the doctor's short answers and the silent expectation were more stimulating than any champagne or red carpet.

"It's not fair that you're so efficient and still look so mysterious... How do you do that? - M"

I sighed, throwing my head back, staring at the ceiling of the studio. Between glamour, interviews, Jack and my fame, that little interaction was the part of the day that really made me smile. The chaos of Hollywood continued, but Carina, even from a distance, managed to arrest me in a way that no one else could.

When the studio finally released for the lunch break, I sat alone at a rooftop table, watching the city. The cell phone screen flashed with the small notification of the last message sent. I smiled, leaning my body against the chair, feeling that delicious mixture of curiosity, provocation and slight vulnerability that only Carina could awaken.

"For now... just observation. No fun yet."

Oh, of course. She wouldn't give in so easily. But that only made the game more interesting. I leaned back, taking a sip of water, already mentally typing the next provocation. My day could be chaotic, full of commitments and scandals, but the simple idea of testing the limits of the serious and impeccable doctor gave me a silent and irresistible pleasure.

Hollywood could have its flashes, parties and contracts, but at that moment, the star of my day was Dr. DeLuca, and I was determined to make her realize - even if slowly - that I was not just another clinical case.

Chapter Text

POV CARINA

The hospital was quieter than usual for a shift day, but I knew that was only an illusion. Every corridor, every emergency room carried the constant expectation that something could happen at any moment. Teddy was focused on the monitor in front of me, analyzing Maya’s test results, while I organized notes, progress charts, and medication protocols.

— “Carina,” Teddy said without taking her eyes off the screen, “we need to consider adjusting her regimen. We can’t let her keep neglecting her meds and care.”

I nodded, keeping my gaze fixed on the numbers flashing on the monitor. — “I agree. If she keeps this up, any temporary solution we find will be useless. We need something that works even with her neglect.”

Teddy sighed, tossing her hair back. — “Maya isn’t easy, you know that. She’s dramatic, sarcastic, and ignores any medical advice she doesn’t want to follow.”

— “I know,” I murmured, closing a notebook. — “But we have to try. She’s young, her heart can still respond well if we intervene properly.”

As we discussed possibilities, my phone buzzed discreetly in my bag. A quick glance showed a new message from Maya. My heart skipped for a fraction of a second—before I reminded myself I needed to keep professional distance.

“So, Doctor… still busy saving lives, or do you already have time to ignore me? 😏”

I rolled my eyes, sighed, and left the notification unanswered, going right back to work. That was exactly the kind of distraction I couldn’t afford. The priority was Maya—the patient, not the provocateur.

— “Carina,” Teddy said, pointing at the graphs, “look at this. Her heart rhythm is unstable. We need to decide if medication is enough or if we should consider something more aggressive, even if temporary.”

I looked closely, analyzing every detail. — “I agree. Let’s start with an adjusted medication plan and constant monitoring. If there’s no response, we’ll evaluate an invasive procedure.”

While Teddy typed the orders into the system, my phone buzzed again. Another message from Maya—sarcastic, insistent. I took a deep breath, resisting the urge to reply. This was the time to keep emotional distance and absolute focus.

— “She insists, doesn’t she?” Teddy remarked, noticing my slight discomfort with the phone.

— “Yes,” I murmured, without looking away from the tests. — “But this isn’t the time for distractions. The priority is her life.”

She nodded, understanding, and went back to the monitor with full concentration. Every decision had to be calculated; every intervention was critical. I assisted with medication adjustments, suggested alternative protocols, and monitored Maya’s vitals, making sure every step was safe and effective.

The messages kept coming—little provocations, attempts to break the ice that I couldn’t give in to. I breathed deeply and ignored them again. Maya needed to learn the importance of care, and I needed to keep my professional authority intact.

— “We need to schedule a more thorough consultation,” Teddy said, still staring at the monitor. — “If we can convince her to follow instructions strictly, we can plan something more definitive for her heart.”

— “I agree,” I replied, quickly typing notes. — “But it’s going to be hard with her ignoring every recommendation. We’ll need patience, firmness, and maybe some… indirect strategy.”

As we organized the next steps, another notification popped up. Maya wasn’t giving up:

“Doctor… will you ever reply to me, or are you planning to leave me waiting forever? 😏”

I smiled discreetly, closing my eyes for a moment. She really enjoyed testing boundaries. But not today. Today I needed to stay firm. I didn’t reply—just tucked my phone away, focusing entirely on the charts and protocols.

— “We’ll plan a gradual approach,” I continued, speaking more to myself than to Teddy. — “Start with adjusted medication, continuous monitoring, and follow-up sessions. She has to understand her heart is no joke.”

Teddy nodded, finishing the final orders. — “If she keeps this behavior, we’ll have to intervene more seriously. But I believe we can avoid complications if we stay firm.”

The day passed between graphs, vital signs, protocols, and brief discussions about adjustments. And while Maya kept sending her messages, I kept my cool. Every notification was a silent provocation, and every unanswered text reinforced the professional boundary I needed to maintain.

By the end of the shift, Teddy finally stood up, exhausted, and gave me a small smile. — “At least we managed to keep control for today.”

— “Yes,” I murmured, filing away the reports and taking a deep breath. — “Today, she didn’t win. Tomorrow is another day.”

And as I left the hospital, my phone was still buzzing in my bag. Another message from Maya—short, sarcastic, challenging. I sighed, but this time couldn’t stop a small smile from escaping. She was persistent, amusing, and infuriating all at once.

For now, the ice held. But I knew, sooner or later, that persistence would reach me in a way I couldn’t yet predict.

POV MAYA

I felt I needed to solve something before facing interviews, photos and endless meetings. My heart was still beating fast, not only because of the chaos of the city, but because of the little challenge that had begun days ago: Carina.

I opened my cell phone and typed for Teddy, keeping that irresistible tone of sarcasm:

"Teddy, I know you want to see me in Seattle to adjust the protocol... but you know my schedule is... complicated. Very complicated. It won't happen to travel this time. 😏

It didn't take long for the answer to arrive, firm, direct and professional:

"Maya, we need to monitor your signs and adjust the medication. Presence is necessary."

I smiled, tilting my head. It was exactly what I expected - Teddy was serious, direct, and completely determined to follow the protocols. Perfect. Time to use my creativity:

"Okay, okay... I heard that Dr. DeLuca is excellent at monitoring and supervising protocols - isn't she, Teddy? 😌"

I waited a few seconds, then added:

"So, how about a simple solution: you two - the wonderful Italian and the serious doctor - come to Los Angeles? That way I don't miss my appointments, you monitor everything properly and no one gets hurt. 😉"

It was audacious, of course. But it would work. After all, no one could refuse a "medical protocol" supervised by me, right?

My cell phone vibrated again. Teddy seemed to consider, but the answer was still cautious:

"It's not the ideal way, Maya. But if it's the only way to ensure that the protocol is followed, we can organize. But you need to cooperate fully while we are there."

I smiled lightly, feeling that sting of silent triumph. She didn't know, but I had two goals in that movement: to keep my life chaotic in LA and, of course, finally have Carina around, even if under the pretext of a medical protocol.

"Perfect, then. You come, total supervision, protocol followed... and I promise that my obstinacy will not get in the way too much. 😏

While typing, I imagined Carina's expression - serious, controlled, probably frowning, trying to keep her distance. I knew she wouldn't give in immediately to my provocations, but the simple fact that I got this approach already made me satisfied.

My assistant showed up to remind me of the next rehearsal, but I ignored the warning for a moment, sending another message:

"Oh, and Doctor DeLuca... I hope you're ready to follow every detail of my routine. It will be fun to see her working outside Seattle, don't you think? 😌"

I sighed, throwing the cell phone in the bag. The feeling of delicate manipulation, mixed with the expectation of finally seeing Carina in a closer environment, was delicious. Hollywood, rehearsals, Jack, interviews - none of this mattered as much as the silent anticipation of their arrival.

Jack appeared at that moment, of course, as always, trying to control my time and attention. - Maya, we need to review the campaign before lunch.

- Jack - I murmured, throwing my eyes at him with a crooked smile - not today. I have an urgent medical mission to supervise... Italian doctor, protocols and the whole story. 😏

He snorted, clearly frustrated, but he couldn't compete with my silent enthusiasm. And as I walked away for the next rehearsal, I couldn't help but imagine Carina's expression when she knew that I had used the "medical protocol" as the perfect excuse to attract her to Los Angeles.

My obstinacy was clear: keep my life chaotic, play with the limits of the serious doctor, and find out how she would react when she was so close to me. And, of course, to ensure that Teddy was busy with the monitoring, without realizing the small strategic detail I had planned.

"Ready for the flight? Because the most dramatic patient in Hollywood is waiting. 😏

I smiled alone, feeling that delicious mixture of excitement and impatience. The game was just beginning, and I was determined to enjoy every second.

Chapter Text

CARINA POV

Los Angeles didn't have the same rhythm as Seattle. Here the air always seemed loaded with haste, vanity and organized chaos, as if the entire city lived in an eternal waiting room about to explode in flashes. When I left the airport next to Teddy, I felt the impact of being in a territory that was not mine - and yet, where my presence seemed necessary.

- So that's it - Teddy commented next to me, while we watched the luxury cars passing by. - Let's bring the hospital to her, since she insists on not bringing herself to the hospital.

I nodded, without losing my seriousness. - Are you sure this will work?

Teddy gave that pragmatic half smile that he already knew well. - No. But we have no choice. Maya won't stop, Carina. She doesn't know how to live in rest. So we need to adjust the protocol to the chaos she calls life.

That's exactly what bothered me. As a doctor, I believed in discipline, in the limit, in control. But Maya... Maya was the opposite of all this. Sarcastic, dramatic, a woman who made her own vulnerability a spectacle. And, somehow, that was precisely what made it fascinating.

The car took us to the hotel where Andy had provided a suite for Maya. The corridor was silent, golden with luxury, but I already knew that, behind that door, the silence would be illusory.

Andy was waiting for us inside, exhausted and with the typical look of someone who was on the verge of a self-collapse. - Finally - she said, almost in relief. - I didn't know what to do anymore. She doesn't rest, she doesn't stop. And of course, he doesn't obey.

Teddy put his hand on her shoulder, firm but soft. - Now it's up to us.

And then I saw her. Maya, sitting in the armchair near the window, still made up, still with her cell phone in hand, as if she were ready for another photo shoot. But the detail that caught my attention was the ill-made disguise: a haughty posture hiding the irregular breathing, the fatigue evident in the eyes.

- Well, well... - she smiled crookedly when she saw us. - I thought there would only be one doctor tormenting me, but I got two for the price of one. How lucky I am.

- It's not luck, Maya - Teddy said, serious, opening the folder with the documents of the new protocol. - It's survival.

- Oh, survival - she repeated, rolling her eyes with a low laugh. - You talk about it as if it were so simple.

I approached, without losing the firmness in my eyes. - It's not simple. But it's possible. If you collaborate.

She raised her eyebrow, provocative. - Collaborating is not exactly my talent, doctor.

- So let's teach - I replied, and for the first time she seemed to really stare at me, as if she was looking for a trace of challenge worthy of being taken seriously.

Teddy organized the papers on the table, starting the explanation: an adapted protocol, which united remote monitoring, strict use of medication, weekly exams and, when necessary, the presence of one of us to adjust the treatment.

- I'm not going to live like a prisoner - Maya interrupted, with that voice full of sarcasm.

- It's not prison - I replied, firm. - It's limit. The limit between you staying here or slambing in front of cameras again.

The silence fell heavy for a few seconds. Andy watched the scene in silence, almost as if he was rooting that, for the first time, someone would be able to cross Maya's armor.

She sighed, crossing her legs, and cast a look that was half challenge, half surrender. - So show it, doctors. Show me how to turn my life into a protocol. But I warn you: I'm a terrible patient.

Teddy let out a slight sigh of exasperation. I, however, just kept my gaze fixed on her. - Don't worry. I'm great with difficult patients.

Maya's crooked smile turned into something different - not just provocation, but curiosity. And it was at that moment that I realized: Los Angeles was not the real challenge. She was.

The hotel table seemed too small for the amount of papers, prescriptions and devices that Teddy carefully spread. She was always meticulous, but there was also a different weight in her voice: a kind of seriousness that made it clear that what we were setting up was not just treatment - it was survival.

- Maya - Teddy began, organizing the documents in clear blocks - this is the adapted protocol. We will monitor your vital signs in real time for at least three consecutive days.

- Three days? - Maya interrupted with a low laugh. - How wonderful... it's like a house arrest, but with beautiful doctors taking care of me.

I rolled my eyes, but didn't answer. Teddy, on the other hand, kept his almost angelic calm:

- During this period, you will use this portable monitor - she showed a discreet device, attached to her chest with a sticker. - It records heartbeats, pressure, oxygenation, and sends me alerts if there are irregularities.

- Oh, what glamour - murmured Maya, crossing her legs and casting a provocative look. - I'm literally going to become a medical reality show.

- It's not glamour, it's life - I replied, firm, adjusting the device on the table. - And you need to take it seriously.

She raised her eyebrow, with that crooked smile she wore whenever she wanted to test my limits. - Always so serious, doctor. I like that.

Teddy continued, immune to sarcasm:

- In addition to monitoring, you will follow the medication at the exact times, without delays. There will also be a controlled diet and rest. No parties, no alcohol, no cigarettes.

- Now it looks like medieval torture - replied Maya, putting her hand on her chest as if she suffered just by listening.

Andy, next to him, sighed loudly. - Maya, please...

- I'm listening! - she replied, with false indignation. - I'm just processing the fact that my heart now has an agenda.

I leaned over, staring at her closely. - It's not an agenda, it's survival. And you know that very well.

For a second, I saw her eyes oscillate. Sarcasm was a shield, but underneath there was fear. Real fear.

Teddy then concluded: - It will be three days of face-to-face monitoring. One of us will stay with you to ensure that the protocol is complied with.

Before Maya could answer with another joke, Teddy's cell phone vibrated on the table. She answered almost automatically, but her expression changed in seconds.

- Yes... I got it. - Pause. - But only I can perform this procedure. That's right, I'm coming back.

When he hung up, Andy was the first to say: - Problems?

Teddy took a deep breath. - The hospital. A patient in critical condition, a surgical case that only I can handle. I need to come back immediately.

I looked at her, already understanding what that meant. - So it's left for me.

- Exactly. - Teddy confirmed, bluntly. - Carina, you will accompany Maya these three days. I trust you'll be able to handle it.

On the other side of the table, Maya let out a slow, mischievous smile. - Oh, look... the doctor would be all for me. What a privilege.

- It's not a privilege, it's an obligation - I replied, seriously.

But Maya didn't seem to really listen. She was already plotting something, I could see by the brightness in her eyes.

- You know... - she started, with an almost innocent voice - if it's for me to behave and collaborate... I think it would be easier in my apartment.

Andy widened his eyes. - What? Maya, here at the hotel we have support, privacy...

- And I have anxiety in hotel rooms - she interrupted, dramatically. - I feel trapped, uncomfortable. In my apartment I can relax. And you want me to stay calm, don't you?

- Maya... - Andy tried to argue.

But she was already leaning on the chair, her eyes fixed on me, as if she knew exactly where to hit. - Besides, I promise to behave, doctor. No parties, no scandals. Just me, you and... my survival protocol.

I crossed my arms, measuring the proposal. It was obvious that she was trying to manipulate the situation. But there was also a real point: patients collaborate more when they are in familiar environments. Teddy, already standing, just gave me a look of someone who said the decision is yours.

I sighed. - Right, Maya. Let's go to your apartment. But if you break a single rule, I'll take you back to the hospital myself.

Her smile opened as if she had won a battle. - Oh, doctor... you won't regret it.

But something told me that yes, I would go. And somehow, a part of me wanted to find out exactly how far this surrender would take me.

MAYA POV

The problem was not the monitor glued to my chest, nor the list of medicines that looked like a daily sentence. The problem was her.

The Italian doctor.

Carina DeLuca.

Always so serious, so controlled, so difficult to shake. While I hid behind sarcasm and drama, she remained firm, looking at me as if she saw beyond the performance. It was annoying. Annoying and, at the same time, impossible to ignore.

I found myself remembering the night in the hospital, the way she was by my side, without giving in to my provocations, just breathing calmly and imposing a presence that I didn't know how to face. I, who always managed to use charm or chaos to disarm anyone, seemed to fail her. And that... that confused me more than any exam.

Lying on the couch in my apartment, I watched Carina moving the tablet with the graphics of my heart, so focused, so far from the glamorous world I knew. I wanted to hate that impenetrable posture, but instead... I felt something tight in my chest that had nothing to do with my illness.

I sighed loudly, to get attention. - Don't you get tired of looking at me as if I were a medical enigma?

She looked up over the tablet, without changing her expression. - You're an enigma. But not only doctor.

The heart stumbled a beat - and it wasn't through the monitor.

I rolled my eyes, trying to disguise it. - Be careful, doctor. You'll end up finding me interesting.

She just arched her eyebrow, returning to work, and that made me even more restless.

And then, as if the scene wasn't confusing enough, the doorbell rang.

Andy was out, solving things with the press, and I already knew who it could be. I took a deep breath, rolling my eyes even before opening the door.

Jack.

He entered as if he owned the place, with that magazine cover smile and too strong perfume. - Maya, dear. I missed you.

I looked at him, incredulous. - I don't.

- What is this way of treating your boyfriend? - he said loudly, on purpose, as if he wanted the whole building to hear.

Before I could answer, I noticed Carina looking up from the tablet, observing the scene in silence. The blood rose to my face.

- First: you're not my boyfriend. - I crossed my arms, staring at Jack. - Second: if you're here to appear in the gossip columns, choose another target, because I already have too many doctors controlling my life.

He laughed, approaching without permission, putting his hand on my shoulder as if it were natural. - Maya, you love the show. Don't try to deny it.

I pushed his hand away with force. - Get out of here, Jack. I don't have time for you.

He looked at me with that mixture of charm and irritation that I knew so well, but before I could answer, Carina cleared her throat. The sound was low, but enough to freeze the environment.

Jack turned to her, and for a second I thought she was going to open her mouth with some arrogant comment. But Carina just kept her gaze firm, without saying a word, and that seemed to make him uncomfortable.

- Well... - Jack fixed his jacket, giving a fake smile. - I see you already have company. Talk to you later.

He left, slamming the door behind him.

I stood there, taking a deep breath, trying to pull myself together. The silence of the apartment returned, heavy, but this time different. I could feel Carina's eyes on me, attentive, calm, as if they read things that I didn't want anyone to read.

- He's nothing. - I murmured, finally, without facing her. - Just a mistake too repeated.

She didn't answer right away. He just wrote something down on the tablet and then spoke, with a calm but firm voice: - So stop repeating.

And I hated the way it sounded so simple on her lips. Because it wasn't simple.

Nothing in me was.

But for the first time in a long time, I wanted to believe it could be.

Chapter Text

POV CARINA

The apartment returned to silence after Jack left, but inside me something remained in motion.

I shouldn't care.

It was just a patient, just a protocol, just a fragile body that needed care.

But when that man came in, with his voice out loud, the invasive perfume and the stamped arrogance, I felt... something strange. As if I wanted to push him away. As if I were responsible for protecting that space - and not just the physical space, but her space.

My gaze was fixed on Maya, who was still with her arms crossed, clearly irritated. Her sarcasm seemed to have turned into genuine anger, and for some reason it intrigued me.

- Who is he? - I heard my own voice ask, before I could control myself. - This Jack.

Maya raised her eyebrows, surprised. The crooked smile appeared immediately, as if he had just found a delicious breach. - Well, doctor... that sounded almost like jealousy.

- It's not jealousy - I answered too fast, too firm. - It's... just relevant information. I need to know if it poses any risk to your stability.

She tilted her head, laughing softly. - My stability? Carina, you talk as if I were a science project about to explode.

- Sometimes that's exactly what you look like - I replied, trying to maintain the clinical tone, even when I knew it wasn't just the clinic that moved me at that moment.

She approached slowly, her gaze shining with malice, but there was also something else, something almost sweet behind. - So you really want to know who Jack is?

I nodded, seriously.

- He's... a distraction. - She shrugged, as if it were obvious. - Handsome, charming, terrible for me. But sometimes I let him in just so I wouldn't feel alone.

The words were in the air for a few seconds, heavier than any joke. I didn't know what to answer immediately. The heart accelerated, and it wasn't just the monitor that beeped in the corner.

Maya, of course, noticed. You always notice.

She smiled sideways, taking a step even closer. - But if it bothers you, doctor... maybe I'll start thinking that Jack isn't that interesting.

I swallowed hard, looking away to the tablet, trying to find refuge in the graphics. - I didn't say it bothers me.

- I didn't say. - She laughed, softly, her voice full of provocation. - But I heard.

And at that moment, no matter how much I tried to deny it, I realized that she was right.

And that I was, yes, going crazy.

MAYA POV

Jack has always been like smoke: invades, suffocates, but just open the window and he disappears. But that night, when I saw him enter my apartment as if he owned the place, I didn't just feel the usual anger.

I felt something different.

I felt like looking at Carina and asking: Do you see? Do you understand why I get lost?

When Jack left, slamming the door with that arrogance that I already knew by heart, the silence became heavy. I knew Carina was watching me. I felt her eyes burning my skin, and for the first time... I liked it.

- Who is he? - she asked, her voice firm, as if she were asking for a clinical data. But the way you said it... oh, that wasn't medicine.

I smiled crookedly, because I don't know how to do anything else when I feel cornered. - It almost sound like jealousy, doctor.

She hit back quickly, as she always does: - It's not jealousy. It's relevant information.

And that's when I understood: there was a crack in her wall. Small, but real. And I'm not the type to waste an opportunity.

I approached, sitting on the arm of the armchair where she was with the tablet. - Relevant information, right? So let's exchange data. I already told you about Jack. Now I want to know about you.

She frowned, suspicious. - What exactly?

- Your love life. - I crossed my arms, resting my chin on my hand with an air of defiance. - I want to know if there is an "Italian Jack" hidden somewhere.

Carina widened her eyes, clearly taken by surprise. The discreet blush on her face was the best part. - That's none of your business.

- Oh, but it is. - I insisted, smiling like someone who had already won the game. - If I'm going to spend three days being monitored 24 hours a day by you, I want at least a little entertainment.

She took a deep breath, trying to regain control. But I had already noticed: the doctor is not so impenetrable.

- You like to poke - she said, dry.

- And you like to pretend you don't feel anything. - I tilted my head, my eyes fixed on hers. - But I see.

For a second, silence. Just the monitor's beep marking my heart - which was now beating too fast.

And I realized: maybe it wasn't just provocation. Maybe I really wanted to know.

POV CARINA

I never liked talking about my personal life with patients. There is a clear line that separates those who care from those who need to be cared for, and I have always respected that line. Always.

But Maya Bishop doesn't respect lines. She crosses them with sarcasm, paints them with red lipstick and laughs while the rest of the world tries to stay in place.

When she asked me about my love life, my first reaction was to deny it. Close the door. Protecting what was left of my simple routine in Seattle, my quiet coffees, my silent mornings.

But there was something in her eyes - that mixture of challenge and vulnerability - that disarmed me.

- There is no "Italian Jack" - I answered, finally. - Neither boyfriend nor girlfriend.

Her eyes shone with surprise and... interest. - So the doctor is single. What a delicious revelation.

- That doesn't matter at all - I replied, firmly, trying to drive away the strange heat that rose through my body.

- Of course there is. - She laughed, and the laugh was light, almost genuine. - It means I don't need to compete.

I arched my eyebrows, shocked by the audacity. - Compete?

- For your time, your attention... - She paused, leaning dangerously close. - For your infinite patience with me.

My heart accelerated, and this time there was no monitor to disguise it. I knew I should get up, get out of there, reaffirm the professional distance. But I couldn't.

Instead, I heard myself saying something I never thought I would say:

- You intrigue me, Maya.

She smiled, like someone who has just won a war without having to fire a shot. - I knew.

And at that moment, I realized: maybe I was, yes, going crazy. But it was a kind of madness that I didn't want to run away from.

MAYA POV

Carina didn't look away. That was the problem.

Most people back down when I attack with my sarcasm, when I throw a well-placed provocation, or when I disdain as if the world were just a stage and I was the main star. But not her.

She stays.

She stares at me as if every word of mine was a symptom to be deciphered, as if every laugh was a cry for help that I myself can't recognize.

- So you intrigue me? - I asked, savoring each syllable as if it were expensive wine. - That's almost a confession, doctor.

She didn't answer right away, and I loved this silence. Her silence was not empty. It was a silence full of unsailed things, full of control falling apart inside.

- Don't mix things up - she said, firm, but her voice betrayed a shadow of hesitation. - You're still my patient.

- And you're still my doctor. - I tilted my head, smiling crookedly. - But that doesn't stop us from talking like two women, does it?

She sighed, fixing the tablet on her lap as if it were a shield. - You like to test limits.

- I've always liked it. - I crossed my legs, getting closer. - And you like to keep everything under control. I bet this must be tiring, right? Living always so contained... so correct.

For a moment, I saw her eyes swing. It was fast, but I realized. She looked at me as if she were fighting an internal battle, and for some reason that made me want to provoke even more.

- Then tell me, Carina. - I used her name without "doctor", just to see the reaction. - How is your life when you're not dealing with dramatic patients like me?

She took a deep breath, and for a moment I thought she was going to get up and end the conversation. But, on the contrary, she blurted out:

- My life is simple. I work a lot, I have few close friends, I share the apartment with my brother. There is no glamour. Not even chaos.

- It looks boring. - I smiled, but inside something moved. Part of me envied this simplicity. - And there's no one? Not even a hidden romance?

She hesitated before answering. - No.

- So I was right. - I leaned even more, my face close to hers. - You're all discipline on the outside, but inside you have empty spaces. And maybe... just maybe... you want to fill them out.

She stood still, her eyes fixed on mine, as if I had touched something dangerous. The beep of the portable monitor echoed softly, reminding both of us of my physical fragility, but at that moment it seemed a distant detail.

- Maya... - she started, but didn't finish the sentence.

I laughed, a low, almost intimate laugh. - Relax, doctor. I won't bite you. At least not without consent.

She closed her eyes for a second, clearly trying to regain control. - You need to rest.

- Is this your elegant way to escape?

- This is my way of making sure you're still alive tomorrow. - She got up, fixing the chair. - I'll prepare the couch.

- The couch? - I frowned, indignant. - Are you going to sleep on the couch?

- Of course. I won't invade your space.

- Carina... - I smiled maliciously, but there was a touch of sincerity in my voice. - If you wanted, you could sleep here by my side.

She didn't answer, she just gave me a look that mixed exasperation and something deeper. Then he walked to the sofa, organizing the cushions with almost military precision.

- Good night, Maya. - Her voice was firm, but low, almost soft.

- Good night, doctor. - I lay down, closing my eyes, but with a smile that I couldn't erase.

While silence took over the apartment, I realized that I no longer knew where the provocation ended and something true began.

Chapter Text

POV CARINA

The apartment was quiet, except for the distant sound of the night traffic of Los Angeles. I was lying on the couch, the thin blanket pulled up to my chest, but sleep didn't come.

Her words still echoed.

You are all discipline on the outside, but on the inside you have empty spaces.

She had no idea how true this was.

I closed my eyes, trying to convince myself that nothing had changed. That Maya was just a difficult patient, fascinating in a way, but still just a patient. I needed to repeat this as a mantra so as not to cross dangerous lines.

So I heard.

A low, metallic noise, as if something had fallen to the floor. I opened my eyes immediately, my body already on alert.

- Maya? - I called, but there was no answer.

I got up from the couch and walked to the room. The door was ajar, and when I pushed, I saw the scene that made my heart race.

Maya was leaning against the wall, panting, one hand on her chest and the other trying to hold the head of the bed. The monitor on your body beeped irregularly, like a danger alert.

- Maya! - I ran to her, holding her by the arms before she slipped. - What's going on?

- I... just went to get water... - her voice was weak, dragged. - And the world started spinning.

- Sit down. Now. - The firmness in my voice hid the internal panic. I guided her back to bed, fixing the pillows so that she was semi-reclining.

She was pale, cold sweat running down her forehead. I checked the signals on the monitor, adjusting the sensors, feeling my chest tighten with each irregular data.

- You should have called me. - My voice came out harder than I intended.

- I didn't want to bother you. - She smiled weakly, that crooked smile she always wore, even on the verge of collapse. - I'm already bothered enough just by existing.

My heart tightened. Not as a doctor, but as someone who, against all logic, was caring more than he should.

- Never say that. - I touched her face with my fingertips, almost without realizing it. - You're not a nuisance.

She looked at me, her eyes teary, fragile as she had never seen. - So why does it seem so hard to believe that someone can... want to stay?

I was silent for a moment, feeling the weight of the question. I wanted to answer as a doctor, with ready-made, objective sentences. But I couldn't.

- Maybe... because you never let anyone really try. - My voice came out low, almost a whisper.

She took a deep breath, trying to stabilize her heart, but her eyes were still fixed on me. There was something there besides fear, besides pain. Something I didn't know how to name, but that pulled me closer.

I sat on the edge of the bed, holding your hand firmly. - I'll stay here. All night. So don't try to be a heroine.

She laughed softly, even tired. - I knew... that you weren't just serious.

He closed his eyes, his breathing still irregular, but gradually calming down with my presence. I stayed there, unable to let go of his hand.

And, for the first time since I met her, I realized that the line between doctor and patient no longer existed. Not for me.

POV CARINA

The dawn in Los Angeles seemed noisier than any other day in Seattle. The traffic did not stop, horns came from far away, and even the wind had a particular sound.

But inside that room, everything was silent.

I was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching Maya sleep. Her breathing had stabilized, but every time the monitor blinked, my heart shot as if I were attached to it.

It wasn't just fear of losing a patient. It was something else.

She looked different sleeping. Without the mask of sarcasm, without the crooked smile, without the iron armor I used to face the world. Just a woman... fragile, human, with the scars exposed even without words.

I lightly touched her hand, still intertwined in mine since the almost fainting. I should let her go, keep my distance, respect borders. But I couldn't.

That hand was a reminder: she's here, she's still here.

I closed my eyes for a few moments, allowing forbidden thoughts to escape.

Why her?

Why, among so many people I treated, did she just manage to cross my defenses?

Was it the way he turned pain into a show? The way he challenged me, as if he wanted to get answers that even I didn't know I had?

Or was it simply because, unlike everyone else, I saw in her a heart in pieces... and desperately wanted to hold it before it broke for good?

I shook my head, trying to drive away this whirlwind. I was a doctor. She was patient. It was simple.

But nothing about it was simple.

The dawn was passing slowly. I adjusted the blanket over her when she moved restlessly, I touched her forehead to check the fever that was no longer there, I observed every detail of the face illuminated only by the twilight of the lamp.

And, in silence, I realized something that scared me more than any heart collapse: I wasn't just taking care of it.

I was getting attached.

MAYA POV

I woke up with the strange feeling of being watched. For a second, I thought it was just another weird dream mixed with the reality of my chaotic life. But then I opened my eyes.

And there she was.

Carina, sitting on the edge of the bed, her eyes fixed on me as if I were both a question and an answer that she could not decipher.

For a moment, I was silent, just looking. There was something on her face that I had never seen before: vulnerability. As if that Italian wall had cracked and I was the only one to see inside.

- Did you spend the night here? - I asked, my voice still hoarse.

She took a deep breath, but didn't look away. - I said I was going to stay.

Something squeezed me. No one ever stayed. Everyone left at the end of the show, after the lights went out. But she... she had stayed.

I smiled lightly, without the strength of sarcasm. - You'll end up regretting it. I'm a terrible patient.

She shook her head, her eyes watering in silence, and that dismounted me. Carina DeLuca, always so controlled, seemed to feel more than she wanted to admit.

Before I could think twice, I raised the hand she was still holding and pulled it lightly. The movement was instinctive, natural, inevitable.

She leaned over without realizing it.

And then it happened.

Our lips met in a soft, fragile kiss, almost a whisper. There was no hurry, there was no show. Just two women trying to meet in the middle of chaos.

For a second, the whole world disappeared. There were no protocols, no disease, no rules. There was only the feeling that, for the first time in a long time, I was not alone.

When we moved away, still so close, I could only whisper:

- See what, doctor? I knew you weren't just serious.

She smiled, a small but real smile. And at that moment, I understood: maybe my biggest fight wasn't against my sick heart.

Maybe it was against hers.

Chapter Text

POV CARINA

Her taste was still in my mouth. A kiss.

A single kiss, and the whole world I built around the control seemed about to collapse.

I moved away slowly, my hands still shaking, my heart racing, and sat on the edge of the bed with the feeling that the air had disappeared from the room.

What had I done?

My God... what had I done?

I was a doctor. She was responsible for the protocol, for her life. I was the one who should keep the lines clear, the papers clear, the ethics intact. But instead, I had given in. Worse: I wanted to give in.

I got up, walking to the window as if the dawn air could save me. But Los Angeles doesn't sleep, and the city lights reminded me that Maya wasn't calm either, she would never be calm. She was chaos. Brightness, spectacle, confusion.

And me? I was someone who had sworn not to get lost in the chaos.

I ran my hands over my face, trying to recover rationality. Teddy. Bailey If they found out... God, if they found out, I'd be finished. Teddy trusted me as a colleague and as a friend. Bailey believed in my integrity, in my professionalism. They would kill me. They would literally kill me if they knew that, in a few hours of protocol, I had kissed the most difficult patient of my career.

And that wasn't all. It was the age difference, it was the fact that Maya had a whole life completely incompatible with mine.

She had a boyfriend - or at least someone who introduced himself as such. Jack. I shouldn't have felt anything when I saw him come in, but I did. And that scared me even more.

Because jealousy was not a doctor.

Jealousy was human. It was personal.

I closed my eyes tightly, taking a deep breath. I needed to put up barriers. I needed to find the doctor again in me before it was too late. But when I turned my face, she was there.

Maya slept again, the monitor flashing at a stable pace, but her chest rising and falling still fragile. She looked so small on the big bed, so vulnerable that it hurt to look.

And it was at that moment that I realized how lost I was.

I didn't want to be just the doctor. I wanted to protect her.

I wanted to stay.

My heart screamed for something my mind condemned. It was insane, it was forbidden. But in the middle of the silence, the only sound that made sense was her breathing.

MAYA POV

When I opened my eyes again, it was still dawn. The city outside didn't sleep, but inside the room there was a strange, almost comforting stillness.

And the first thing I saw was her.

Carina was in the nearby armchair, her hands covering her face, her body curved as if carrying the weight of the world. I didn't need to listen to her thoughts to know: she was blaming herself. She was trying to erase what had happened.

The kiss.

My chest tightened. It was not the fear of the previous fainting, nor the physical weakness that I still felt. It was something else.

It was the fear of losing that before it even started.

I was never good at dealing with real feelings. I always covered everything with debauchery, with jokes, with irony. But, looking at her there, so destroyed inside, I couldn't be sarcastic.

Not now.

- Carina... - my voice came out low, almost a whisper.

She looked up, and in her eyes there was a whole sea of guilt, fear, and something else that she tried to hide at any cost.

- Maya, that can't... - he started, his voice choked. - I shouldn't have... we shouldn't have...

- Don't talk like that. - I interrupted, sitting on the bed, even with a weak body. - Don't turn this into a mistake. I can't deal with one more thing being called an error.

She froze, her eyes fixed on me.

I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of my own vulnerability. - I know my life is chaos. I know it sounds crazy. I have an "almost boyfriend" that was never anything but distraction, I have the press watching me every step of the way, I have a heart that fails more than it works. But none of this changes what I felt now.

The tears burned my eyes, but I didn't deviate. - Carina, for the first time in a long time, I didn't want to pretend. I didn't want to hide behind a crooked smile. I just wanted... you.

The silence settled heavy between us. She seemed to fight against every word, against every impulse, against everything. I saw her open her mouth to deny, to put walls again, but instead... she approached.

- Maya, you have no idea what you're asking for. - Her voice trembled. - You don't know how much this can destroy us.

I smiled, but it was a sad, honest smile, without a shield. - I know. I know you'll blame yourself, that you'll think about Teddy, Bailey, rules, protocols. But I can't think of any of this now. I can only think about the way you looked when I thought you were going to faint. You didn't look like just a doctor, Carina. You looked like someone who... really cares.

She closed her eyes, her breathing heavy, and I felt my heart speed up again.

- I care - she admitted, finally, with a thread of voice. - Much more than it should.

And, at that moment, even if the whole world was against it, I knew I wasn't alone.

For the first time, I had someone willing to stay.

Chapter Text

POV CARINA

The sun rose before I could sleep.

I spent the night on the couch, motionless, listening to the distant sound of traffic, the alarms that never shut up in Los Angeles, and, especially, the constant beep of Maya's portable monitor.

Each beat was a memory: of the kiss, of the confession, of how much I had crossed a line that should never be crossed.

I kept my eyes open, as if the vigil was a necessary penance. I couldn't afford anything else. Not with her. Not with someone who depended on me to live.

The cell phone vibrated shortly after six. Teddy.

I closed my eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath before answering.

- Buongiorno - I tried to sound normal, as if it were just another morning of work.

On the other hand, Teddy's voice was practical, bluntly: - I need the report of the first hours of protocol. How are her levels?

I looked at the folder on the coffee table, where I had recorded each data during the night. - Stable now. There was an episode of hypotension at dawn, but it was controlled. I'm monitoring it closely.

- Good. - Her voice softened a little. - I trust you, Carina. Take care of her as only you know how to take care of her.

The words crossed me. If Teddy knew about the night before, if he knew about the kiss... this "I trust you" would have another weight. I swallowed dryly, answering only with a "yes" that sounded more fragile than I would like.

I hung up and, for the first time since I arrived, I looked up to really observe the apartment.

It was big, modern, full of scattered plants and abstract paintings, as if each wall screamed for attention. But in the middle of so much luxury, there was a void. A silence that not even the colorful flowers could fill.

And then I heard voices coming from the bedroom. Andy had arrived early, already talking loudly, like someone who needed to bring life back to the stage.

- Maya, yesterday's photos were amazing, but we need more! - Andy said, too excited for a morning. - The Marvel team wants you in an audition for the new superheroine movie. That's huge!

Superheroine.

I looked at Maya through the half-open door. She was still in bed, her face pale, her dark circles deep, but Andy spoke as if none of this existed. As if Maya were just the bright star and not the fragile woman trying to survive.

And before I could intervene, another sound echoed through the apartment: the doorbell.

I opened the door and there he was. Jack.

With an extravagant bouquet of flowers in his hands and that smile of someone who never had to make an effort to be noticed.

- Good morning, dear. - He passed by me as if I were invisible, taking the bouquet to Maya. - I brought flowers for my girl.

My stomach turned. "My girl." I had no right to feel anything, but I did.

I felt angry. I felt jealous. I was afraid that the chaos of her life would swallow us both.

I closed the door slowly, but the feeling was clear: the day was beginning, and with it came all the realities from which the previous night had tried to protect us.

MAYA POV

Waking up was always the worst part.

At night, with a tired body, I could pretend that everything was far away. But when the sun came in through the window, there was no way to escape: reality came back whole, heavy, relentless.

The worst thing was that, this time, it wasn't just the reality of my illness. It was also Carina's memory.

From the kiss.

The way she said she cared.

For the first time in a long time, I hadn't slept laughing or mocking myself. I slept thinking about what it could mean to have someone who really would stay.

And it hurt almost as much as the broken heart in my chest.

Andy came in early, excited, talking about photos, contracts, a chance to be a Marvel heroine. I smiled at her, but it was an automatic, mechanical smile. I didn't have the strength to dream of capes and powers when I could barely cross the room without feeling the world turn.

And then Jack showed up.

With flowers. With that smile that so many times deceived me, but that now only tired me.

- I brought it for you, my girl. - He said, putting the bouquet on my lap as if it were the most romantic thing in the world.

I looked at him for long seconds, but I didn't feel anything. No anger, no desire, no relief. Just empty.

Because I knew that "my girl" wasn't true. It had never been.

Meanwhile, my eyes searched for Carina, standing at the back of the room, trying to look invisible, but I saw her. I saw the tightness in his body, the tension in his jaw, the eyes that avoided mine as if they were afraid of what they would find.

And at that moment, I understood: what was swallowing us was not only the press, nor Andy, nor Jack. It was life.

My life.

A stage where I was always forced to smile, even when everything hurt.

But when I remembered the kiss, her touch holding my hand in the middle of the night, I knew I wanted more than flowers, more than contracts, more than heroin roles.

I wanted someone to see me without the masks.

And Carina saw me.

That's why, even surrounded by people, even with flowers on my lap and millionaire proposals, I felt lonely. Only until my eyes meet hers for a second.

And there, speechless, I knew that the silence of the night was not over yet.

Chapter Text

POV CARINA

All day, I fought against myself.

Every look, every word, every gesture of Maya felt like a knife pressing against the wall I raised for years.

So, I did what I knew best: I was cold.

I spent the morning with reports, adjusting the portable monitor, timing medication schedules, pretending not to hear Andy's comments about the photos, pretending not to notice Jack parading flowers and cheap smiles around the room.

Only doctor. Only protocol.

"Patience, distancing, discipline." I repeated it like a mantra.

And yet, every time my eyes met hers, I saw.

She looked at me like someone who begged for something she couldn't name.

And I backed back. Because if I took a step forward, I knew I would fall whole.

The hours passed like closed fists. The day seemed to test me: Teddy calling to reinforce reports, Bailey sending short and demanding messages, Andy vibrating about contracts, Jack invading the space as if he owned it.

And I, in the middle of it, clinging to the protocol as if it were a lifeline.

But the most difficult silence didn't come from them.

Maya's line.

She didn't use sarcasm. It didn't provoke me. He didn't mock.

She just looked at me.

And that look - a fragile, hurt, silent look - haunted me all day.

When night finally fell and Andy took Jack away with the rejected bouquet, we were left alone.

I knew I should take a deep breath, regain my composure, end the day with medical notes. But the truth is that there was no calm.

I was exploding.

- Maya - I started, my voice too hard, almost dry. - Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?

She blinked, surprised, vulnerable. - I... I'm just trying to be honest.

The anger rose, not against her, but against myself. - Honest? Do you know how old I am, Maya?

The silence fell heavy. I laughed, a nervous laugh, almost bitter. - I'm thirty-six years old. Thirty-six. And do you know what that means? That I spent more than half of my life choosing calm, peace, discipline. I am a woman who has never exposed her love life even to her own friends. Who never mixed patient with desire, who always knew where the limits were.

I took a step forward, my voice failing. - And now I'm here. Stuck in this apartment, without sleeping, without breathing properly, because you... you take me apart.

She looked at me in silence, tears already forming.

- I built my whole life on the restriction. - My voice broke. - I'm proud of being rational, of being ethical, of never losing myself in passing passions. And now I'm here, with you, breaking everything.

I closed my eyes, my breathing heavy. - You have a chaotic life, Maya. You have a "boyfriend", contracts, photographers, fans who shout your name. You are a storm. I'm calm. How can you think this makes sense?

When I opened my eyes, she was crying. And her pain hit me like a knife.

- I can't take it anymore - I admitted, in a whisper. - I can't stand pretending that you're just a patient anymore.

And then the silence fell again. But this time, it wasn't empty. It was the line that separated us, finally about to break.

MAYA POV

I never liked to see myself weak. I was always the woman who turned pain into a spectacle, tears into jokes, fear into sarcasm.

But when Carina started talking, when I heard her every word as if they were sharp blades, there was no shield to protect me.

She was breaking. And me too.

Tears flowed without me being able to stop.

I never cried for men who left. I never cried for directors who said "it doesn't work". I never cried even when my own body betrayed me in front of cameras.

But I cried for her.

- I didn't want to mess up your life. - My voice came out flawed, almost unrecognizable. - I just wanted... for once... not to feel alone.

She stared at me with teary eyes, and I hated myself for being the reason for her suffering.

- I have nothing to offer but chaos. - The confession tore from within. - I have no peace, I have no balance. I have a heart that fails, contracts that exhaust me, people like Jack trying to use me. I'm a disaster. And even so... you stayed.

I took a deep breath, the pain coming out in hiccups. - Carina, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for pulling you into my mess. I'm sorry for making you want something you shouldn't. I feel... for wanting you.

The words broke in me. I had never said "I feel" like that. Never.

And at that moment, I realized: I could live hidden behind fake smiles, but not with her.

With her, I had to be whole. Even if it hurt.

I looked up, letting her see my face wet with tears. - I don't know if that makes sense. But I know that... when you hold my hand, I believe I still have a future.

The silence that followed was almost unbearable. I trembled, waiting for her to turn her back, to confirm my worst fears.

But she didn't turn.

She just approached.

And there, in the dim light of the room illuminated by the distant lights of the city, two broken women allowed themselves, for the first time, not to be strong.

POV CARINA

The apartment was immersed in a strange calm.

After the whole day of pressure, after the tears and the outburst, there was a silence that was not hostile, but it was not peace either. It was the silence of heavy unsayed things, still stuck in the throat.

I spent the last hours of the night sitting at the table, organizing reports, checking graphics, completing the dossier that Teddy asked me for. Every line, every dice, every recorded beat seemed like a way to keep me in control, to remind me who I was: doctor. Scientist. Professional.

Maya slept for a while, her exhausted body finally giving in to the effect of the new medicines. When I woke up at dawn to check signs, she was breathing better, the monitor showed more stable beats, and for the first time since I arrived I felt that maybe, just maybe, she was reacting well to the protocol.

My flight to Seattle was scheduled for eight. Teddy had already confirmed that he would wait for me at the hospital to analyze the data. Bailey wanted a complete opinion by the end of the day. I needed to go.

And I needed to do something much more difficult: end it before it became impossible.

When I returned to the room, Maya was awake, leaning on the pillows, her eyes tired but lucid.

She looked at me and smiled lightly, without irony. - It seems that the medicines are working. I don't feel my heart scream like before.

I nodded, keeping the tone neutral. - They're working. But you need to continue the protocol, follow the doses, the schedules. Promise?

- I promise. - Her voice was calm, sincere. - For you.

These two words hit me like a punch. For you. Not for herself, not for Andy, not for her career. For me.

My chest tightened. It was now or never.

I took a deep breath, sat on the edge of the bed and stared into your eyes. - Maya, I need to tell you something.

She straightened up, attentive. - What was it?

My voice came out lower than I planned. - I'm sorry. For everything. For having crossed a line that I shouldn't have. For letting you believe that... that there could be something beyond the protocol between us.

Her eyes were watery, but she didn't say anything.

I continued, even with my throat burning. - That's crazy, Maya. You need to live your life. Your chaos. Jack, contracts, movies, photos - all this is you. I can't try to fit you into my restricted life, and I can't fit into yours. Not now.

She bit her lip, her eyes shining. - Carina...

I shook my head, interrupting. - No. I can't. You need to heal yourself, you need to breathe without feeling that you owe something to someone. You need to find someone who fits in your world without destroying you.

Her tears flowed, silent.

My voice failed, but I continued. - I chose peace. I built my whole life on limits and discipline. I barely talk to my friends about my love life. And now... now I'm here, on the verge of losing all this because I got involved. I can't, Maya. I can't give in.

For a second, everything seemed to stop. The monitor blinked at a slow pace, our hearts out of step.

- I'm sorry - I whispered. - More than you can imagine.

I got up before I could change my mind, before I could give in again. With each step I felt the weight of something breaking inside me.

MAYA POV

Her words crossed me like blades.

I had promised. For the first time, I had promised to comply with a protocol. For the first time, it wasn't sarcasm. I wanted to do for her what I could never do even for myself.

But now she was leaving.

I sat on the bed, looking at Carina like watching a bridge collapse. She spoke of peace, restriction, discipline - and I finally realized the size of the abyss between us.

I've always been chaos. I've always been the hurricane that comes in, messes up, and then is alone with the wreckage. But with her... with her I wanted to be something else. I didn't know what. I just knew I wanted to.

The tears fell uncontrolllally, but I didn't hide. For the first time, I didn't try to make a joke. I didn't try to look stronger. I just cried.

- I'm sorry - I managed to say, my voice weak. - I never wanted to... destroy your peace. I just wanted to feel that someone stayed.

She stopped at the door, with her back to me, her shoulders tense.

I continued, sorcing: - I don't want Jack. I don't want Marvel. I don't want to be any heroine. I just wanted you to see me without all this. And you saw it. And I don't know what to do with it now.

Her breathing became heavy. For a moment I thought I was going to leave without looking back. But then she turned around, her eyes teary too.

- I saw it. - Her voice was a broken whisper. - And that's why I need to go.

My fingers squeezed the sheet, trying to find strength where there was none. - So go. But it doesn't say I have to go back to chaos. I don't want to. Not anymore.

She closed her eyes, struggling with something I couldn't achieve.

And there, in the middle of the night before his flight, we were two women who didn't know how to hold what they felt without destroying themselves.

I didn't make a scandal. I didn't make a scene.

I just felt it.

And maybe, at that moment, this was the truest I had ever been.

Chapter Text

MAYA POV

Carina left in the morning.

I didn't make a scene. I didn't cry in front of her. I just stayed in bed, watching his back disappear through the door, listening to the sound of the heels echoing through the corridor until they disappeared.

After that, the apartment looked like another.

The air was still, the silence weighed. But, for the first time in a long time, I kept a promise.

I followed the protocol.

Robotically.

At every time, I took the medicines.

Water, coffee without sugar, no alcohol.

No cigarettes hidden on the balcony.

No sleepless nights.

I did everything. Not because I wanted to live. But because I wanted to prove, maybe to myself, that I could keep a part of her here.

Carina had asked for this.

And I obeyed.

Andy noticed before everyone else.

She entered the apartment on a Wednesday, full of energy, papers and invitations in hand, but stopped at the door when she saw me sitting on the couch, motionless, holding a glass of tea as if it were the only thing that still held me.

- You're weird. - She narrowed her eyes. - It's not the normal kind of stranger... it's another kind.

I raised an eyebrow, without strength for sarcasm. - I'm following orders.

- Since when do you follow orders? - Andy dropped the bag on the floor and approached, his arms crossed. - It's scaring me.

I sighed. - I just... I'm tired of fighting everyone. So I decided to stop.

She sat next to me, her expression worried. - Maya, you stopped drinking. He stopped smoking. He stopped being late for rehearsals. You're eating, sleeping... You've never been so disciplined.

- Is that bad?

- No. - Andy hesitated. - But you look sad. It looks... broken.

I swallowed hard. I looked at her hands, at the glass, at anywhere other than her eyes. - Maybe I am.

Silence fell. Andy wasn't good with silences, but this time she didn't try to fill it with jokes. He just put his hand on mine.

- Who did it, Maya? - she asked, soft. - Who left you like this?

The words hit me. I didn't say anything. I didn't need it. She saw it in my eyes.

- Oh, my God. - Andy took a deep breath. - It was the doctor, wasn't it?

I didn't answer. And that was enough answer.

Andy bit her lip, thoughtful, but didn't insist. - If you want to talk, I'm here. Just don't drown alone, okay?

I nodded, in silence.

But before he could say anything, Jack showed up.

Always him, at the worst time.

He entered with his easy smile, a bottle of wine in his hand - which he dropped when he noticed my reproachful look.

- Okay, okay, no wine. - He raised his hands. - I remember the protocol.

- What are you doing here, Jack? - I asked, tired.

He threw himself on the opposite sofa, as if he owned the place. - I came to see you. And... seriously.

I rolled my eyes. - With you, serious is never serious.

- This time it is. - He leaned forward. - Maya, look at me. We are good together. We could really be a couple, you know? A real one. Not only appearances, not only convenience.

My throat locked. I looked at Andy, who watched in silence, almost shocked by his boldness.

- Jack... - I started, without energy. - I don't want that.

- Don't you want to or are you afraid? - He insisted. - Because every time someone gets close, you run away. I'm already here. I've endured your worst days, I've seen you on the floor. Wouldn't it be easier to stop fighting against and simply... accept?

The tears threatened.

For a second, I thought about saying yes. Think about stability, about not being alone, about leaning on something familiar.

But it wasn't true.

It wasn't him.

- I don't feel that way about you, Jack. - My voice failed. - I never felt it.

He was silent, his eyes narrowed, his smile forced. - So who is it?

I didn't answer.

And silence was the worst possible answer.

POV CARINA

The flight to Seattle was a torment.

I looked out the window, but I saw nothing but last night, besides Maya's teary eyes when I apologized.

The plane landed, but I still felt her weight with me.

And no matter how many times I repeated "patient, protocol, ethics", inside me I knew that I had already crossed a line.

Teddy was waiting for me at the hospital. We went straight into her room, where I analyzed the collected data.

- The protocol worked. - I showed the graphs. - Positive response to medicines, levels stabilized after adjustments.

Teddy smiled, satisfied. - I knew you were the right person to be there.

My chest tightened. - I can't continue in the case.

She widened her eyes. - What?

I swallowed dryly. - I need to go out. Transfer follow-up. You can take over, or Bailey, but... I can't.

- Carina... - Teddy's voice changed, softer. - What happened?

I looked at her, fighting against the tears that insisted on rising. - I got too involved. More than it should.

Teddy was silent, but his look said it all. I knew exactly what that meant.

- You've always been the most ethical among us - she said, finally. - The most restricted, the most rational. If you're saying that, it's because you really crossed the line.

I nodded, feeling my throat burn. - I need to get away before destroying everything.

She didn't try to convince me otherwise. He just put his hand on mine, in a silent gesture of support.

- All right. - Her voice was firm, but sad. - I'll take care of her from now on.

I nodded again, but inside me I knew: it didn't matter who took care of the protocol.

I could never really turn off.

Chapter Text

MAYA POV

The days began to mix.

Wake up, take the medicine, follow the schedules, drink water, rest, attend Andy when she appeared with new agenda ideas.

It was an almost monastic routine for someone like me.

And, absurdly, I was complying.

But there was something that was always repeated, without fail.

Every night, before going to sleep, I took my cell phone and wrote to Carina.

Hi, doctor, today I managed to sleep without dizziness.

Today I didn't feel my heart running marathon.

I took the test for Marvel, and it was ridiculous. They dressed me in a green outfit full of sensors, and I couldn't take it seriously. I laughed so much that the director gave up on me for "lack of heroic posture".

You should have seen it. You would have laughed. Or, at least, arched that eyebrow of judgment.

She never answered.

But I kept writing.

It was like talking to the void, but somehow it was also a reminder that I was still here. That I still had something to tell.

Andy, of course, noticed.

The third time he caught me typing messages late at night, he threw a pillow at me.

- You're still talking to her, aren't you? - he asked, his arms crossed.

- Saying no. - I sighed. - Sending messages to nothing.

- Maya... - Her tone was alert. - That's not healthy.

- I don't know how to live healthy. - He laughs without humor. - But I know how to live with a lack. And writing to her is the only way to pretend she's still here.

Andy sat next to me, putting a hand on my shoulder. - I don't understand what you feel for this woman, but I see that it's different from everything I've ever seen in you.

The tears came to me before I could even contain them.

- I miss my parents, Andy. - The voice failed. - Sometimes I think... if my mother were here, she would know what to say. She would help me not to get lost in the middle of this. I remember the way she held my hand when I was afraid... and it was so easy to believe that everything would be fine.

Andy squeezed my shoulder. - I know it's not the same thing, but I'm here.

I shook my head, tears falling. - It's not the same thing, Andy. You're my friend, but she... Carina is... different.

Andy didn't insist. He just hugged me, in silence.

And that night, I wrote another message, with trembling fingers.

Today I cried thinking about my mother. I know you won't read it, but I needed to tell someone. I don't want to feel alone, Carina. Not with you still existing in the world.

I pressed send.

And I put the cell phone aside, like someone who leaves a piece of his heart in a place where it shouldn't be.

POV CARINA

Seattle has never looked so gray.

I sank into work, taking on cases, surgeries, extra shifts. I filled every minute of the day with medical obligations, as if exhaustion could erase memories.

Teddy, however, wouldn't leave me alone.

- You need to live, Carina - she repeated. - You can't hide forever.

She was the one who dragged me on a date with Marco, a newly arrived Italian plastic surgeon.

He was nice, spoke loudly, gestured too much, made boring jokes.

And I... I was absent.

I thought about Maya all night.

Marco told about trips, wines, expensive restaurants. I smiled politely, but every word of his sounded distant. In the end, I thanked him for dinner and invented an early morning shift to escape.

It was a disaster.

Back to my apartment, the first thing I did was open my cell phone.

And there they were.

The messages.

One, two, three... every day.

I read every word, even without answering.

She told me about the Marvel test, about how she had managed to sleep, about how she was meeting the medication schedules. Small victories, small details that, for anyone, would seem banal. But for me, they were life.

They were proof that she was trying.

I couldn't answer. I shouldn't. But I kept each message as if it were my secret refuge.

It was cowardly, I knew it.

But it was all I had.

Andrew was the first to notice my change. He came into my office on a Friday, with that suspicious expression.

- You're weird. - He watched me for a moment. - Working too much, quieter than usual... even for you.

- I'm just busy. - I pretended to be natural.

He narrowed his eyes. - It's not just that. There's something.

I took a deep breath, looking away from the pile of exams. - No, Andrew. I just work.

But when he left, my gaze returned to the cell phone in the drawer.

Another unread message.

Another piece of Maya waiting in the dark.

And I, even without the courage to answer, knew: it was on her that my heart rested at the end of the day.

Chapter Text

MAYA POV

The days followed at a pace that didn't seem like mine.

Medicines at fixed times, regulated diet, light exercises. Andy even joked that I looked like a soldier in training. But the truth was different: I was just trying to keep the promise I made to Carina alive.

Every night, it continued the same routine.

I lay down, took my cell phone and wrote to her.

Hi, today I managed to run for ten minutes on the treadmill without feeling dizzy. Little miracle.

Sleeping with calm music helps. You should recommend this in your protocols.

The Marvel director said I could be a heroine. I almost laughed in his face. I can barely climb stairs without taking a deep breath, imagine saving the world.

She never answered. But I kept going.

It was like talking to the universe.

And, somehow, it kept me whole.

It was Andy who brought the bomb.

He entered the apartment on a Friday morning, his eyes shining and a briefcase in his hand.

- Maya. - She dropped everything on the table. - You won't believe it. The Marvel director wants you.

I blinked, confused. - What do you mean, "want you"?

- The role. The main role. - Andy almost jumped with excitement. - They were delighted with his energy. You are different, authentic, unpredictable. That's exactly what they want.

My heart failed for a second.

Marvel heroine. Me, stamped in all cinemas, covers, magazines, toys.

And also: training, interviews, tours, physical effort. The chaos I already lived multiplied by a thousand.

- Andy... - my voice came out weak. - They don't know.

She froze. - You don't know what?

- They don't know that I... - I sighed deeply, my throat locking. - That I'm sick.

The brightness in her eyes faded a little. But soon she tried to pull herself together. - Maya... this can be huge. Are you sure you can't?

I didn't answer.

I just looked at my phone, thinking about the only person who would really have an answer for me.

But Carina didn't answer.

And before I could plunge into this anguish, another wave came.

Jack.

He appeared in my apartment as if he owned the space, a rehearsed smile and a news that didn't seem like news.

- The station wants us. - He spoke like someone who had already won. - The couple of the year. Exclusive interview.

I rolled my eyes. - Couple of the year? We're not even a real couple.

- They don't need to know that. - He shrugged. - Just smile, hold my hand, laugh at the jokes. You know how to do it.

Andy was next to him, his arms crossed, clearly against, but without the strength to fight at that moment.

And so, two days later, there we were.

Illuminated studio, cameras, heated audience.

A presenter famous for being without a filter - microphone in hand, ironic smile, look that crossed any facade.

- Good evening, audience! - she began. - Today we are pleased to welcome the couple of the year, Maya Bishop and Jack Gibson!

Applause. Laughter. Lights.

Jack shook my hand as if it were the anchor of the staging.

Smile. But it didn't reach the eyes.

- Maya, you look wonderful - said the presenter, exaggerating the intonation. - Tell me, what is it like to date the most famous guy in the city?

I thought about Carina. I thought about how my body iced every time she called me by my name, not in titles. But I replied:

- It's... intense. - I gave a calculated smile. - Jack has always been full of energy, it's... beautiful to see.

Jack laughed, satisfied.

The presenter didn't stop: - And plans for the future? Children? Marriage?

I choked.

Jack answered before me.

- Of course. I always imagined a big family. - He laughed, looking at me as if it were natural. - And Maya would be an amazing mother.

The audience applauded.

I smiled. But inside, my heart screamed.

The interview continued in this tone: invasive questions, forced smiles, rehearsed answers.

"How is it to share the bed?"

"Who cooks better?"

"Who is more jealous?"

And each answer seemed to bury me deeper in a paper that wasn't mine.

I wasn't the couple of the year.

I was someone trying not to fall apart.

When the program ended, I left the stage in silence.

Andy followed me, but didn't say anything.

She knew. She saw.

And that night, as always, I wrote to Carina.

Today I felt like a fraud. I sat in front of the cameras and pretended to be happy with someone I don't love. They talked about children, marriage, future... and all I could think about was you.

I sent it.

Knowing that there would be no answer.

But still, I had to send it.

POV CARINA

Seattle suffocated me.

I sank into surgeries, reports, meetings. The busier she was, the less she thought about her.

Or at least that's what I told myself.

Teddy, exhausted from covering three shifts in a row, entered the room one day and practically begged.

- Carina, you need to go back to the case. There is no other person in the hospital with your experience in this protocol.

I shook my head. - I can't.

- It's not a choice. - Her voice was firm. - It's responsibility. Her life depends on it.

My heart tightened. Maya. Always Maya.

But I remained firm: - Teddy, I can't.

She sighed, defeated, and left.

The next day, I tried again to be "normal".

I accepted an invitation from Marco to dinner. He chose an expensive restaurant, talked about cars, travel, investments. I smiled, drank a glass of wine, answered with monosyllables.

It was pathetic.

In the end, he invited me to another date.

I invented a shift.

On the way back, I sat on the couch and took my cell phone.

The messages were all there, stacked, one after the other.

Maya telling about sleeping well. About laughing in the Marvel test. About not fainting during the day.

I read every word, but didn't answer.

And then, one night, everything changed.

I was at home, the laptop open, reviewing reports, when the video started running by itself.

The interview.

Maya and Jack.

The couple of the year.

The heart stopped.

I saw Jack hold her hand, I saw her fake smile, I saw the two laugh at the cameras.

And then came the question: children, marriage, future.

I saw Maya choke, I saw Jack answer for her, I saw the audience applaud.

I felt the blood boil.

Jealousy.

Anger.

Pain.

It wasn't rational. I had no right to feel that. I had said myself that I couldn't. But seeing Maya smiling next to Jack, seeing the world believe she was his, tore me apart.

I closed the laptop abruptly.

But it was too late. The image was already engraved in my mind.

And I understood, with the brutality of a punch:

The reason I ignored her messages was not discipline.

It was fear.

Fear of feeling what I just felt.

Because I wasn't the doctor anymore.

I was the woman who couldn't stand to see Maya in someone else's arms.

Chapter Text

MAYA POV

The cell phone had been in my hand for hours.

I looked at the screen so many times that I seemed to know every detail: the list of unanswered messages, the light blue emptiness of an application that kept more of my soul than any diary could keep.

Every night I wrote. But in that one, writing wasn't enough.

I needed to listen.

When I finally pressed the call button, my heart shot as if it were a race. I didn't know if she would answer. I didn't know if I should. But, deep down, there was no other option.

- That's it. - Her voice came out, low, a little hoarse.

I closed my eyes, letting a sigh escape. - Carina.

Silence. Long, heavy, full of everything we didn't say.

- Sorry to call. - The voice came out calmer than I expected. - I just... needed to talk to you.

More silence.

So I continued, the words coming slowly, contained, almost measured:

- I've been thinking a lot about everything. About me. About what I want from now on.

I swallowed hard, looking at the ceiling of my apartment. - Jack is still here, wandering around, trying to convince me to give it a real chance. And, you know... he's an asshole. IT IS. But sometimes I think he's also a nice guy. A simple guy. Who knows how to smile easily. Maybe I should accept that. Maybe that's all life is.

I waited. No reaction. So I proceeded.

- But I don't know if I want that. - I sighed. - I think, for a long time, I wanted chaos. I thought I needed him. But now... now I only think about calm.

I closed my eyes.

The words came out lower, almost poetic, closer than I kept inside me.

- Sometimes, I imagine a big house. Nothing exaggerated, but spacious, full of windows. My mother always said she wanted a house like that. A place with a backyard, where she could plant flowers and where I could run without fear of hitting the narrow walls. She dreamed about it. I dream too.

My voice broke, but I didn't stop. - I think about what it would be like to be in a place that didn't remind me of the rush, the career, the competition. A place to breathe. A place that was only... mine.

Her silence hurt me, but I knew she listened.

I continued, softer:

- I know I'm younger than you. But it doesn't mean I don't carry responsibilities. I lost my parents early, I needed to be an adult when I just wanted to be a daughter. I know the weight I carry, Carina. I'm not just a mess, I'm not just a mess. I have a part inside me that wants to be stable. I want to be someone worth staying with.

My throat burned. - I just wanted you to know that.

I waited. On the other side, silence.

But it was a silence full of breath, full of life.

An invisible wire connected both of us that night.

POV CARINA

When the phone rang, the heart almost stopped.

Maya.

I hesitated. I wanted to let it play, I wanted to pretend I wasn't here. But my fingers answered before reason could scream.

- That's it. - The word came out weak, almost like a confession.

And then I heard her.

Her voice.

So calm. So contained. So different from the hurricane it always was.

Each of hers was like a blade and balm at the same time.

She talking about Jack - my chest closing with acid jealousy.

She admitting that he could be cool, simple, "a good guy". I almost wanted to scream. How could she talk about him to me? How could I share this space?

But soon she talked about something else.

Calm down. Of dreams.

From a big house with windows.

From your mother.

And that's where my defenses began to collapse.

She didn't speak like a patient, nor like the star that the world applauded.

She spoke like a daughter who still hurt.

Like a woman who wanted more than fame and contracts: she wanted peace.

My chest burned. I wanted to say so much, but no word came out.

Jealousy burned like fire. The memory of the interview with Jack was still throbbing. Seeing him hold her hand, talk about children, about the future - while I'm here, in silence, suffocating.

I had no right. But I felt it.

I felt so much that it hurt.

- Maya... - I finally managed to whisper, but the voice failed.

She waited, patiently, but I didn't continue.

Because I didn't know what to say.

Everything in me screamed to run to her, pull Jack's name out of her mouth, say that it was crazy to think of someone other than me.

But I couldn't.

I shouldn't.

So I was dumb.

Taking a deep breath, biting his lips, trying to hold the storm inside his chest.

And she continued.

He talked about responsibilities, about being younger but still carrying the weight of the world.

He spoke with a maturity that disconcerted me, confused me, attracted me.

I listened to her, and with every word I understood:

It wasn't just passion. It wasn't just attraction.

It was something bigger.

Something that scared me, but also kept me alive.

When she stopped, when the silence fell, I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead against the palm of my hand.

- You have no idea what you're doing to me - I murmured, so low that maybe she didn't even hear.

The heart was racing. Jealousy corroded me. The desire burned me.

And yet, I was silent.

Because I didn't know how to love without destroying.

And I couldn't destroy it.

Voices in the Dark

POV CARINA

Her silence was still in the air when I finally took a deep breath and let the words escape.

I didn't plan to talk. I never plan. But with Maya... the words escape me like water from a broken dam.

- You know... - I started, hesitating. - I've always lived like this. Peace. Silence.

I stopped for a moment, closing my eyes, leaning my head against the wall. - My life has always been private, Maya. I chose to be reserved because... I've already suffered a lot when I let people in.

She didn't answer. He just stayed there, listening. And suddenly, I wanted to tell something I've never told anyone.

- There was a time, before Seattle, when I thought I was ready. - The voice failed. - I was dating someone. It was different, it was... simpler. I dreamed of small things, with stability. And, for the first time, I dreamed of something that I never had the courage to admit to anyone: being a mother.

The tears came before I could contain them.

- I got pregnant. - The words were a whisper. - And I lost.

Silence. The heaviest of all.

- It destroyed me in a way you can't imagine. - I took a deep breath, struggling to continue. - It wasn't just the loss of a pregnancy. It was the loss of life I thought I could have. Of the peace that I thought would be mine. I shut myself up. I decided that I would never dream big again. I was never going to expose myself again. I would never let anyone take me apart like that again.

The heart was beating too fast. I hated myself for saying that. And yet, I continued.

- And now... you. - I let out a nervous, painful laugh. - You talk about a big house, about getting out of the chaos, about wanting more. And I feel... as if something in me was torn out of place. As if you moved pieces that I buried to survive.

I ran my hand over my face, trembling.

- That's crazy. - The voice broke. - You are chaos, fame, infinite possibilities. You can have the whole world, Maya. You can have whoever you want. And I... I'm not close to that at all.

The throat stuck. - I'm nobody.

Tears flowed freely, even in silence. I haven't cried like this in years. But that night, listening to her breathing on the other side of the line, I felt naked, without any defense.

And, for the first time in a long time, I was afraid of being seen.

Chapter Text

MAYA POV

Her silence still echoed in my chest when I realized that I had stopped breathing properly.

I'm not good with silences. I've never been. I always filled them with sarcasm, with false laughter, with comments that turned vulnerability into a spectacle. But this time... it wasn't funny that it fit.

I ran my hand over my face, closing my eyes.

- Carina... - my voice came out hoarse, almost a whisper. - I know that, at first, it seems that everything in me is debauchery.

There was no answer, just that deep breath on the other side of the line. I continued.

- You must have seen everything: my life stamped in headlines, photos of me stumbling at dawn, bottles of drink in hand, too many cigarettes. Everyone thinks they know who I am. The irresponsible. The scandalous. The one who doesn't take the medicine, the one who dates an idiot like Jack just to not go alone to the events.

I closed my eyes harder, the tears heating up. - That's what I am, yes. But I can also be... better than that.

There was silence again. I didn't know if she believed it, if she thought it was just another rehearsed phrase of an actress. I took a deep breath, and risked more.

- I don't know how to do that, Carina. I never learned. But, for the first time, I want to try. I don't want to be a headline for you. I don't want to be chaos. I want to be someone you look at and don't feel like you're going to lose.

Her breath trembled on the other side.

- I know you lost - I added, my voice failing. - I heard your pain, and even without knowing what to say... I want to be someone who doesn't disappear. Even with my failing heart, even with my mistakes. I want to be more than the Maya that the world sees.

For a moment, I thought the call had dropped. But then, her voice came low, hesitant, loaded with a weight that I had never heard in anyone.

POV CARINA

I leaned against the bedroom wall, the cell phone still glued to my ear, my eyes watery.

My God. What was she saying?

Maya Bishop. The scandalous actress. The difficult patient. The woman whose name I only knew through magazines, interviews and scandals. And now, this same woman, on the other end of the line, told me that she wanted to be more. That I wanted to be constant.

My mind was trying to organize everything at once. And it failed.

I had never fallen in love with women. Not like that. There were stories, of course, flirtations, curiosities that I always kept in silence. But never... love. Never this force that seemed to tear the floor off my feet.

And there was still everything else: the hospital, the responsibility, Teddy, Bailey, Amelia, the endless shifts. I had no age, no patience, no space for a teenage relationship, full of impulses and promises thrown to the wind. My life was private, silent. I built myself in silence.

And Maya... Maya was the opposite of all this. It was noise. It was light. It was chaos.

And, God, why did my heart beat so fast when she said she wanted to be more?

I closed my eyes, holding my breath.

- Maya... - I started, hesitant. - How do you imagine this would work?

There was silence on the other side, and I almost hated myself for asking. But I needed it. I needed to put words on the weight that crushed me.

- I work in a hospital - I continued, my voice firmer. - I spend sleepless nights. I live under rules, protocols, responsibilities. And you... you live on red carpets, under flashes, under headlines that I never wanted for myself. I'm not twenty years old, Maya. I don't want a romance made of impulses. I don't know how to live in scandal.

Her silence now seemed reflective, not hurt. Then, her voice came back, soft, but firm:

- I don't want that anymore either.

I stopped.

- I don't want you to be the cover of a magazine with me. I don't want you to see me drunk at parties, nor pretending to be happy on top of high heels. - Her voice faltered. - I want you. I want to be with you in silence. In the way you speak low, in the way you hide. I want to learn what stability is, even if I've never known it.

My eyes filled with tears again. I was shaking.

- Maya... you talk as if it were simple. But I don't know if I can believe it. I don't know if I can allow myself to believe.

- So don't believe me - she said quickly, almost begging. - Believe in you. In how you feel when you talk to me. If it's just confusion... that's fine. But if it's a little more... try it. For me.

The world seemed to contract. The imaginary beep of hospital monitors still resonated in my mind, mixed with that silence full of emotion.

I never planned that. I never wanted to. But that night, with her voice on the line, I admitted to myself that I was already inside. That had already fallen.

- I'm afraid - I confessed, in a thread of voice.

On the other side, Maya sighed. - Me too.

We were silent for a few seconds, the two worlds colliding on a phone line.

And, for the first time in many years, I felt that maybe... maybe it was possible.

POV CARINA

My heart was beating so loud that I could hardly hear hers on the other side.

She spoke with conviction. I wanted to convince myself, I wanted to believe that it could be different. But how? How could Maya Bishop, Hollywood star, stubborn patient, scandalous in the headlines, be so sure of me, of us, when we had not even lived together outside the hospital?

I took a deep breath, trying not to let my voice tremble.

- Maya... - I started, quietly. - How can you be so sure?

There was silence. I felt the tension on the other end of the line.

- You don't even really know me - I continued, more firmly. - You don't know how I am when I'm in a bad mood, when I explode in the middle of my Italian drama, when I scream in Italian because the words in English are not enough. You don't know how I am when I'm tired, after forty-eight hours on duty, grumpy and closed. You don't know how I am when... I'm not perfect.

I closed my eyes, tears flowing. - And you... you're famous. Extremely famous. There's no way to get away from it. Wherever you go, there are cameras, flashes, news. I built my life on privacy, in silence. I don't know how to live being watched.

A sigh crossed the line. Then, her voice: firm, but sweet.

- I'm not sure, Carina. - She stopped, taking a deep breath. - I'm afraid. I'm a mess. And you're right, I don't know all your sides. Maybe you're boring when you're tired, maybe you explode when something doesn't go the way you want. But do you know what's strange? I want to know this. I want to see you angry, I want to see you tired, I want to see you without makeup, without patience, with all the defects. Because, somehow, I feel that even so... I will want to stay.

I swallowed hard, my chest tightening.

- You talk as if it were simple - I murmured. - As if the world wasn't against us.

- The world has always been against me - she replied quickly, almost laughing without humor. - Since I was sixteen years old and lost everything, since my heart decided to be a broken clock. I already live in war against the world, Carina. The difference is that, if you're with me, maybe I don't have to fight alone.

My breathing failed me. She knew exactly where to play.

- Maya... I don't know if I can do it.

- So you don't need to know now - she said, soft. - You just need to want to try.

I closed my eyes, resting my head on the wall. The silence between us was no longer heavy, but loaded. I could hear her breathing. I could feel it, almost as if you were next to me.

- You scare me - I confessed, in a thread of voice.

- You also scare me - she replied, laughing softly. - And this... is new. I've never been afraid of anyone but myself.

A knot squeezed my throat.

- I don't know if I can be someone in your world, Maya. I don't know if I can see my name in headlines, on gossip sites. I don't want to be "the mysterious doctor who conquered the rebellious Hollywood star".

She was silent for a few seconds, then spoke with a calm that dismounted me.

- So you won't be. It will be just Carina. My Carina, if you let me.

Tears flowed freely. I pressed the cell phone against my ear, as if it brought me closer to her.

- You talk so beautiful... - I murmured, almost laughing in the middle of crying. - But I don't know if life is that beautiful.

- So let me prove it to you - she said, firm. - I've already shown the worst of me to the whole world. Let me show you the best of me just for you.

I was speechless. The silence returned, but this time it was full of promise.

MAYAN POV

Her voice trembled, and with each pause I felt the fear run down the line of the call. And, somehow, I wanted to grab this fear and carry it along with me.

- Carina - I said softly, trying not to sound desperate. - I know it seems absurd. I know you look at me and see irresponsibility, drinking, medicines that I don't take, Jack using me as a trophy at parties. You see all this because the whole world saw it. But you don't know that I'm also more than that.

She took a deep breath on the other side, like holding back her tears.

- And what else are you, Maya?

I smiled alone, leaning my forehead against the window glass. - I'm the girl who still remembers the smell of her mother's cake. I'm the teenager who cried hidden when the first shortness of breath came and no one believed it. I'm the woman who pretends to be made of iron, but who collapses every time someone says "you can't stand it". I'm... someone who wants to learn how to be better, if I have you to teach me.

On the other side, silence. And then, a whisper.

- You take me apart.

My chest tightened. - And you build me.

She laughed softly, but the laughter came out choked.

- I never imagined that, Maya. I never imagined falling in love like this. Not for a woman, not for you. And I don't know if I can live this chaos.

- So let's invent another way - I replied, firm. - It doesn't have to be chaos. It could be our way. It could be you complaining in Italian and me laughing, it could be you forcing me to take my medicine and me pretending to hate it, it could be us fighting over silly things, but at the end of the day... still together.

She was quiet, and for a second I thought she had hung up. But then I heard a sigh, a nervous laugh.

- You talk as if it were easy.

- It's not easy. That's why I want it.

The silence returned, but now it was a different silence. A silence where I felt she wasn't going to hang up.

- Good night, Maya - she finally said, softly. - I need to think.

I smiled, even with teary eyes. - Good night, Carina. And think calmly... I'm not going anywhere.

When the call ended, I kept looking at my cell phone as if I was still going to hear her voice.

And, for the first time in a long time, I realized that the fear of dying had given way to another fear: that of losing the chance to live it.

Chapter Text

POV CARINA

The day dawned in Seattle cloudy, as almost always. The hospital was already teeming with full corridors, nurses running, monitors beeping. But none of this took me out of the confusion I had been carrying since the night before.

I needed to talk. I needed to get it out of me. And there was only one person I really trusted to listen to: Teddy.

I waited for the first coffee, waited for her initial shift to settle, and then I knocked on the office door.

- Do you have a minute? - I asked, entering slowly.

She looked up from the reports, surprised to see me hesitant. - For you, always.

I closed the door behind me, took a deep breath and sat down. The words got stuck for a few seconds, until they came out at once:

- Teddy... I don't know if I can handle what's happening.

She frowned, worried. - Is it about a patient?

I shook my head, nervous. - It's about Maya.

Her silence was immediate. Teddy leaned against the chair, slowly uncrossing his arms. - Maya.

I nodded, feeling my heart speed up. - Yesterday... we talked. By phone. She was... open. Vulnerable. He told me things I didn't expect to hear. And now I don't know if I believe it. I don't know if I should believe it.

Teddy stared at me, like someone who measures every detail before answering.

- You want to know if she's serious - she said, accurate.

- Yes - I confessed. - Because, Teddy, all I see about her is chaos. Headlines. Jack. Drink. Scandals. And I... I'm something else. I am routine, I am silence. I don't want to get lost in something that seems impossible from the beginning.

Teddy took a deep breath, resting his elbows on the table.

- Carina, I've known Maya for years. From the first fainting that brought her to me, since the first time I saw the fear hidden behind a fake smile. She pretends to be strong, but she's not invincible. She's stubborn, yes. Sarcastic, difficult. But all this... is armor.

I lowered my eyes, listening to every word.

- Andy is overprotective because she knows the weight she carries. You know how the disease, fame, and the relationship with Jack destroyed part of her. - Teddy sighed. - But I also know that: when Maya chooses someone, she really chooses. And if she opened up to you this part that she hides from the whole world... it's because it means something.

My eyes watered. - But what if I can't stand it? What if I'm not enough?

Teddy smiled, sweet, but firm. - Carina, no one can stand Maya alone. Not even Andy, who knows her better than anyone. But you don't have to be perfect. You just need to be honest. Maya already has people who save her. What she never had... is someone who really loves her.

Tears flowed before I could hold it. Teddy got up, came to me and put his hand on my shoulder.

- I won't tell you that it will be easy. It will be difficult, noisy, full of pain and fear. But I also know... that if you allow yourself, it may be the most real thing you've ever lived.

I closed my eyes, letting a tear fall. And, for the first time, I felt that maybe I could believe it.

MAYA POV

The Los Angeles sun came in cutting through the window, annoying as always. My head was still full of Carina's voice from last night. Each of hers echoed as a warning, but also as a request. I needed to show her that it wasn't just speech.

I took my cell phone, scrolled through unread messages, social media notifications, and sighed. There was one thing I couldn't postpone. I played for Andy.

- What's up now? - she answered already exasperated, voice full of coffee.

- Andy... I want to break up with Jack.

Silence.

- You what? -

- I want to break up. Really. And not only that. I want to publish. I want to make it clear.

She sighed deeply, like someone who was already expecting something like that, but still surprised. - Maya, this is not simple. There are contracts, there is media, there is a press office. You know how it works.

- I know - I replied quickly. - But I don't want this to be just about image. I want it to be about me. About showing that I'm in. That I don't want chaos anymore.

Andy was silent, and I could imagine her running her hand over her face, calculating a thousand possibilities.

- This has to do with her, doesn't it? - he finally asked, in a low tone.

I swallowed hard. - There is.

- Maya... - she sighed. - I know Carina. Not in person, but enough. If you do this just on impulse, it will hurt you and her.

- It's not an impulse, Andy. - My voice came out firm. - It's a decision. I don't want to be a headline anymore because of Jack. I want to be remembered for what I decide, not for what others choose for me.

She was quiet, then sighed heavily. - So let's do it right. I'll call the advisor, let's prepare the text. But... Maya... if you do that, there's no turning back.

I smiled, a small but true smile. - Exactly.

I looked at the cell phone screen, already imagining the words. It didn't need to be big, it didn't need to be scandalous. I just needed to be honest. And maybe, just maybe, when she read it, Carina would believe that I was really willing to try.

I knew there would be no turning back. Andy was still trying to convince me to wait for the advice, to think twice. But I was determined. If I wanted Carina to believe me, I needed to show that it wasn't just empty speech.

I touched "publish" and, in seconds, it was done.

📸 @mayabishop

Caption:

"Sometimes we take too long to admit when a phase is over. I took a long time.

Jack and I were news, we were cover, we were the target of gossip and cheering. But the truth? We were never what we seemed. What the public saw was just performance. Forced smiles, calculated photos, rehearsed interviews.

Life can't be just about red carpets and parties that I don't remember the next day. It can't be just about pretending that everything is fine. I lost myself in all this for a long time.

So that's enough.

No more living a story that was never real.

I'm no longer part of a "perfect magazine couse". I don't want to be defined by headlines or by those who walk next to me on the camera flash.

I want to be me.

I don't expect everyone to understand, much less that everyone approves. But I hope that one day it will make sense for those who have already felt trapped in something that was not whole.

- Maya"

📌 Los Angeles, California

Comments (in the first few minutes):

✨ @fandommaya — FREE QUEEN 👑🔥 finally dropped the dead weight!

😱 @fofocahollywood — THE END OF #MayaEJack 🚨 very confirmed.

💔 @jackstans — he loved you! That's cheap marketing, shame on you.

🫶 @lovemaya — Proud of you. I've never seen something so honest in this app.

🔥 @gossipzone — eitaaa 😳 is there a new romance out there? 👀

🤯 @curiousfans — I don't know why but this text seems written thinking ABOUT SOMEONE 👁️👁️

💃 @mayalovers — freedom suits you, Maya!!!

👏 @andybestie — finally, it took a while but it came.

The cell phone vibrated non-stop with notifications, comments rising by the thousands. Andy sighed on the couch, running his hand over his face, while I put the cell phone aside, my heart racing.

I hadn't written to them.

I had written to her.

POV CARINA

The alert on the cell phone appeared in the middle of the hospital. "@mayabishop published a new photo."

I hesitated before opening. But when I read every word... it was as if it had been written directly to me.

My hands trembled, the coffee almost slipping from the other hand. Teddy noticed immediately.

- What happened? - she asked, worried.

I showed the screen. She read in silence, and when she finished, she raised her eyebrows.

- Well... this is not just any post.

My eyes watered. - Teddy, what if she's really serious?

Teddy took a deep breath, looking at me as a friend before a doctor.

- I know Maya. I know how much she likes to use sarcasm as a shield, how much she makes the world believe that it's just party and irresponsibility. But if she gave up all this, if she chose to expose this part of her life... it's because it's real.

I lowered my eyes, swallowing dryly. - What if I can't keep up? What if I can't stand the weight that comes with it?

Teddy smiled lightly, putting his hand on mine.

- Carina... it's not about enduring alone. It never was. It's about wanting to try. And I think you already want it, even if you're afraid to admit it.

I looked at the screen again. Thousands of comments, headlines already being born in real time.

But none of this mattered. What mattered was that, among all those words, there was one that was not written, but that I felt in every line:

She was choosing me.

Chapter Text

POV CARINA

The publication notification had already shaken me. But what came next was even more overwhelming.

The hospital was boiling, but I couldn't see anything but my cell phone screen. Headlines began to sprout on gossip sites, in app notifications, on TV screens on in the residents' room:

• "Maya Bishop announces breakup with Jack on Instagram: 'Enough of living lies'"

• "Contoversial actress looking for a new beginning? Bishop talks about 'being more than headlines'”

• "End of #MayaEJack: internet reacts in shock"

• "Who is Maya Bishop's new secret inspiration? Fans are already speculating."

My heart raced with every line. Every word seemed to expose me, even without the world knowing that the inspiration was me.

I read the comments, millions accumulating in seconds:

✨ @teamfreedom — "finally she's being sincere! Pride 🫶”

💔 @jackdefender — "you don't know half of what he did for her..."

👀 @gossipaddict — "who will be the person who made her change her mind?? 👀👀👀

🔥 @shippersunidos — "I bet there's already another one in the play, Bishop is never alone."

🙃 @hatersmaya — "another calculated performance, it even seems that this time it's real."

The cell phone weighed in my hand.

My world was made of silent corridors, intubated patients, life-changing diagnoses. Hers was flashes, theories and instant judgments. How to reconcile? How to survive this noise?

- Carina? - Teddy called, seeing my pale face.

- They... they destroy and applaud at the same time - I muttered, showing the screen. - How does she live like this?

Teddy sighed, taking my cell phone for a moment. - She doesn't live. She survives. He always survived.

I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. - What if I can't get into this world? What if I get lost in it?

Teddy put his hand on my shoulder. - So you need to ask yourself what weighs more: the fear of noise... or the chance to be really happy.

Her words crossed me.

And before I could convince myself otherwise, I opened the private message window on Instagram.

The cursor blinked on the screen. My hands were shaking. But I typed it.

Carina's message → Maya

"I read it. The post. I don't know if it's about me, but if it is... I believe you. I just don't know if I believe I can handle all this."

I deleted it, I rewrote it. It wasn't right. I took a deep breath and tried again.

Carina's message → Maya

"You really scare all my silence, Maya Bishop."

I sent it before I had time to regret it.

MAYA POV

The cell phone wouldn't stop vibrating. Andy had already turned off the notifications, my advice was already in a controlled crisis, Jack probably exploded in some corner of the city.

But none of this mattered. I just wanted to see a notification.

A single one.

And then he appeared.

"Message from Carina DeLuca."

My heart raced. My hands sweated. I opened it without thinking, as if it were a cry for help that I needed to hear.

Carina: "You really scare all my silence, Maya Bishop."

I smiled so hard that it hurt. I read and reread it as if it were poetry.

And I answered, without thinking twice:

Maya: "And you really calm all my chaos, Carina DeLuca."

The cursor blinked again. I wanted to say more, I wanted to spill everything. But I kept looking at the screen, waiting if she would answer.

Seconds later, another message.

Carina: "I'm still afraid."

I bit my lip, tears already in my eyes. I typed quickly, with all the truth I had:

Maya: "Me too. But if we're afraid together... it's already a start."

I dropped the cell phone on my lap, my heart racing too fast.

That morning, in the midst of millions of people opining about me, there was only one voice that mattered.

And she had just answered.

Chapter Text

POV CARINA

The shift wasn't over yet, but I found myself hiding in the empty corridor, cell phone in hand, waiting for her answer. It was ridiculous. Me, an adult, doctor, a woman who has always controlled her life with discipline... and now feeling like a nervous teenager before the first date.

Her message flashed on the screen: "If we're scared together... it's already a start."

And I didn't want it to end there.

📱 Private Messages

Carina:

"So tell me something that's not in the headlines. Something just yours. I want to meet Maya outside the magazine covers."

Seconds later, the visa appeared.

Maya:

"Something just mine? Okay... I don't know how to cook. Like, absolutely nothing. I've already set fire to the microwave trying to heat popcorn."

I couldn't help laughing softly in the hallway.

Carina:

"I'm a great cook. Maybe you need someone who knows how to do more than order delivery."

Maya:

"You're already applying to save my life. I can't compete with this."

I smiled alone, my heart racing.

Carina:

"It's not competition. But... you still haven't really answered. I want something more intimate. Who are you when there's no camera watching?"

There was a bigger pause. I almost thought she wouldn't answer. Until it arrived:

Maya:

"When there's no camera, I talk to myself. I keep looking at the ceiling, inventing dialogues that I will never have the courage to say in public. And sometimes... I just cry. No reason. Just to relieve it."

My chest tightened.

Carina:

"Thank you for telling me. Do you have any idea how many people think they know you and have never heard that?"

Maya:

"And you, Carina DeLuca? What have you never told anyone?"

I took a deep breath, hesitating. But if she was giving me pieces of her, I should do the same.

Carina:

"I've never really been in love with a woman. I've gotten involved, I've allowed myself curiosity... but it was never love. Until you show up."

There was a long silence. I almost regretted sending it, but then I saw the three polka dots typing.

Maya:

"You just took the air out of my lungs.

(... and look, I didn't have much air to start anymore)."

I let out a nervous laugh, my face heating up.

Carina:

"Your headlines have always been about men. Already...?”

Maya:

"Already. Few times. It was never public. Not because I hid it... but because no one wanted to know. The world loves to paint me as the 'rebellious girlfriend of so-and-so'. I left it."

Carina:

"And why did you leave?"

Maya:

"Because it was easier to be the character they invented than to admit who I really was.

You are the first person to whom I want to tell the truth without fear."

I closed my eyes, my breathing accelerated.

Carina:

"You scare me so much... because you say things that seem bigger than us. We haven't even really met yet."

Maya:

"So let's get to know each other. Create this world with me. A world just ours, no headlines, no flashes, no diagnoses, no hospital. Just you and me. Who we really are."

I bit my lip, feeling a chill run through my body.

Carina:

"Okay... but if this world is only ours, I need to know: who is Maya in this world? The real one."

Maya:

"Maya in this world is not a headline. It's not a blurred photo of paparazzi. She's not anyone's girlfriend.

Maya in this world is just a girl who looks at you and thinks: 'I want more of this.'”

Tears filled my eyes. And before I lost my courage, I replied:

Carina:

"And Carina in this world... is a woman who doesn't scream, doesn't run, doesn't hide. She allows herself.

And I think, for you, I want to allow myself."

MAYA POV

I was lying in bed, the cell phone illuminating my face in the dark, and each of her messages seemed like a rope pulling me out of a hole where I lived for years.

She was allowing herself. And that was all I wanted.

📱 Messages

Maya:

"I'm not sure about anything, Carina. All I know is that, since you came into my life, I want to try. And this is already more than I've felt in a long time."

Carina:

"So let's try. A world just ours. Even if the rest try to invade."

That night, from Seattle to Los Angeles, two women created an invisible space between screens. A secret place. A start.

Chapter Text

POV MAYA

The morning light filtered through the half-open curtains, soft and golden, painting the walls of my apartment in Los Angeles in a calm I hadn’t felt in a long time. For once, I didn’t wake up to alarms, agents, or scripts forgotten on the nightstand. I woke up to something different.

Silence.

But for the first time, it wasn’t the kind of silence that scared me. It was quiet in a safe way.

Carina.

Her name was the first thought that crossed my mind, a gentle tug I couldn’t resist. I reached for my phone on the nightstand, my heart already skipping one of those familiar beats — but not from the illness this time. From something else.

I opened our chat. The messages from last night were still there — fragments of confessions, promises, pieces of two people trying to find each other between different worlds.

"I think I want to try."

"Then let’s try. Our world. Just you and me."

A smile escaped before I could stop it. God, she made everything feel lighter.

I typed slowly, hesitant but honest.

Maya: Good morning, Dr. DeLuca. Just checking if our world still exists after sunrise.

I hit send before I could overthink it. For a second I pictured her face — that mix of concentration and quiet amusement she always carried. The kind that made me forget how to be sarcastic.

The phone buzzed almost instantly.

Carina: It still exists. But the doctor is currently in surgery. So no flirting until after rounds.

I laughed, lying back on the pillow.

Maya: So bossy already. You might scare me off.

Carina: You don’t scare easily, Maya. That’s what worries me.

I was still smiling when Andy walked in, holding two cups of coffee and a folder under her arm. She never knocked — she never did.

“Good morning, sunshine. You look… suspiciously happy. Should I be worried?” she said, handing me one of the cups.

“I’m always happy. You just never notice,” I replied, taking a sip.

“Uh-huh. Sure.” She dropped the folder on my lap. “Before you start pretending you don’t have responsibilities, we need to talk about Starlight Protocol.”

“Starlight Protocol? That’s the superhero thing, right?”

“The superhero thing, Maya. Marvel wants you for the lead — Nova Sterling. The studio’s been waiting three days for your answer.”

I blinked, trying to process. Marvel. Lead role. Nova Sterling.

“That’s huge,” I murmured, setting my coffee down.

“Exactly. It’s the kind of role that changes everything — box office, image, credibility.”

For once, it felt like things might actually be turning around. My heart still betrayed me sometimes, but I was learning to live slower. Carina made me want to take care — of myself, of something real.

“Tell them yes,” I said finally, smiling. “Let’s make me a superhero.”

Andy grinned, already grabbing her phone to call the producer. “That’s my girl. I’ll tell them you’re in.”

For a moment everything felt right. The air seemed lighter, the city quieter. Even the silence didn’t scare me.

Until Andy’s phone rang again.

The change in her expression was instant. Her smile faded. Her shoulders stiffened.

“What?” I asked, sitting up. “Who is it?”

She didn’t answer right away. She turned the volume up. I could hear the voice on speaker — panicked, loud, a blur. Then I caught it. My name.

“Maya Bishop… heart disease… kept secret for years…”

My chest froze.

Andy’s eyes widened as she pulled the phone away from her ear. “Maya… it’s everywhere.”

“What?” I whispered.

She opened her news app and turned the screen to me. And there it was — my face splashed across every headline.

“Jack Gibson Breaks Silence: ‘I Tried to Save Her. Maya Bishop Is Dying.’”

My stomach twisted.

The article kept scrolling — details of my condition, my collapse during the Vogue shoot, my hospital stay in Seattle. Photos of me entering the ER. Photos that only someone close could have leaked.

Jack.

My hands started to shake.

“That son of a…” Andy muttered under her breath, scrolling faster. “He’s painting himself as the heartbroken ex who ‘hid her illness to protect her image.’”

“Of course he is,” my voice came out hoarse, barely a whisper.

But it didn’t stop there. Andy’s phone buzzed again — another alert. Another headline.

BREAKING NEWS: Sources claim Maya Bishop has found comfort in a new affair with her Seattle doctor, Dr. Carina DeLuca.

The blood drained from my face.

“No.” I said softly. “No, no, no…”

Andy froze. “Maya…”

“He’s dragging her into this.” I got to my feet, dizzy. The room was spinning, but not because of the disease this time — from rage, from panic. “He’s using her name.”

“Sit down, Maya. You need to breathe.”

“I can’t.” My heart raced painfully in my chest. “Andy, he can’t do this! He can’t—”

“He already did.”

She showed me the screen again. A quote from Jack Gibson, smiling to the cameras, his arm around some new model:

“Maya has always been reckless. I tried to be there for her, but she replaced me with her doctor. Guess everyone needs someone to play hero.”

I felt sick. The words burned. Every letter, every lie, was a knife.

Andy threw her phone on the couch and ran to me, her voice breaking between anger and fear. “We’ll fix this, okay? We’ll call Teddy, we’ll call Carina, we’ll—”

“No!” I snapped. “No calls, no statements. That’s what he wants — more noise, more chaos.”

I sank back on the edge of the bed, my vision blurring. My heart hurt — literally hurt — like it was caving in.

Andy knelt in front of me, her hands gripping mine. “Maya, listen to me. He’s lying. People will see that.”

“They won’t,” my voice trembled. “They’ll believe him. They always do. I’m the scandal, Andy. I’m always the scandal.”

My phone buzzed again. Messages. Dozens. Reporters, directors, strangers. And then, one notification that made my breath stop.

Carina DeLuca.

Carina: I saw it. Don’t say anything. Just tell me if you’re okay.

For a moment I couldn’t even answer. My throat closed.

Maya: No. I’m not okay.

I hit send and stared at the screen, waiting for her reply, for anything that could stop the hurt.

Before the three dots could appear, Andy’s phone rang again — louder this time, like the world refused to give me a second of peace.

She looked at the caller ID and hesitated. “It’s your publicist.”

I closed my eyes. “Don’t answer.”

“Maya—”

“Please. Not yet. Just… not yet.”

The room fell into silence except for the sound of my heartbeat — irregular, wild, broken.

Everything I had been building — the fragile normalcy, the laughter, the possibility of a new world — shattered in a single morning.

And all I could think was:

He didn’t just take my secret.

He took hers too.

POV CARINA

The news broke faster than I could breathe.

By the time I finished the morning rounds, half of Grey Sloan seemed to know. I could feel the whispers follow me through the hallways — the glances that pretended to be subtle, the hushed tones that fell silent the second I walked past.

But none of it mattered compared to the headline on my phone.

“Hollywood Star Maya Bishop and Her Seattle Doctor: Secret Affair Amid Heart Disease Scandal.”

I had to read it three times before the words sank in. My throat went dry. My heart — the one I spent years training to stay calm — pounded so violently it almost hurt.

I wasn’t supposed to panic. I was supposed to be composed, rational, detached. But this… this was an invasion. Not just of privacy — of something sacred.

I closed my office door and sank into the chair, pressing my palms against my eyes. What had he done?

My phone buzzed again. Another notification, another headline, another photo. One of them showed me outside Maya’s apartment building in Los Angeles, a blurry image taken the night she fainted.

“Sources close to the couple confirm the actress’s mysterious doctor was spotted entering her home.”

I felt my stomach twist.

The knock on my door made me jump.

“Dr. DeLuca?” The voice was calm, but firm. Bailey.

I froze. “Chief…”

“My office. Now.”

The walk there felt endless. Every corridor seemed longer, heavier, filled with invisible eyes. When I stepped inside, Miranda Bailey was standing behind her desk, tablet in hand, her expression unreadable — a mix of disappointment and concern.

“I’ll get straight to the point,” she began. “This situation with the actress. I need to know how much of it is true.”

I tried to speak, but my voice cracked. “It’s… it’s complicated.”

“I’m sure it is,” she said, crossing her arms. “But right now, the press is camped outside our entrance, reporters are calling the board, and your name is attached to a scandal that could compromise this hospital’s credibility.”

The room spun for a second.

“Miranda, I swear, nothing inappropriate happened. Maya was my patient. She’s…” I hesitated. “She was sick.”

Bailey’s gaze softened slightly, but only slightly. “You need to understand how this looks from the outside. You were photographed entering her apartment.”

“I was checking on her after a cardiac episode!” I protested — too loudly, maybe.

“I believe you.” Her tone was quiet but heavy. “But belief doesn’t fix headlines. You need to decide what you’re going to do, Carina. Either you clarify this publicly, or you stay silent and let the fire spread.”

My chest tightened. Clarify? That would mean exposing Maya even more. Exposing us.

“I can’t,” I whispered. “If I say anything, it’ll make it worse for her.”

Bailey exhaled slowly. “Then you’d better prepare yourself for the storm.”

She dismissed me gently, but the weight of her words lingered long after I left the office.

I walked down the corridor like a ghost, the sound of my heartbeat louder than the hospital machines. I had spent years building control, distance, balance — and now everything was unraveling in public view.

My phone buzzed again. One new message.

Maya: No. I’m not okay.

The world blurred. My throat closed, my vision stung.

Without thinking, I sat down on the empty bench outside the stairwell, the phone trembling in my hand.

I wanted to call her. To go there. To fix it. But Bailey’s words echoed in my mind — “You need to decide what you’re going to do.”

And I didn’t know anymore.

For the first time in years, I had no answer. Only fear.

Fear that I’d already lost control of everything. Fear that she’d be alone in that chaos. And fear that maybe — just maybe — loving her had already ruined us both.

I leaned my head back against the wall, eyes closed, whispering to no one:

“Maya… please, just hold on.”

Chapter Text

POV MAYA

The sound of the city outside was relentless — horns, sirens, voices. But inside the apartment, everything felt suffocatingly still.
The phone on the table buzzed again and again, vibrating against the wood like a reminder that the world was still watching.

Andy sat cross-legged on the couch, scrolling through her phone, her jaw tight with frustration.

— They’ve turned this into a circus. — she muttered. — Every site, every feed. They’re calling it “The Doctor Affair.”

I paced across the living room, restless. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

— He had no right. — I said under my breath. — He had no fucking right.

Andy glanced at me. — Jack Gibson hasn’t cared about rights since the day you left him.

— I didn’t leave him. I survived him. — I shot back, maybe louder than I intended.

Silence. Only the faint hum of my phone lighting up again.

Breaking: Maya Bishop’s ex reveals private medical details, claims betrayal “from both sides.”

My stomach churned. I grabbed the phone and threw it across the couch.

Andy sighed, leaning forward. — Maya, you need to stop looking at it. It’s poison.

— I need to fix it.

— You can’t fix this overnight. We have to think—

— No, Andy. I need to talk to him.

Her eyes widened. — What? Maya, no. That’s exactly what he wants — attention, control.

— He can’t just do this and get away with it! — I shouted, my voice breaking. — He took something from me. From her.

Andy stood, crossing her arms. — Then you call your lawyer, not him.

But I was already unlocking my phone.

— Maya—

Too late. I hit the call button. The tone echoed in my ear like a countdown. One ring. Two. Three.

Then his voice. Too familiar. Too calm.

— Well, look who remembered my number.

— You had no right, Jack.

He chuckled softly. — I had every right. You humiliated me. You ended things with a post. You think people wouldn’t ask questions? I just gave them answers.

— You exposed my medical records! That’s illegal!

— Please. You think anyone will care? They’ll believe me, Maya. They always do. The broken man who tried to love the unlovable.

I froze. The words hit harder than I expected.

— You’re sick, — I whispered. — You always were.

— Maybe. But at least I’m honest now. Tell me, how’s your doctor doing? Does she know what it’s like to date someone who needs saving every five minutes?

I hung up before I could hear another word. My pulse was racing, my breath shallow.

Andy was staring at me from across the room.

— You called him.

— I had to. — My voice trembled. — I thought maybe I could make him stop.

— You can’t reason with a man who feeds on chaos, Maya.

I sank to the floor, hands in my hair.

— This is my fault.

— Don’t you dare say that.

— I dragged her into this. She never asked for it. She told me she didn’t want the spotlight, that she hated the noise — and now she’s headline material because of me.

Andy crouched beside me, her voice soft but firm. — She chose to care about you. You didn’t make her.

I looked up, tears stinging. — But she didn’t choose this.

Andy hesitated, then said quietly: — Maybe it’s time you stop running from who you are.

I frowned. — What?

— You’ve spent your whole life trying to control the narrative. The perfect actress, the strong one, the one who never cracks. But maybe this — all of this — is the world forcing you to stop pretending.

Her words sank like stones.

— You think I should just… what? Go on camera and say, “Yes, I’m sick, and yes, I love her”?

— I think you should start living your truth before someone else keeps rewriting it for you.

The room went quiet again.
I wanted to believe her. I really did.

But in my mind, I could still hear Carina’s voice from our first night talking:
“I never wanted to live under a spotlight.”

And now, because of me, she was burning under it.

I stood, walking to the window, looking down at the crowd of cameras gathered outside the building. Like vultures. Like corvos waiting for the next piece of flesh.

— If I say something, I lose her.
— If I stay silent, I lose myself.

Andy stood behind me, quiet.

— So what are you going to do?

I didn’t answer.
Because for the first time in a long time, I didn’t know.

———

POV CARINA

The hospital felt smaller that afternoon.
Not physically — Grey Sloan was still the same labyrinth of white walls and fluorescent lights — but smaller in the way that air feels thinner when you can’t breathe properly.

Since Bailey’s office, every step had been heavy. Every look, sharper.
The whispers weren’t even subtle anymore.

“That’s her, right?”
“The actress’s doctor.”
“God, poor thing… or maybe not so poor.”

I lowered my gaze and kept walking, clutching the folder against my chest like armor. I wasn’t sure if they were talking about me or Maya anymore — maybe both.

Teddy caught up with me in the corridor, her expression half worry, half rebellion.

— You shouldn’t still be here. — she whispered. — Bailey’s on a warpath, the press won’t leave the entrance, and half the interns are dying to post about it.

— I can’t just disappear in the middle of rounds.

— Watch me. — she said, grabbing my arm. — Come on.

We turned into an empty hallway, the kind where the hum of the lights drowned everything else. Amelia was there, waiting by the back exit, coat in hand.

— You two look like fugitives. — she muttered, handing me my bag.

— That’s because she is. — Teddy replied. — We’re smuggling Seattle’s most wanted doctor out of her own hospital.

I almost laughed, but the exhaustion in my chest made it impossible.

— Thank you. Both of you.

— Don’t thank us yet. Just go home, lock your door, and stay off the internet.

If only it were that simple.

We slipped out through the back, unnoticed, into the freezing wind.
For a moment, the noise of the hospital faded behind me — replaced by the noise of the world outside.
Phones. Cameras. Voices that didn’t even know me, but already decided who I was.

By the time I reached my apartment, my hands were trembling.
Andrew’s car was parked in front. He was sitting on the couch when I opened the door, phone in hand, eyes dark with worry.

— Hey. — he said quietly.

— You saw it.

He nodded. — Everyone saw it.

I dropped my bag on the floor and sat at the edge of the couch, pressing my palms together.

— It’s… worse than I thought.

He turned the phone toward me, scrolling through the headlines.

“Dr. Carina DeLuca: The Woman Who Stole Maya Bishop’s Heart.”
“Maya’s Doctor — Secret Affair or Medical Breach?”
“From Medicine to Scandal: The DeLuca Legacy Under Fire.”

My chest tightened.
The photos — some from conferences, others stolen from social media — all painted the same picture: a woman out of control, seducing patients, crossing lines.
One even claimed I had left the hospital “for love.”

Absurd.
Cruel.
And still… terrifyingly believable to people who didn’t know me.

I pressed my hand over my mouth, fighting the nausea.

Andrew sat beside me, quiet at first. Then, softly:

— Do you love her?

The question hit me harder than the headlines.

— I… I don’t know. — I said honestly. — We barely started. We were just… finding each other.

— And now the whole world thinks they already know what you are.

I nodded.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. — You’ve spent your whole life being careful, Carina. Making sure no one could ever question your choices. But life doesn’t wait for permission.

I let out a shaky laugh. — Spoken like someone who used to ride a motorcycle without a helmet.

He smiled, faintly. — And yet here I am, alive enough to remind you that sometimes you have to break your own rules.

I looked at him, searching for a hint of judgment, but there was none. Just love. Just my brother.

— You think it’s worth it? — I asked. — To fight for something that hasn’t even begun?

He didn’t answer right away. He reached out, resting his hand on mine.

— It’s only worth it if it’s real. But you won’t know until you give it a chance.

I sank back against the couch, closing my eyes. The noise outside seemed to echo inside my head — headlines, voices, lies.

I saw Maya’s face behind them all — her laugh, her silence, the way she looked at me like I wasn’t part of the world she lived in. Like I was peace in the middle of chaos.

Maybe that’s what scared me most.
Because I didn’t want peace. I wanted her.
And wanting her meant walking straight into the chaos I’d spent my whole life avoiding.

Andrew broke the silence again, gentler this time.

— Do you trust her?

— With my life. — I said without thinking.

He nodded slowly. — Then maybe it’s time to let her trust you back.

The lump in my throat returned. I didn’t know whether to cry or breathe or both.

I got up and walked to the window. Outside, the city lights flickered like flashes from faraway cameras. The world didn’t feel safe anymore — but for the first time, maybe it didn’t need to be.

I turned back to him. — If I go to her… it’ll only make things worse.

— Or it’ll make them real. — he said.

I smiled faintly, tears forming in the corners of my eyes. — You sound like Mom.

He laughed softly. — Guess one of us had to inherit the wisdom gene.

I sat back down beside him, letting the silence linger this time — a silence that didn’t hurt.

He put an arm around me, like he used to when we were kids, and whispered:

— Whatever you decide, don’t let fear write the ending for you.

The words sank deep.
Maybe the world would keep talking. Maybe they’d never understand.
But maybe — just maybe — Maya and I still had a chance to write our own story before everyone else decided how it ends.

Chapter Text

MAYA POV

The apartment seemed too small, the walls pressing on my chest. Each cell phone notification was a little explosion in my brain. New headlines appeared every second: "Dr. Carina DeLuca: The Woman Who Stole Maya Bishop's Heart", "The Doctor's Case: Medical Scandal and Forbidden Love".

The heart shot as if it wanted to escape from my chest. A sudden heat rose through my body, my hands became cold and wet. The chest pain started as a sting, and suddenly each breath seemed difficult. My heart medicine had not yet taken effect. The dizziness hit and I felt my legs weaken.

Andy realized before I could even lean against the wall.

- Maya! - she grabbed my arms firmly, her gaze crossing my fear. - Breathe! Slowly. Every breath counts!

- I... - my voice came out weak, trembling - I need to see her. Even if everything is falling apart outside.

She held me tight, putting her hand on my chest, feeling the heartbeat accelerated.

- I know you want to, but you need calm. Without it, you won't be able to think straight. Not here, not now.

The noise outside was deafening, even through the thick walls of the apartment. The flashing lights from the street resembled camera flashes that I could feel even on the other side of the city. The press was camped, waiting for the next movement, every newspaper, every website, every social network breathing on us. The whole world seemed focused on my failure - and on our history.

I took a deep breath, trying to follow Andy's instructions. I inhaled through my nose, I counted slowly. I exhaled, feeling the heat escape from my hands, at least a little.

- Andy... I can't wait any longer. I need her. - Determination came out of my throat, hoarse but firm. - Even with everything. Even with the press, even with the heart wanting to betray me. I need to see her.

She looked at me, worried, but gave in.

- So we'll make it work. Just us. But you promise you'll listen to your body. Every sign. If it gets bad, we pause.

I shook my head, feeling the dizziness decrease, but not disappear completely. Every step we took to organize what could be our safe moment seemed to walk on an invisible thread. Andy spoke softly, almost like a mantra:

- Let's create a safe space. Invisible. Only yours, only ours.

And I wanted to believe her. I wanted to believe that there could be a world where the noise outside didn't matter. A world where I could touch Carina without fear, without flashes, without judgments.

I took the cell phone and typed, with my hands still trembling:

📱 Maya:

"Carina... I know it's all chaos out there. But I need to see you. Just a moment. Even if it's hidden from the whole world. Andy will protect us. I just want you."

The heart shot again, but this time it was out of expectation, not panic. The answer came quickly, and my chest seemed to expand with each word:

📱 Carina:

"If Andy can create a safe space... and if you really want to... I will."

I put my cell phone to my chest, feeling each beat reverberate as if it were the compass of what was to come. The press could wait. The world could wait. I just needed her.

I looked out the window at the city that never sleeps, lights flashing like distant flashes, the car siren echoing in waves that seemed to mix with the sound of my heart. The chaos outside was nothing compared to the storm inside me.

- So let's do this - I whispered, almost to myself. - Only ours. Just us.

Andy held my hand, firm and silent. No words were needed. The decision was made. The world could continue to observe, speculate, judge. But at that moment, between the fragility of my body and the strength of my will, there was only hope. And she was waiting for me.

———-
POV CARINA

The apartment was too quiet. The only sound was the snat of the old heater, as if even he was exhausted. Andrew had left half an hour ago, after hugging me and telling me to "breathe a little".

I breathed. But breathing did not erase the headlines, nor the imaginary looks. Nor the feeling that my life was being rebuilt by the flashes and rumors.

I sat on the floor, leaning on the couch, the cell phone next to me. He vibrated, and my heart raced. Her name on the screen made my hands tremble - Maya. Even in the middle of the media hurricane, even with her life at risk, she still cared about me.

📱 Message from Maya:

"Carina... I know everything got horrible. I didn't want you to go through this. I want to be with you, but I don't know if I'm asking too much. Do you think it's too early? That I'm dragging you?"

I took a deep breath, pressing my forehead against the palm of my hand. She was there, vulnerable, trying to take care of me while facing the whole world. And I... I needed to be honest with myself.

I chose each word carefully:

Carina:

"Maya... none of this is your fault. And you're not dragging me. What's happening now is cruel, but it's not you who's doing it. I just... need to breathe. Understand how not to lose what I've been struggling to build. But I don't want to lose you."

The little "typing..." blinked on the screen. My heart raced with anticipation. Then came the answer:

Maya:

"I don't want you to lose me too. I know it sounds crazy, but I need to see you. Even if it's just a moment. Even if it's to breathe together. Andy can find a way. But I need to know if you want it."

My chest tightened. I looked out the window, the whole city looked like an ocean of cold lights, invisible flashes and silent observers. That world of headlines, rumors and judgment was still out there, but I could create a safe space, even if it was just between us.

I took a deep breath and wrote, my fingers shaking:

Carina:

"Want I want. More than I thought I could want someone. But I don't want the world to crush us before we start. If Andy can create a safe space, and if you really think you're ready... I will."

The answer came fast, firm:

Maya:

"So I make it happen. Only ours. Just us."

I put my cell phone to my chest. For the first time since it all started, I felt something that wasn't fear. It was hope. Strange, dense, but intense.

And, alone in my apartment, I finally faced the thought I had been avoiding: the sexuality that I never explored, the desires that I never imagined feeling. To like someone younger, famous... and still want to protect every bit of this feeling. My God... what was that for me? How would I allow these things to work?

But there, in that silence between the messages, I realized: it could be risky, it could be complicated, but maybe... maybe it was worth it.

The world was still on the outside, merciless and curious, but between Maya and me, there was something that no one could touch: our beginning.

Chapter Text

POV CARINA

The hospital corridor seemed longer than ever. Each step echoed on the white walls, as if the sound insisted on reminding me that, in there, nothing else was the same. People didn't look at me the same way - not exactly with contempt, but with that cautious curiosity that weighs more than any judgment. The headline was still alive on cell phone screens, in the whists among the residents, in the quick glances diverted when I passed by.

"Dr. Carina DeLuca suspended after scandal with Maya Bishop."

I took a deep breath, trying to maintain my posture. With each breath, the air seemed denser, more difficult to hold. I felt the hospital watching me as if it were a foreign body - and, in a way, it was.

When Bailey called me to her room, I already knew what was coming. Still, the sound of the words hit me with a cruel precision.

- Carina... - she started, her voice firm, but not cold. - I need to suspend you for fifteen days.

My body reacted before the mind. The skin burned, the heart tightened, the throat closed. I tried to breathe, but the word "suspend" echoed like a sentence.

- Miranda, I... - I tried to start, but she raised her hand.

- I believe in you. - he said, with a calm that broke his chest. - I believe in your ethics, in your work, in the way you take care of patients. But this... - he pointed to the cell phone on the table, where a notification flashed with my name and Maya's side by side - ...this is bigger than us. We need the chaos outside to calm down before your return causes more damage.

The words were gentle, but the weight was unbearable.

I nodded slowly, feeling the floor move away under my feet. She went around the table and put her hand on my shoulder, in a gesture that had nothing of superiority - only humanity.

- Fifteen days, DeLuca. And I want you whole when you come back.

The sound of the door closing behind me was the final point I didn't want to write.

⸻

Back in the apartment, the silence was almost offensive. Andrew was sitting on the couch, his gaze lost in something I couldn't see. When he saw me, he straightened his posture, trying to smile - and failing.

- So? - he asked, bluntly.

- Suspended. Fifteen days.

He released the air slowly, as he expected. He was silent for a few seconds before speaking.

- That's bad, but it could be worse. Bailey respects you.

I sat next to him, my shoulders drooping, feeling the weight of something I couldn't name.

- She believes in me - I said, more to myself than to him. - But the rest of the world doesn't.

Andrew looked at me, and I saw in his eyes something that mixed affection and an almost fraternal concern.

- The world is noisy, Carina. And cruel. But he's not the judge of your life.

Laugh, a small laugh, without strength. - Easy to say. You're not the stamped face on all the sites.

- No. - he admitted. - But I'm the brother of the woman who is.

The words were suspended between us. I knew what he meant - that the exhibition was not just mine, it was the whole family's. But, above all, it was hers. Maya.

The memory of the name crossed me with a painful tenderness. Maya - with that look that mixed fire and fear, strength and fragility.

Andrew got up and went to the kitchen, returning with two coffee mugs. He handed me one, and the hot smell pulled me back from my memory.

- What are you going to do now? - he asked.

I looked at the window. The city outside seemed to vibrate with lights and noise. I wanted to disappear into all that.

- Wait. Breathe. And try to understand if what I feel for her is worth all this chaos.

- Is it worth it? - he insisted.

I closed my eyes for a moment. Her image appeared immediately - the laugh, the clumsy way of fixing her hair, the intensity of those who feel everything at once.

- Okay. - I answered, almost without a voice. - And that's why it hurts so much.

Andrew approached and touched my arm. - Then breathe. We'll solve the rest later.

I nodded, but my chest was still heavy.

That night, I couldn't sleep. Cell phone notifications flashed non-stop: journalists, messages from acquaintances, emails with invasive questions. I deleted everything. I only left one conversation open - Maya's.

There was no new message, but I could almost feel her presence on the other side.

And when sleep finally came, it was light, broken, full of images of her looking at me in silence - and an unspoken promise that we would still find a way to see each other.

⸻

MAYA POV

The walls of the apartment seemed to close a little more every day. Andy tried to keep control of the chaos, filtering calls, driving journalists away from the door, inventing convincing excuses for each interview refusal. But nothing would stop the gale.

My name was everywhere.

The headlines multiplied, each one more invasive than the other.

Jack had gone to the press - the traitor.

He said he was "worry about me", talked about the "heart problem" that I struggled to keep quiet, used the words "unstable", "at risk", "needing help". And he still put Carina's name in the middle, as if she was guilty of taking care of me, as if loving someone was a medical offense.

I tried to ignore it, but the body betrayed what I didn't want to admit. Teddy's medication didn't seem to have the effect of before. The heart accelerated at random moments, the hands were cold, the breath short.

But I said I was fine.

For Andy, for myself, and - especially - for Carina.

Andy noticed, of course. She always notices.

- How long did you sleep? - he asked one morning, when he saw me curled up on the couch with my cell phone in my hand.

- Enough. - I answered, without looking at her.

- You're pale. - he insisted. - And your heartbeat is fast again.

- Andy, I'm fine.

She crossed her arms, staring at me with that look that was half captain, half friend.

- Are you so well that you almost fainted yesterday going up two floors?

- I just... - I took a deep breath. - I was dizzy.

She didn't answer. He just sighed and dropped the cup on the table harder than he wanted.

- Even Oprah called, Maya. Oprah. - she said, exasperated. - She wants an exclusive interview about "love and overcoming".

I let out a short laugh, without humor. - Great. Maybe I should go. Cry in front of her and tell how fun it is to see your life become a public spectacle.

- Don't make fun of that. - she replied. - You need to think about how to get out of this standing up.

I was silent for a moment, looking at the light that came in through the window. Outside, the photographers were still there - I knew it. You could see the reflection of the cameras on the windows of neighboring buildings.

- The only thing I want - I finally said - is to see her.

Andy looked at me, and for the first time he didn't argue. He just sat next to me.

- I know. - he said, calmly. - But we need to think straight. If someone finds out, it will be worse.

- I don't care.

- I care. - she replied. - Because I've seen you collapse before, and I won't let it happen again.

Silence settled, dense. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to find the right rhythm. One, two, three, four. My chest burned, but I stood firm.

- Andy, I need this. - my voice came out low, but loaded. - It's not about the press. Not even about what they say. It's about me breathing properly again.

She watched me for a long time, and then shook her head with a tired half smile.

- So let's figure it out.

⸻

It was two days of whispered plans. Andy talked about "alternative routes", "unidentified vehicles", "blind cameras". She had become a kind of war strategist, and I followed her, with my heart beating in irregular syncopes.

The night before the meeting, she entered the room with her cell phone in her hand.

- All ready. - he announced. - Carina will leave her building at nine. You enter through the garage at nine fifteen.

My heart raced so much that for a moment I thought I was going to faint. I sat on the bed, my hands sweaty, my breath short.

- Maya, look at me. - she said, kneeling in front of me. - If at any time you feel your chest tighten, your vision darkens, you tell me. We stop, you know?

I nodded, unable to answer.

She smiled, touched my hand and got up. - It will work out.

⸻

The car moved silently through the streets of Los Angeles. Outside, the lights mixed with shadows, and the reflection of the headlights danced through the glass. Andy drove without saying a word, and I tried to control the frantic pulse that vibrated in my temples.

My cell phone vibrated once.

Carina's message:

"I'm leaving now."

I read and reread those three words as if they were proof that the world could still have some order.

When the car stopped in the underground garage, Andy looked at me and just said:

- Go.

I left, the cold air cutting my face. Each step echoed in the concrete, the sound of the boots against the floor sounded like that of a heart beating out of the body. The service door was half open, a dim light escaping through the crack.

I took two more steps. The chest gasped.

And then I saw her.

Carina was there, leaning against the wall, her hair loose, her gaze trembling between fear and desire. For a second, the whole world stopped - the noise outside, the headlines, the cameras. Everything disappeared.

She took a step forward. Me too.

The air between us was dense, loaded. Not a word was said. Only the sound of two breaths that finally found themselves in the same compass.

And then, a step away, she whispered - almost without a voice:

- Finally.

My heart beat too hard.

The next second would be the beginning - or the end.

And it was there, in the minimal space between chaos and hope, that the night held our breath.

Chapter Text

MAYA POV

The silence in the room seemed alive.

It was the kind of silence that does not come from the absence of sound, but from the intensity of what is not said. The air smelled of wood, lavender and something that was only hers - Carina.

For a moment, I couldn't move. We stood in front of each other, as if the whole world was watching us behind a glass that only we could see. She took a step forward. Me too.

And when the distance finally fell apart, the impact was almost physical.

The touch of her skin on mine was an electric shock, a reminder of everything I had been trying to hold.

- You really came - she murmured, her voice trembling, and it was such a sweet sound that it almost hurt.

- I promised you, remember? - I replied, forcing a smile that barely held the tremor of the mouth.

Carina reached out and touched my face, her thumb tracing the contour of my jaw with a delicacy that made me forget the air for a second.

I shouldn't be there. The body screamed this in too fast pulses. But the soul... the soul seemed to have found shelter.

- You're... - she hesitated, looking for the words. - Different.

- Tired, maybe. - I lied, looking away. - That's all.

She frowned, a sign that she didn't believe it completely, but she didn't insist. Carina was never one to invade - she observes first, understands in silence.

I sat on the couch, trying to disguise the slight tremor in my hands. The heart beat fast, irregular, but I already knew that rhythm - it was the price of the lie.

She sat next to me, so close that the heat of her body seemed to cross the fabric of the clothes.

- I thought you weren't coming. - he said, softly.

- Me too. - I answered. - But Andy found a way.

She smiled lightly. - Andy looks like an angel with a soldier's face.

- She is. - I murmured. - The best person I could have right now.

Silence returned, but this time it was comfortable.

Carina looked forward, her eyes lost somewhere on the wall, and I took the opportunity to observe her. The loose hair, the skin illuminated by a beam of light that escaped from the window, the lips ajar in a light breath.

My chest tightened. Not of pain, but of fear.

Fear of ruining that. Fear of not putting up with what was coming.

- How are you? - I asked, even though I knew it was a question with several layers.

She shrugged. - Surviving. Bailey suspended me. Fifteen days.

- What? - I turned to her, surprised.

- She said she believes in me, but wants the chaos to pass before I come back.

- Carina, I'm sorry. - The words came out in a whisper. - All this is my fault.

She looked at me firmly, her eyes dark, intense. - Don't say that. You're not chaos, Maya. You're what's left of beautiful in his middle.

I was silent. Her words went through me like light entering through a crack.

I wanted to believe, but the body denounced the opposite - the pressure in the chest, the cold sweat, the tingling in the fingers.

Carina leaned forward, her hands on her knees, watching me from the side.

- Are you really okay?

I smiled, and the smile hurt. - I am. Just nervous.

She didn't believe it. But he respected.

This was the problem of someone who sees inside - she saw what I was trying to hide.

For a few minutes, we were silent, only the sound of our breaths mixing.

Then she moved slowly, as if every gesture was a request for permission. Touched my hand. The fingers intertwined, and I felt the world stop a little.

- I missed you. - she said, and the sound came loaded with everything that wasn't said.

- Me too. - I replied, before my heart betrayed me again. - More than I should.

She laughed, a short, sad and beautiful laugh. - There is no "more than you should" when you feel real.

I closed my eyes, letting the sound of her voice involve me. For a moment, I forgot the pain.

- Can I hug you? - I asked, my voice almost inaudible.

She didn't answer. He just pulled me close.

The hug was the kind of silence that heals.

Her face leaning against my neck, the smell of the shampoo mixed with the heat of the skin. I felt my heart beat too fast - hers and mine, in different rhythms, but synchronized in some way.

We stayed like this for long minutes, without saying anything.

Until the body began to give way.

The dizziness came lightly, like a slow wave, and I took a deep breath trying to disguise it.

- Maya? - she moved away a little, looking at me. - Is everything okay?

- I am. - I lied again, and closed my eyes. - Just... too much emotion.

She studied me in silence, and then got up, taking a glass of water.

- Drink a little.

- No need - I started, but she gave me a look that made me obey.

The water came down slowly, too cold. My throat hurt, and I had to support the glass with both hands so as not to drop it.

Carina sat down again, this time even closer.

- I'm not going to pretend I don't notice, Maya. - he said, calmly. - You're different.

I sighed. - It's just the stress.

- Stress doesn't change the color of your skin, nor the way you breathe. - She spoke softly, but each word sounded like a diagnosis. - I'm a doctor, remember?

- And I'm stubborn. - I replied, in a weak smile. - Dangerous combination.

She shook her head, a mixture of tenderness and exasperation. - You don't have to be strong all the time.

- Yes, I need to. - I answered. - If I fall now, they win.

The "they" was suspended between us - the press, Jack, the world. Everything that wanted to turn our story into a show.

Carina leaned her forehead against mine, in a light gesture.

- So stand up with me. We hold on together.

I closed my eyes. - Do you promise?

- I promise.

We stayed like this, breath against breath, until the body relaxed.

The silence returned, dense, but now warm, safe.

And, for a moment, I believed: maybe that space - between fear and touch - was really a refuge.

⸻

POV CARINA

She slept for a while, her head leaning on my shoulder.

I didn't move.

I stayed there, listening to the irregular rhythm of her heart, the small pauses in breathing, the sighs that came when the body gave way.

Maya seemed peaceful and desperate at the same time.

It was beautiful and scary.

I looked at her and wondered how many times I would still have to fight not to lose someone I didn't even have the right to love.

Her face was pale, her eyelids trembling. I lightly touched my wrist - too fast.

My medical instinct screamed, but my heart begged not to spoil the moment.

Andy had done his part: security outside, everything controlled, no photographer nearby. For the first time, the world did not exist. Just us.

I pulled the blanket and covered her shoulders.

She moved a little, opening her eyes slowly.

- Hey - he said, with a smile. - He slept.

- A little. - Her voice was weak. - What time is it?

- It's still early. Andy said we have until the morning.

She nodded, a serene glow in her eyes. - So it's the first quiet night in a long time.

- And the first one I breathe without fear. - I added.

She laughed softly. - I think we're relearning to exist, right?

- Together. - I completed.

Silence. Then she stretched out her hand and touched mine.

- I'm scared, Carina.

- Of what?

- Of not being able to stand it. To lose you in the middle of all this.

I looked at her and felt my throat tighten. - So we don't get lost. Promise that too.

She nodded, her eyes watery. - I promise.

We stayed there, holding hands, until the sound of her heart calmed down a little.

The night passed slowly, and I realized that love sometimes happens like this: not in big gestures, but in breaths that fit together.

And, for a few moments, the whole world really stayed outside.

MAYA POV

The clock was just after midnight when silence finally set in. A silence that was not empty - it was full of contained breaths, looks, everything we had not been able to say. The city outside was still alive, distant, but inside the world seemed suspended.

Andy had achieved the impossible: to give us a night without cameras, without questions, without fear. The improvised apartment was small, hidden on top of an old building, but the way Carina walked through it made it a refuge. The soft sound of the wooden floor creaking under his steps seemed like the only noise allowed.

She was standing, near the half-open window. The wind played with the dark hair, making small locks dance in the air. For a moment, the scenery seemed to me a living painting - yellowish light from the lamp, the crumpled sheet, the lavender perfume mixed with that of the distant rain. And her. Always her.

- I still can't believe Andy did it - I murmured, my voice hoarse with nervousness and emotion.

Carina turned slowly, her gaze soft, tired.

- Andy should be named patron saint of lost causes.

The smile that escaped me was weak, but true. The chest hurt - from emotion and, yes, from something more physical. A light, familiar squeeze, which I tried to disguise by taking a deep breath. Teddy's protocol should be working, but the anxiety didn't help.

Carina noticed. She always noticed.

- Maya... - she came to me, with that almost clinical and at the same time tender way. - Is everything okay?

I nodded quickly, trying to look convincing.

- I am. Just tired.

But my hands were cold, my heart a little too fast.

She put her palm on my chest, as if testing the truth.

- You're shaking.

- It's just adrenaline. - I sketched a crooked smile. - Seeing you up close after all this makes the heart work twice.

She rolled her eyes, but couldn't hide her laughter.

- You're impossible.

- But irresistible.

- That too. - She took a step forward and wrapped me in a slow hug. Her body was warm, safe. I closed my eyes, letting the rhythm of her breathing guide me.

- I miss you so much - I whispered against her neck. - It's as if everything else had lost its meaning.

- Me too. - Her tone was firm, almost a warning. - But you need to promise me that you're taking care of yourself.

- I'm taking care of it. - I lied, feeling the metallic taste of guilt. - Teddy's protocol, medicines, everything.

She moved away enough to look into my eyes.

- Are you really?

I didn't answer. I just touched the tip of her nose with mine, trying to make humor.

- I'm trying.

Carina sighed and sat next to me on the bed, the sheet crumpling under us. The light of the lamp made delicate shadows on her face.

- Bailey suspended me for fifteen days - he said, his tone restrained, almost resigned. - He said he believes me, but that the hospital needs "ethical distance".

- She trusts you - I replied. - And she will continue to trust.

- I hope. - Her fingers played with the sheet bar. - I worked so hard to be respected, Maya... and now all people see is "the doctor who got involved with a celebrity".

- In a perfect world, that wouldn't be a problem.

She stared at me, a small laugh escaping.

- In a perfect world, we could go out for breakfast and no one would notice.

- In a perfect world - I added - I wouldn't be afraid to kiss you.

- So show me what this perfect world would be like.

The invitation came soft, but direct. And I obeyed.

The kiss began shyly - a touch, a recognition. But in seconds, the time doubled. The urgency took over. Her hands went up my neck, her fingers intertwined in my hair. The taste was of home, of longing, of everything that had been trapped in us.

When we moved away, her eyes were watery.

- You're still shaking.

- It's you. It always was.

She rested her forehead on mine.

- And the heart?

I swallowed hard.

- He... tries to keep up. Sometimes it hurts. Teddy adjusted the protocol, but stress doesn't help.

- So you lied.

Her tone was not of anger, but of pain.

- I just didn't want to worry you.

She held my face between her hands.

- I'm a doctor, Maya. And more than that - I love you. I can't take care of you if you hide the truth from me.

The words hit me hard.

- Say it again.

She smiled, her eyes shining.

- I love you. Even when you drive me crazy, even when you try to pretend you're okay to protect me.

- I love you too - I replied, feeling something break and at the same time recompose inside me. - In all possible right and wrong ways.

She laughed, and the sound filled the room. Then came the silence. A sweet silence, full of breath and tenderness. We stayed like this for minutes - or hours - until time lost its meaning.

The dawn opened before us like a calm sea. The words turned into caresses. The kisses, promises. Carina touched me with an almost devotional patience, as if every gesture was a way to keep me alive. And I, for a moment, forgot the pain, the fame, the guilt.

I forgot about the world.

When, exhausted, we lay down, she still murmured:

- In a perfect world, we wouldn't need to hide.

- Until then - I replied, between sleep and love -, we create ours.

And we slept. Finally.

⸻

POV CARINA

The dawn was long, and at the same time too brief.

I didn't sleep. I kept watching her, with my chest clenched between gratitude and fear. Her breathing was irregular, but light. The face, serene. Sometimes a slight tremor ran through her fingers, and I stretched my hand over her chest, feeling my heart beating - fragile, but firm.

That sound was the most precious thing I had ever heard.

I ran my fingers through the golden strands of her hair, which shone in the twilight. Her skin still had the warmth of what we lived hours before. Her perfume, mixed with mine, made the air heavy and sweet.

I knew that, outside, Andy kept the guard. That the city didn't sleep. That journalists still expected some scandal. But here, between sheets and breaths, there was a small miracle: peace.

She moved in her sleep, muttering my name. I smiled.

- Sleep, love. Everything is fine.

My heart tightened. I wish I could stop time there.

I wanted a world where she could breathe without pain, without flash, without fear.

I took my cell phone, hesitating for a moment, and wrote to Andy:

📱 "She's sleeping. Thank you for giving us tonight."

The answer came quickly:

📱 "You both deserve a little peace. I keep an eye on the rest."

I looked at Maya again. The sun began to rise, scratching the sky with pink tones that entered through the cracks of the window. The day was coming back - and with it, the weight of reality.

But at that moment, all that mattered was what we had built in the dark: a shelter made of love, stubbornness and hope.

I touched my lips on her forehead.

- In a perfect world, we wouldn't need to fight so much.

She didn't answer. I slept.

But her heart beat harder, as if she understood.

And I smiled, letting the tears fall.

Because even if the world wasn't perfect... we still had each other.

Chapter Text

POV MAYA

The light crept in slowly — first as a faint line slicing through the curtains, then as a warm touch spreading across the bare walls.
Dawn had a cruel way of reminding me that time didn’t stop, even when you wanted it to.
The sheets still held the scent of our bodies — perfume, sweat, breath. And in that fragile silence, it felt like the world had forgotten about us.

Carina slept beside me, her face serene, lips parted in rare peace.
There was something almost sacred in seeing her like that — vulnerable, unguarded.
Her breathing rose and fell against my chest, and I thought about how unfair it was: the heart beating inside me, so fragile, so flawed, was the same one that made me feel alive with her.

Outside, the city was waking up. Distant cars, muffled horns, the low hum of chaos returning.
And yet, the apartment seemed to exist in another frequency.

For a second, I closed my eyes and tried to convince myself that we could stay like this — trapped in that golden light that poured through the cracks.
But the thought came fast, automatic: you need to look fine.

It was almost a reflex of survival. I couldn’t afford to show weakness. Not now.
But my heart had other plans — it raced unevenly, betraying me with every beat.

I brushed a strand of hair away from Carina’s face.
Her skin was warm under my fingers, and for a fleeting moment I wished I could be selfish enough to never leave this bed.

Then my phone buzzed on the nightstand, shattering the spell.
Andy’s name flashed on the screen.

I got up quietly, careful not to wake Carina, and answered in a whisper.

— Hey…

— She’s asleep? — Andy’s voice was low, but tense.

— Yeah. — I walked to the window, pulling the curtain aside. The sun hit the glass of the nearby buildings, turning Los Angeles into a mirror of light. — What’s going on?

On the other end, I heard her typing.
— Headlines are blowing up again. “Maya Bishop disappears after scandal.” “Marvel reconsiders casting of superhero.” Half of it’s fake, but it’s spreading.

My stomach twisted.
— Are they thinking about replacing me?

— Not officially. But your agent said the studio’s “reassessing contractual conditions.” Translation: they’re scared.

I let out a short, bitter laugh.
— Of course. Now they remember I have a heart.

Andy sighed.
— Maya, you need to say something. Silence just fuels the circus.

The reflection in the glass showed a tired version of me — messy hair, deep circles, a lost stare.
— I know. — I breathed. — Just… not today.

She understood what I meant without asking.
— Okay. I’ll hold the line. But you’ll have to decide soon — you talk to the press, or the studio will.

— Oprah. — I said softly. — If I talk, it’ll be with someone who’ll actually listen.

— Alright. I’ll see what I can do. — She paused. — Maya… are you okay?

I looked at the horizon, steadying my breath. My heart gave a sharp, uneven thump, and for a second everything around me blurred.

— I’m fine. Just… tired.

She didn’t believe it, but she didn’t push.
— Rest. I’ll keep you updated.

The call ended.
For a few moments, I just stood there, watching the sunlight grow brighter on the glass.
Los Angeles was alive again — helicopters, horns, voices rising from the street.
But inside, everything was still.

I turned back to the bed. Carina moved slightly, murmuring something in Italian in her sleep.
Her face was calm, peaceful — and I wanted to freeze that image forever.
Because peace, for me, always came with an expiration date.

⸻

POV CARINA

The warmth of sunlight woke me before sound did.
When I opened my eyes, Maya was standing by the window, her body bathed in gold.
She looked almost cinematic — a blend of strength and tragedy, framed by light.

— You’ve been up long? — I asked, my voice still rough with sleep.

She turned slowly, giving me a half-smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
— A bit. Andy called early.

— What happened now? — I asked, pulling the sheet around me.

— Marvel. — she said simply. — They’re “revising the schedule.”

The way she said it told me everything.
— Revising what, exactly?

— The schedule. — she repeated. — These things change all the time.

I stayed quiet. Maya never could lie with her body — the faint tremor in her hands, the way her eyes fix too long on the distance, her breath catching mid-sentence.
The woman the world saw as unbreakable was holding herself together by a thread.

— Maya… — I touched her face. — You don’t have to pretend with me.

She looked away, as if afraid I might see too much.
— I’m not pretending. I just don’t want to make everything a tragedy before it has to be.

— I just want to understand. — I said softly. — Sometimes it feels like you’re carrying the whole world alone.

— That’s just how it is. — she gave a small, tired smile. — When you live in a glass box, you learn to smile while you fall.

— And is it worth it? — I asked, gently. — All of this?

She turned to me, her gaze sharp and weary and fierce all at once.
— It is. Because someone always wants to see you break. And I won’t give them that.

The silence between us filled the room — heavy, electric.
Sunlight spilled through the blinds, painting gold across the floor. The faint smell of coffee drifted from the kitchen’s automatic brewer.

— Andy texted me, — I said quietly, — she thinks Oprah might want to talk to you.

Maya raised an eyebrow.
— Andy really doesn’t sleep, huh?

— No. — I laughed softly. — But she’s right. Oprah could be a good way for people to see who you really are.

Maya leaned against the window frame, thoughtful.
— And who is that, Carina?

— A brave woman. A tired one. — I stepped closer, tugging lightly at the hem of her shirt. — But still full of love.

Her eyes softened, glassy with everything she wasn’t saying.
— What if I talk about us?

I smiled, my throat tight.
— Then talk. The world needs to know that love isn’t a scandal.

The air between us thickened, charged with something unsaid.
She took a step. I took another.
The air hummed.

— In a perfect world, — she murmured, voice low — we’d just be two women having coffee. No cameras. No fear.

— In a perfect world, — I whispered back — I’d kiss you right now without thinking twice.

— Then let’s pretend the world’s perfect. — she said.

And she kissed me.

It started slow — gentle, deliberate — but deepened fast, turning into something closer to confession than desire.
Her fingers slid up my neck, our bodies fitting like puzzle pieces, and the sound of our breaths filled the space between heartbeats.
The window fogged. Time slipped.
It was a kiss that didn’t need words — one that said everything fear couldn’t.

⸻

POV MAYA

When we finally pulled apart, the air felt different.
— I needed that. — I whispered, my forehead against hers. — Needed to remember I can still feel something good.

Carina smiled, eyes shining.
— You feel because you’re alive, Maya. Despite everything, you’re still here.

My phone buzzed again.
The name on the screen froze me: Dr. Altman.

— Teddy… — I muttered.

Carina looked worried, but I raised a hand.
— I’ll take it alone.

Outside, the distant ocean mixed with the hum of traffic as I pressed the phone to my ear.

— Hey, Teddy.

— Maya… — her voice was calm, but careful. — I got your full test results. We need to talk.

My stomach dropped.
— Go on.

There was a shuffle of papers.
— Your cardiac levels have worsened. The treatment isn’t holding anymore.

The words hit like a fist.
— What does that mean?

— It means we’re reaching the limit. — she said gently. — The protocol isn’t enough now. It’s time to start evaluating transplant options.

Transplant.
The word sank deep — heavy, echoing, final.

I looked out the window. The city kept moving — indifferent, alive — while inside me everything stopped.
Carina stood in the background, watching me carefully, unaware of what I’d just heard.

— I understand. — I murmured.

— Maya, don’t try to handle this on your own. Let someone in.

— I will. — I lied, voice trembling. — Just give me some time.

— Don’t wait too long. — she said softly, and hung up.

The silence afterward was deafening.
I slipped the phone into my pocket, hands shaking, and took a deep breath that didn’t quite reach my lungs.

When I walked back into the room, Carina was standing there, eyes searching mine.
— What did she say?

For a moment, I almost told her.
But fear won.

— Nothing urgent. — I said quietly. — Just some protocol adjustments.

She nodded, though her eyes said she didn’t quite believe me.
Then she pulled me into her arms anyway.

I let her hold me.
And I closed my eyes, hiding the tremor in my hands between her fingers.

My heart beat hard — uneven, desperate — as if it knew time was running out.
But I could only think one thing:

If time is all I have left, I’ll spend every second loving her.

Chapter Text

POV MAYA

The city never really slept.
It buzzed — like a beehive I couldn’t escape from.

Andy’s voice echoed through the speakerphone while I sat on the couch, coffee gone cold between my hands.
— The studio wants a meeting. Tomorrow morning, L.A. time. They say it’s “routine,” but you know what that means.

I rubbed my temples, ignoring the pulse of pain behind my eyes.
— They want to know if I can still sell tickets.

— They want to know if you can still show up, Maya. You’ve disappeared for days.

A short, bitter laugh escaped me.
— I didn’t realize loving someone was bad for business.

Andy sighed.
— It’s not the love they’re worried about. It’s the headlines about your heart. People are asking if you’re healthy enough to do your own stunts.

I glanced at my reflection in the dark TV screen — pale, thinner, exhausted.
— And what if I’m not?

A pause.
— Then we fight. We adapt. But you need to let people see you. Silence just feeds the chaos.

I wanted to believe her.
But believing didn’t stop the dizziness every time I stood up too fast.

Carina appeared in the doorway, wearing one of my shirts, her hair tied in a careless bun.
There was a quiet tenderness in her eyes.
I muted the phone.
— Everything okay?

— I heard your voice. — She came closer, sitting beside me. — Was that Andy?

— Yeah. Studio stuff.

She nodded but kept studying me, cautious and caring.
— You’re pale. Did you take your meds?

— I did. — I lied, again.

Her hand rested gently on my thigh, firm but soft.
— You don’t have to pretend with me, Maya. Not about this.

I forced a smile.
— I’m fine, I promise.

But she could always tell when I was lying.

After a moment, she simply sighed.
— You’ve spent so long being watched that even silence feels like a performance now.

Her words hit harder than I expected.
The world had turned my emotions into a script — and I didn’t know how to stop performing.

— Tomorrow’s the meeting. — I murmured. — Maybe things will calm down after that.

She shook her head softly.
— They won’t. Not unless you make them. You can’t fight the press and your body at the same time.

Her hand moved up to my chest, resting right over my heart.
The beat was fast, uneven.

— Maya… whatever Teddy told you, you don’t have to face it alone.

I froze.
The air between us turned heavy.
— No. — My voice came out lower than I meant. — Don’t look at my chart, Carina. Please.

Her eyes widened — not with anger, but with sadness.
— I wouldn’t. But you can’t ask me not to care.

I looked away.
— I just… I’m not ready to talk about it. Not yet.

The silence that followed wasn’t cold — just weighted.
She finally nodded, accepting the wall I’d built.

Then she took my hand.
— Promise you’ll tell me when you’re ready.

I squeezed her fingers.
— I promise.

It wasn’t the whole truth.
But it was all I could give.

⸻

POV CARINA

I watched her sleep, the weight of the world written across her face.
Her body moved restlessly beneath the sheets, as if fighting something invisible.

Outside, the city pulsed — horns, sirens, the hum of distant voices.
But inside the room, time stood still.

Andy had texted earlier:
📱 “The press is still outside. The studio wants a photo when she’s ready. I’m keeping them back.”

I replied:
📱 “Keep them away. She’s not ready for cameras. She needs to breathe, not become a headline.”

Now, sitting at the edge of the bed, I watched the woman I loved breathe — too fast, too shallow.

I brushed a strand of hair from her forehead and whispered in Italian:
— Ti prego, amore… non spezzarti adesso.
Please, love, don’t break now.

Even without her saying it, I knew.
Something inside her was giving way.

When she stirred, I slipped back under the blanket.
Her hand found mine in the dark, her fingers instinctively intertwining with my own.
That touch was equal parts strength and fear.

And somehow, I understood: her love was still fighting.

⸻

POV MAYA

Morning arrived like a thunderclap.
A knock on the door.
Andy’s voice, firm, on the other side:
— Ten minutes, superstar. Time to show the world you’re still alive.

I looked at myself in the mirror before opening it.
The face was the same — but the eyes weren’t.
There was a weariness there that no makeup could cover.

Carina was still asleep.
I stepped closer to the bed and lingered for a moment, watching her.
The sunlight brushed across her face, and for a second I wished I could stay.
Forget the movie. Forget the studio. Forget the heart.

But life didn’t give me pauses.

I grabbed my jacket, took a slow breath, and whispered:
— Just one more day.

And as I closed the door behind me, I knew I was lying.
Because even one more day was already costing too much.

Chapter Text

MAYA POV

The dressing room mirror reflected a version of me that I barely recognized.

The makeup done by the Marvel team hid the pallor well, and the impeccable hair gave me the illusion of control.

But the look... the look was another story.

Carina used to say that my eyes gave everything before I opened my mouth - and, that day, they screamed exhaustion.

Andy appeared behind me, in the reflection.

- Don't make that face - she said, trying to sound light. - It's just a meeting, not a hearing at the Supreme Court.

I took a deep breath.

- Andy... if they decide to take me out of the movie, I can't even blame them.

She crossed her arms, firm.

- They won't do that. You're the face of the franchise now, Maya. The studio needs you more than the other way around.

- As long as I can keep breathing without fainting on the set, right? - I murmured, with a bitter half smile.

Andy looked away, just for a second.

And this second was enough to confirm what I already knew: she was also afraid.

When we entered the virtual meeting room, familiar faces were projected on the screen: producers, directors, advisors - all smiling too much, trying to seem understanding.

But I could smell doubt in the air, even through the screen.

- Maya! - said one of the producers. - We're glad you're feeling better.

"Better". What an absurd word.

- Thank you - I replied. - I'm ready to go back to work as soon as the schedule allows.

On the other side, silent exchanges of glances.

One of the executives cleared his throat:

- There are concerns... natural. The press has been making assumptions about his health. We need to make sure you are... stable.

I smiled, like someone who has already trained this gesture in front of a thousand cameras.

- I'm following medical advice. Everything under control.

Lies came out easily when they were well rehearsed.

But inside, the chest throbbed at a rhythm that didn't seem to control at all.

Andy joined the conversation, cutting the cold tone of the meeting.

- Maya has always fulfilled every contract, even in the most difficult moments. The public trusts her. That's what matters.

The executives nodded, still undecided.

One of them talked about "production insurance", another mentioned "physical risks".

Each word was a reminder that, for them, I was investment - not a person.

When the call ended, Andy released the air hard.

- They'll keep you, but they want a public check-up. A doctor from Los Angeles, approved by them.

- A medical show, great.

She looked at me with that expression between pity and fury.

- It's the price of fame, May.

- No - I corrected. - It's the price of silence.

⸻

Back in the car, the city seemed to observe me through the dark windows.

Lights, billboards, unknown faces shouting my name.

And, in the middle of all this, a feeling of emptiness that didn't fit in me.

My cell phone vibrated:

📱 Carina: "How was it? Is everything okay?"

I looked at the message for long seconds before answering:

📱 "Everything under control."

Another lie.

⸻

Later, already at home, the body began to charge the effort.

The chest pain came in waves, and the air seemed heavier than ever.

I went to the window and put my hands on the parapet.

The sunset burned the sky in shades of copper, and for a moment I wondered if it was worth continuing to pretend.

The doorbell rang.

Andy

- You're pale - she said, pushing the door without waiting for an invitation. - Carina called me. I said you didn't answer properly.

- I'm fine.

- You're never okay when you start a sentence with "I'm fine".

I laughed, unwillingly.

- She worries too much.

- And rightly so. - Andy studied me, the clinical look. - Maya, you need to tell her what Teddy said.

- Not now.

- So when? When you faint on a set? When the press finds out before her?

- Andy, please. - My voice broke, finally. - I just want... a little more time to understand everything.

She approached, placing her hand on my shoulder.

- Time is not what you have the most, May.

The words hovered in the air, cold, true.

And they hurt.

⸻

POV CARINA

The hospital was quieter than usual.

Bailey still kept me away from surgeries, which made me restless - and with too much time to think.

When I looked at my cell phone, there was only a short message from Maya:

📱 "Everything under control."

Three words that meant nothing coming from her.

I knew how to recognize the tone.

It was the same one she used when she said she was "great" after a twenty-hour shift, or "quiet" when she carried the world on her back.

Andy confirmed my suspicions a few hours later.

📱 "The meeting was heavy. She's pretending that everything is fine. I'm watching."

With my eyes closed, I tried to contain the urge to drop everything and run to her.

But I knew that, at that moment, any gesture of mine would be interpreted as invasion - and Maya hated to feel fragile.

⸻

At night, longing mixed with fear.

I sat on the couch in the apartment and turned on the TV without sound.

The images showed the Marvel press conference - and there it was.

Maya, smiling at the flashes, in a dark blazer, impeccable posture.

The reporter said something about "the strength and resilience of the actress amid speculations about her health".

Resilience.

What a cruel word.

I saw when she blinked too fast, looking away for a second.

Enough for me to know I was fighting some invisible pain.

I turned off the TV.

The silence weighed so much that I almost didn't notice Andrew approaching.

- She's still hiding, right? - he asked, with that sad sweetness.

I nodded.

- She doesn't want me to see the medical record. He said he needs time.

- And will you respect it?

- Yes. - I answered, even knowing how much it cost me. - Loving someone is also knowing when not to force a truth.

Andrew looked at me with compassion.

- You talk as if she were the love of your life.

- She is. - smiles lightly. - Even when she tries to destroy herself in silence.

⸻

Hours later, when the world was already asleep, the cell phone vibrated on the table.

📱 "Can you answer?"

Teddy's name flashed on the screen.

- Hi, Teddy.

Her voice on the other side was firm, but there was something in the intonation that made me freeze.

- Are you still with her, Carina?

- No, not today. Why?

A short break.

- Maya's exams have arrived. The results are not good.

My heart stopped.

- What do you mean?

- Cardiac function dropped faster than we expected. The protocol is not responding.

- And what does that mean?

Teddy sighed.

- That the only option now is to put her on the transplant list.

The ground seemed to disappear under my feet.

All I heard afterwards were distant sounds - technical terms, deadlines, risks.

But a part of me already knew: Maya was falling apart, and I couldn't do anything.

⸻

I sent a short message to Andy:

📱 "Teddy called. Maya needs to know. But maybe she already knows."

Andy replied almost immediately:

📱 "She knows. You just can't say it."

I closed my cell phone and stared at the ceiling, trying to breathe.

The tears came without warning - slow, hot, inevitable.

I knew that when the sun rose, nothing else would be the same.

Not even for her.

Not even for me.

And even so, in the midst of fear, I made a mute promise:

If the world were to snatch her from me, I would fight until the end so that she would have at least one last dawn in peace.

Chapter Text

POV CARINA

The ringing of the cell phone woke me up even before dawn.

The dim light that escaped through the cracks of the curtain drew silver stripes around the room, and, for a moment, I thought it was just another press notification - another distorted headline about "the DeLuca-Bishop case".

But the name that appeared on the screen made me freeze: Andy.

I ansered on the second ring.

- What happened? - I asked, already sitting on the bed.

- She left alone - Andy's voice came tense, muffled. - Teddy asked to see Maya in person. The appointment is this afternoon.

I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath.

- So it's true.

- Yeah. - Andy hesitated. - I think she doesn't want you to go.

- Don't go? - I repeated, incredulously. - We're talking about a transplant, Andy!

- I know. But she's... cold. Distant. Since Teddy called, it seems that she turned off some part of her.

The chest pain came like a sting.

- And are you going to let her go alone?

- I have no choice, Carina. She asked. He said he doesn't want an audience.

The call fell into an uncomfortable silence.

On the other side, I could only hear Andy's breathing, tense.

- She'll call you - she said, anyway. - But get ready. Maya will try to push you away.

⸻

The call came in the middle of the morning.

The sound of the ring was like a dry punch in the stomach.

I took a deep breath before answering.

- Maya?

The initial silence was almost worse than the news itself.

When she spoke, the voice was different - too calm, as if every word was measured.

- Carina, I was going to call you later.

- I didn't wait. - I crossed my arms, trying to contain the tremor. - Why didn't you tell me?

- About what? - The question came automatic, defensive.

- Don't start with that. - My tone came out harder than I intended. - You know exactly what it was about. About the transplant. About what Teddy told me.

On the other side of the line, silence.

I could almost hear the sound of the air being swallowed, the rubbing of the trapped breath.

- I didn't want to worry you - she said, anyway. - Not even put more weight on something that is already difficult enough.

- Difficult for whom? - I asked. - Because for me, the difficult thing is to see you pretending to be fine, when you can barely climb a flight of stairs.

She didn't answer.

And her silence was a knife.

- Do you trust me? - I asked, lower now. - Because sometimes it seems that you trust your pain more than me.

- That's not it, Carina...

- So what is it?

A long sigh crossed the line, full of tiredness.

- I can't do that to you.

- What to do with me?

- Let you see me languish. - Her voice broke for the first time. - It's not fair.

- Fair? - My throat burned. - Maya, what's not fair is that you exclude me from your life when what I most want is to be inside it.

She laughed lightly, but the sound was humorless.

- You're amazing, Carina. But I... I'm broken. There's nothing romantic about it.

- I don't want romance. - I spoke quickly, almost without thinking. - I want reality. Even if it hurts.

Silence.

The kind of silence that weighs more than any scream.

- I need to finish this - she said, anyway. - Before it becomes something that we don't have the strength to sustain.

The heart stopped for a moment.

- Finish what, Maya?

- Whatever this is. - The words came out firm, but oscillated between guilt and self-punishment. - We didn't even start right, Carina. We don't name anything. There was no time to be anything. And maybe... maybe it's better this way.

I closed my eyes, fighting the urge to cry.

- You're pushing me away to protect me.

- Maybe.

- And do you think this will work?

- I don't know. But at least it will leave you free.

- I don't want to be free of you. - My voice came out trembling, almost a whisper. - I want to be with you. Even if it's for a short time.

On the other side, I heard her breathing fail.

- Don't talk like that.

- Why? - I asked, and anger came along with despair. - Why does it remind you that you still have someone willing to stay?

She sighed, exhausted.

- I don't want to drag you into this, Carina. I don't want to be the reason you suffer.

- Maya, I'm a doctor. I know what's ahead. I know what a transplant means. And yet I'm here. That should tell you something.

This time, the crying came audible.

On the other side, the sound of her trying to hold back her tears was enough to destroy me.

- I'm trying to do what's right - he said, his voice choked. - Not what I want.

- And what do you want? - I asked, in a whisper.

- You. - The word came out almost mute. - But wanting is not enough now.

And before I could answer, the call dropped.

⸻

I stood still, looking at the off screen of my cell phone, as if she was going to reappear there, saying it was a mistake.

But the mistake was not that the call had ended - it was the fact that she believed she could face everything alone.

I opened the computer.

The headlines were already taking over the internet:

"Maya Bishop: rumors about health status circulate again."

"Actress disappears after transplant rumors."

"Is the Italian doctor still in the love picture? Sources say no."

The words trembled before my eyes.

I closed the notebook, swallowed my tears and took the coat.

No matter what she said - I wasn't going to leave her alone.

⸻

MAYAN POV

The sound of the rain hitting the glass was the only constant noise in the apartment.

The phone was still on the table, the screen off, but every word of the call with Carina echoed in my head like an echo that did not cease.

"Finish what we haven't even started."

I had said that, and now I hated every syllable.

But it was true.

It was easier to destroy what barely existed than to watch something real collapse.

The call with Teddy came soon after.

- Maya? - her voice was firm, but her tone carried genuine concern. - I want you to come to the hospital today.

- Can't you tell me by phone?

- Not this time. There are details that we need to discuss in person. And... I want to see you.

I sighed, looking at the reflection of the city in the wet windows.

- All right.

⸻

On the way, the flashes came back.

Journalists. Photographers. The chaos of public curiosity.

Andy tried to make way, but the confusion seemed to multiply as I approached.

- Maya, ignore them - she said, opening the umbrella. - The press smells blood.

- They won't stop, will they?

- No. - Andy looked at me sideways. - Not as long as they think you owe them something.

- Maybe I really should.

- What?

- A version of the truth. But... I still don't know which one I want to tell.

⸻

When Teddy received me in the office, her look was that of someone who carried a difficult weight.

- You look tired - she said.

- It's a good summary of the last few weeks.

She pointed to the chair in front.

- I talked to the transplant team. We already have the protocol in progress. But, Maya, I need your authorization to disclose your official condition to the medical committee.

I nodded, automatic.

- Do what it takes.

- And about emotional support... have you talked to anyone?

- I tried.

- Carina?

I hesitated.

- She knows the essentials. But I asked her not to access my medical record.

Teddy studied me, silent.

- You trust her. So why are you moving away?

I looked at the floor, taking a deep breath.

- Because I know what comes next. The wait, the complications, the uncertainty. I don't want her to see me like that.

- She's a doctor, Maya. She's seen worse.

- I don't want to be her "worst". - The sentence escaped before I could contain it.

Teddy leaned slightly.

- You have the right to choose how to face this. But don't pretend you don't need help.

I swallowed hard, feeling my throat burn.

- I just need time.

- Time is what you have the least. - She got up, putting a hand on my shoulder. - Don't push those who want to hold you.

⸻

When I left the hospital, the sky was already dark again.

The cars passed in a hurry, and I walked slowly, as if the weight of Teddy's words pulled me back to the ground.

On the cell phone, dozens of notifications.

News, assumptions, comments.

But what stopped me was her name flashing between everything:

📱 Carina: "I'm not leaving, Maya. Even if you want to."

I closed my eyes, and the tears came - silent, stubborn.

For the first time in a long time, I didn't know if I wanted to fight or just let myself go.

But something inside me whispered:

You still have a choice.

And maybe... she was still the reason to keep choosing to live.

——

MAYAN POV

I didn't sleep.

I spent the night staring at the ceiling, listening to the weak buzzing of the air conditioning and the distant sound of the city that never sleeps.

Los Angeles seemed to laugh at my attempt to run away from myself.

Each street light reflected on the wall resembled a piece of what I was trying to forget - or someone.

The cell phone was on the table.

Carina's last message still hasn't been read.

"I'm not leaving, Maya. Even if you want to."

I read and reread until my heart hurt.

And then, I started typing.

⸻

For Carina

I thought about deleting this message several times before I even started writing it, but I think I owe it to us - or to what we almost were.

I didn't tell you about the transplant because I didn't want your life to revolve around my illness. I've already lost a lot trying to save appearances, trying to be strong enough for everyone, and in the end, all I had left is fear.

I don't know how to be vulnerable, Carina. You look at me and see courage, but what's inside is just a mess of shame and survival. I learned early that being weak is dangerous. So I turned everything into control: body, routine, silence.

And you... you were the opposite of that. You arrived calmly, patiently, and I panicked.

I don't push you away because I don't feel anything - I push you away because I feel too much. Because every time you say my name, I forget that I'm sick, and that terrifies me more than any diagnosis.

I don't want your love to become a battlefield. I don't want you to see me diminishing.

If one day I get better - if I get out of it alive - I promise I'll look for you. But now, I need you to live.

Live without me.

Because I don't know if I can live knowing that I was the reason for your pain.

- Maya.

⸻

I stared at the screen for long seconds.

The "send" button looked like the trigger of a weapon.

When I pressed, a strange peace went through my chest.

A false sense of control.

Then, without hesitation, I went to her profile and pressed "Block".

The confirmation appeared in cold letters:

You will no longer receive messages from this person.

My body trembled, but my mind whispered: it's the right thing.

But the right doesn't relieve.

⸻

The rest of the day was a blur.

I tried to eat, I couldn't.

I tried to work on the new script, the lyrics were getting shung.

I tried to breathe - and that's when the air started to run out.

The first dizziness came while I was washing a cup.

The second, when I tried to reach my cell phone to call Andy.

The third... I was already on the ground.

The sound of glass breaking was the last thing I heard before everything went out.

⸻

[A few hours later]

The light was white, almost sharp.

There were voices.

And one I would recognize anywhere: Teddy.

- Unstable pressure, but it's reacting. Let's keep it under observation.

I tried to open my eyes, but the weight on my eyelids was unbearable.

Her voice got closer.

- Maya, can you hear me?

A moan escaped, weak.

I felt her hand squeezing mine.

- You fainted at home. Luckily a neighbor heard the noise and called the emergency. - She took a deep breath. - I was on my way to the airport.

I wanted to laugh, but only a hoarse sound came out.

- Always... showing up... at the right times.

- And you're always wrong. - Teddy smiled lightly, but his eyes were watery. - Your body couldn't stand it, Maya. You need to stop pretending that everything is fine.

She looked at the monitor, then back at me.

- Let's start the compatibility list today.

I tried to turn my face around, but the wires of the monitor pulled a little.

- No... not yet.

- There's no more "yet", Maya. - Her tone changed, firm. - You fainted alone at home. If no one had found you, you might not be here.

I closed my eyes, swallowing the tears.

- I don't want Carina to know.

Teddy blinked, surprised.

- What?

- She... can't know. - My voice failed. - I sent her a message. I asked to move on. I blocked it.

- Maya...

- Promise, Teddy. - I felt the tears escape. - Promise you won't tell.

She took a deep breath.

- She deserves to know.

- I know. - The voice came out almost inaudible. - But I don't want to be the sad chapter of her life.

Teddy approached, putting a hand on my face.

- Do you think hiding will protect someone?

- You'll protect me from seeing her look when you know I'm dying. - The cry broke, finally. - I can't stand that look.

There was silence.

The kind of silence that only exists when someone understands that there is no argument that overcomes the pain.

- All right - she said, finally. - I won't tell. But you will be hospitalized. And this time, without running away.

I nodded, exhausted.

The last image before the sedative erased me was Teddy's shadow fixing the serum and the distant sound of the rain starting outside.

⸻

[Hours later - POV TEDDY]

The room was in the twilight.

Maya slept, her face too pale, her chest rising and falling with the sound of the monitors.

Andy arrived minutes later, with his hair tied up and his eyes red.

- How is she?

- Stable. - Teddy answered low. - But her body is screaming what she has been trying to hide for weeks.

Andy looked at the bed, his eyes watery.

- Did she ask not to tell Carina?

Teddy nodded.

- Asked. And made me promise.

- And will you respect that?

- For now. - Teddy crossed his arms. - But if it gets worse, I won't hesitate.

⸻

Outside, the rain thickened.

Inside the room, the monitor beeped at regular intervals, marking the beat of Maya's stubbornness - alive, but on the verge of collapse.

And somewhere, in another city, Carina was probably reading the message that made her cry until she fell asleep.

Without knowing that, while trying to understand the goodbye, Maya fought for her own life.

Chapter Text

POV CARINA

The airport was taken by golden light, the one that makes the city look like an impressionist painting: sun rays reflecting on the glazed buildings, passing through the scattered clouds like brushstrokes of pink and orange. But I didn't see any of that. My world had shrunk to the cell phone screen, where Andrew tried to explain to me the chaos that had just settled in Maya's life.

- Carina... did you see the news? - his voice sounded distant, almost as if it were filtered by a barrier of fear.

My heart raced.

- What news? - I asked, holding the coffee cup tightly, until the liquid trembled inside it.

- Maya... she fainted at home. She was rushed to the hospital in Los Angeles. Teddy is there, taking care of it personally.

The floor disappeared under my feet. A smell of burnt coffee from my carelessness rose to my throat.

- No... Dio mio... - I whispered, swallowing dryly. - This can't be happening.

Andrew was silent for a few seconds.

- Carina... I know she blocked you. But you need to decide: are you going to stand still or are you going to run to her?

- I can't stand still. - My hands trembled, holding the cell phone as if it were the only anchor in the middle of the whirlwind. - If Teddy is taking care of her... if she doesn't want me to go... maybe it's even worse.

- And yet, you go. - He sighed, resigned. - Because loving someone is never comfortable, Carina.

I sighed, taking a deep breath, and clenched my teeth. Every cell in my body screamed to run, take the first flight and not look back.

⸻

The taxi cut through the city with the rush of those who run against time.

The wet streets reflected the headlights, creating lines of liquid light that seemed to move on purpose to confuse my gaze.

Inside, I felt that the whole world was paying attention: the cars, the pedestrians, the rain, even the microphones of journalists who approached, trying to capture the drama of a fallen star.

When I entered through the back of the hospital, the fluorescent lights hit me like a blow.

The corridor was cold, full of the metallic smell of disinfectant and the constant buzzing of the machines. Each step echoed, reminding me that I was alone in the midst of thousands of voices that were not part of my life now.

Teddy appeared at the end of the corridor, the rigid posture, the tired eyes, but the gaze fixed on me.

- Carina? - she asked, surprised.

- Don't try to stop me. - My voice came out firm, even with the lump in my throat. - I need to see her.

She hesitated, but finally nodded.

- Five minutes. She's weak, but lucid.

⸻

The room was quiet.

The air conditioning blew a cold breeze that slightly lifted Maya's loose hair on the pillow.

The sound of the monitors and the dripping serum created a hypnotic rhythm, almost as if life were a clock that worked only for her.

Maya opened her eyes slowly, the light reflecting on their intense green, making them look even more alive and fragile at the same time.

- I should have known that you wouldn't obey. - His voice was weak, but it carried that irony that I knew well.

- I can't stay away. - I whispered, approaching the bed. - Even if you want to push me away.

She took a deep breath, resting her head on the pillow.

- In a perfect world... you and I would be having breakfast in an apartment without locked doors, without journalists behind the windows.

I smiled, trying to relieve the tension that grew between us.

- In a perfect world, you would be normal. Really normal. No interviews, no magazine covers, no transplants.

She laughed, weak, but genuine.

- Normal... me? - Her voice had a hint of disbelief. - I can barely climb a flight of stairs without drama.

- I said normal for me. - I got closer, holding her hand. - In my perfect world, we find ourselves in the kitchen arguing about who spilled the coffee, and you look at me with that way of yours to think you're always right, even when you're not.

She let out an almost imperceptible smile, but I saw it.

- And you would be there, scolding me, because I would have forgotten to take my medicine, and you can't be calm even for five minutes.

- Exactly. - He laughs low, feeling the tension ease for a few seconds. - I would take care of you, even complaining.

- So... in this perfect world... would you stay with me? - She blinked, a thread of humor mixed with fear.

- I wouldn't just stay - I replied, almost whispering -, I wouldn't let you go for anything.

She closed her eyes, resting her hand on mine, and for a moment, we were just two ordinary people, laughing at a world that doesn't exist.

But then reality hit again: the monitor beeped, her chest went up and down too fast.

- Maya... - my voice broke. - What did you do with your body?

She looked away, trying not to show the fear I felt too.

- I just... I just tried to move on without you.

- Move on without me? - I asked, swallowing the tears. - Maya, do you think you can face this alone?

- I... - She swallowed, her eyes watery - I didn't want you to see my worst side.

- And now you're seeing. - I held your face carefully, my hands shaking. - But I'm still here.

She smiled slightly, and I noticed the relief mixed with guilt in every line of her face.

- You shouldn't... - he murmured.

- No? - she smiles, moved. - Maya, I love you. Every piece of you, even the ones you try to hide.

Her weak laugh mixed with the sound of the monitors, and for a few minutes, nothing else existed but us.

A perfect world in a hospital room, made of love, irony and silent promises.

——

POV CARINA

The room was immersed in twilight.

The soft light of the dawn filtered through the hospital blinds, scratching the white sheet in bluish stripes.

Maya was sleeping.

His chest went up and down irregularly, as if the body needed to negotiate each breath.

There was a thin tube on her arm, connecting her to the serum. A monitor flashed green in the corner, marking the stubborn rhythm of the heart.

And I was there, sitting, watching every movement - the almost imperceptible frown of her forehead, the way her fingers curved slightly even during sleep, as if she was trying to hold something that the world insisted on taking off.

The city outside never slept.

The flashes crossed the smoky glass of the window. Paparazzi.

Even now.

Even so.

They wanted the story.

The fallen star.

The heroine who fainted.

The scandal that sells.

But what I saw there wasn't a headline.

It was just a woman, tired, trying to breathe.

Teddy opened the door slowly, entering with the same care as someone who carries too big a secret. Andy came right behind, his eyes worried, his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt, as if this could hide the tension that crossed her entire body.

- Did she sleep? - Teddy whispered.

I nodded, without taking my eyes off Maya.

- Finally. After hours of fighting against sleep.

Andy approached, watching her.

- She always fought until she fell. It's her way.

Teddy put the clipboard on the counter, took a deep breath, and I realized: there was something else.

A weight on the shoulders, a look that avoided mine.

I'm a doctor. I recognize when someone is preparing the ground for bad news.

- Speak, Teddy. - he said in a low voice. - What's the truth?

Silence spread through the room like a wave.

Even the monitor's beep seemed to slow down.

Teddy looked first at Andy, as if asking for strength, then at me.

- Carina... the last exam confirmed what we already feared. Maya's liver is in functional bankruptcy.

I swallowed dryly, unable to react.

- What does that mean, exactly? - Andy asked, his voice hoarse.

Teddy fixed his coat, breathing carefully.

- It means he's not doing what he needs to keep her alive.

Her body is getting intoxicated. The kidneys are already starting to suffer the impact.

- And the transplant? - I asked quickly, almost begging. - Is it still an option?

- It's the only option. - Teddy replied. - But there are risks. Many. Her clinical state is unstable, and if there is an infection, or a systemic failure, there may be no time.

The floor seemed to disappear.

I looked at Maya sleeping, at that face so serene, so deceptive.

How could her body seem so whole on the outside, while on the inside everything collapsed?

- Does she know? - Andy asked, crossing his arms, trying to contain the crying.

Teddy shook his head.

- Not totally. She knows she needs a transplant, but not the exact severity. I asked us to wait... at least until she stabilizes.

Andy ran his hand over his face.

- She'll hate it.

- I know. - Teddy replied with regret. - But if Maya finds out now, the way it is, she can just give up.

I swallowed the knot that went up in my throat.

- She would never give up.

Teddy looked at me with a sad tenderness.

- You believe that. I also want to believe. But, Carina... Maya has a strength that is often also what destroys her.

Silence.

The three of us stayed there, with her breathing being the only living sound in the room.

And then Andy said:

- The world outside is going crazy. - She took her cell phone, showed the screen. Headlines:

"MAYA BISHOP FAINTS IN LOS ANGELES."

"THE HEROINE WHO HIDES A SECRET."

"WHO IS THE MYSTERIOUS WOMAN NEXT TO HER?"

My name was already starting to appear in the comments.

Photos of us. The kiss. The filming. Everything.

Shame burned my face, but the fear was greater.

Maya would hate that. The control escaping through the fingers.

And she didn't even wake up yet to deal with the avalanche.

- I don't want her to see any of this. - I murmured.

Teddy nodded.

- I've already asked the team to limit the information. Only trusted people have access.

Andy approached the bed, fixed the sheets and looked at me.

- Take care of her. I'll try to contain the press out there.

When they left, silence returned.

The room got bigger.

Colder.

I stood there, watching her skin under the bluish light of the monitor.

The body I knew - strong, determined, almost fierce - now seemed fragile, translucent.

I ran my fingers through the golden strands of my hair, moving them away from my face.

And I thought about what the perfect world she always mentioned would be like.

One where she wasn't Maya Bishop, the face of a billionaire franchise.

One where I wasn't afraid to love her.

One where people didn't measure the value of a life by how many photos they could sell.

One where we were both simply... alive.

⸻

Hours later

The cell phone vibrated on the table.

"Andrew."

I left the room, closing the door carefully, and answered.

- Hey, sorella. - his voice came soft, but full of concern. - How is she?

I sighed, leaning against the cold wall of the corridor.

- Sleeping. But... Andrew, she's worse than I imagined.

- Teddy sent me the results. I saw it. - He hesitated. - She'll need a transplant soon, Carina.

- I know. - The words came out in a broken whisper. - And she still doesn't know how urgent it is.

Silence.

On the other side, I heard him breathe.

- Will you be able to deal with this alone? - he asked, direct.

- No. - I admitted. - But I can't leave her either.

Andrew laughed, without humor.

- OF course you can't. You are you. And she is... her.

- I need to ask for a leave. - he said, suddenly.

- What?

- From Grey Sloan. I can't go back to Seattle now. Not while she's like this.

- And Bailey will let me?

- I'll make her understand. - I closed my eyes. - I'm a doctor. I know what's next, Andrew. And if her body fails for good...

The voice failed before the end of the sentence.

- So stay. - he said, firm. - Stay for her.

I sighed, wiping my eyes.

- I will. But Maya can't know. Not yet.

⸻

Later, at dawn

The hospital daned in silence.

The pale light of the sun invaded the corridors, coloring the white walls with a soft golden tone.

Maya was still asleep.

I sat, watching the movement of his chest, the slow rhythm of his heart.

Each beat was a silent promise.

I took my cell phone, opened the message screen for Bailey.

The words came by themselves:

"Boss, I need a personal sick leave. A case in Los Angeles requires my presence. I don't know for how long. I would appreciate it if you could understand."

I sent it.

I locked the screen.

I sighed.

I looked at her again.

Maya looked so small now, sunk between sheets, her long eyelashes resting on her pale cheeks.

I touched your hand carefully.

- I'll stay, my love. Even if you don't want to. Even if it destroys me too.

Outside, the flashes were still trying to capture something - anything.

But in here, the world was just that:

The sound of the dripping serum.

The slow breathing of those who fight.

And the silent love of those who don't leave.

Chapter Text

POV CARINA

The corridor was still cold, the smell of disinfectant mixed with old coffee coming from the automatic machine.

The shadows of the morning stretched on the bright floor, painting gray lines that seemed to cross time.

My heart accelerated with every step.

Maya was sleeping. I slept, but I knew that sleep was unstable, forced, a truce that could end at any moment.

Andy remained sitting next to the stretcher, with half-closed eyes, but alert.

- She's stable for now - she said, in a low voice, almost to herself.

- But... - I murmured, approaching the bed - for how long?

Andy looked away, lightly touching Maya's arm.

- You can't know. She's too stubborn to give in so easily.

Teddy entered the room like a silent storm: firm, safe, but carrying the gravity that no one wanted to face.

- Carina - he said, sitting in a nearby chair -, we need to talk. About the complete diagnosis.

My stomach contracted.

- I already know it's serious, Teddy. But please say it, bluntly.

She took a deep breath, looking at Maya before turning her gaze to me.

- Her liver is failing. Progressively. We are reaching the point where the organs can no longer compensate. It's a liver failure.

I swallowed hard.

The world seemed to move away.

The distant noise of machines and monitors was the only real sound.

- And the prognosis? - I asked, my voice low, but firm.

Teddy sighed, as if carrying a news impossible to deliver.

- Without transplantation, life expectancy is limited. With transplantation, there is a chance... but always at risk. Infection, rejection, complications. It's too delicate.

I looked at Maya, sleeping, the delicate body under the white sheet, the skin almost translucent in the cold light of the hospital.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to tear that heart out of my chest and put it in hers.

- And does she know that? - I asked, swallowing the lump in my throat.

- Partially - Teddy replied. - She understands that she needs a transplant, but not of complete gravity. I asked us to wait until she was more stable.

Andy ran his hand over his face, closing his eyes for a moment.

- She'll blame herself if she knows how critical she is.

- I know - I murmured. - But she needs to understand. And you need to know that I'll stay, whatever it takes.

⸻

A few hours later, the room phone vibrated.

Andrew

- Carina... - his voice sounded firm, but with a tension that made me freeze -, how is she?

- Sleeping. - I answered, trying not to let despair show. - But Teddy said that the situation is critical.

- I know. - He sighed. - Carina, I know she blocked you, but you need to stand firm. She will need you.

- I know. - The tears came without asking permission. - And I... I'll stay. I asked Bailey for permission. I'm not leaving. She needs me.

- You're amazing - Andrew said, but without the humorous sound. - Don't let anyone take you away from it.

I sighed deeply, looking at Maya.

She slept, but every slight movement of her body was a reminder that time was passing, and the chance to lose was real.

- I won't. - I murmured, touching her arm carefully. - I promise.

⸻

The day progressed slowly.

The sun rose over Los Angeles, browning the glass of neighboring buildings.

Every camera flash outside seemed to go through the walls of the hospital, reminding us that the world would not stop for us.

But inside the room, there was a small refuge: Maya, me, Andy and Teddy.

- She will need the transplant as soon as possible - said Teddy, observing the monitors. - We are trying to locate a compatible donor. It may take hours... it may take days.

The heart shot inside my chest.

- What if they meet? - I asked, almost fearing the answer.

- So we have a chance. - Andy put his hand on mine. - A real chance.

I closed my eyes, trying to imagine something positive.

A world where Maya was still here, breathing, alive, just ours.

- Carina... - Andy murmured, realizing my internal struggle -, she needs you calm, focused. She feels everything, even sleeping.

I sighed, trying to push the fear out.

- I know. - my voice came out hoarse, but determined. - I'll stay calm. For her.

⸻

Later, while Maya rested, Teddy returned to the room, bringing an envelope with information from the organ bank.

- We have news - he said, bluntly -. A compatible donor was located in Los Angeles.

The air seemed to freeze.

- Compatible? - my voice came out in a thread. - Now?

- Yes - replied Teddy. - But we need to keep it stable until we can start all the procedures. She's still vulnerable.

I sat on the edge of the bed, holding Maya's hand tightly, feeling each weak pulse.

- You don't know how much I wanted you to be awake to hear this - I murmured, the tears falling silently.

Maya moved in her sleep, as if she felt my presence.

- Calm down... everything will be fine - I whispered. - We'll go through this together.

Andy and Teddy watched me, silent.

The world outside was still screaming, still trying to break us.

But inside that room, there was only the love that insisted on resisting.

And, for the first time since it all started, I felt that there was hope.

A fragile but real thread.

And that, perhaps, would be enough to keep us on our feet until the next dawn.

——-
MAYAN POV

The first thing I felt was the smell.

Not the metallic of the hospital, nor the cold of the air conditioning - but something warm, familiar, the light scent of jasmine and lavender.

I opened my eyes slowly, as if the world were too light for me.

The white ceiling. The curtains are half open. And there, leaning against the wall, with her hands intertwined, she was.

Carina.

The hair fell loose on the shoulders, the face tired and yet beautiful in an almost cruel way.

It looked like she had cried and smiled at the same time - that kind of mixture that only she could carry without combasing.

- You're awake... - she murmured, with a soft voice, almost as if she was afraid to wake me up again.

I tried to speak, but my throat hurt.

She approached, sitting next to me, her eyes teary.

- You should have warned me - I whispered, my voice hoarse. - That the world could stop and I would still see you here.

Carina let out a small laugh, muffled by the contained crying.

- You almost killed me from the heart, Maya Bishop.

- Yeah... it seems that my heart has its own plans.

She ran her fingers through my hair, with a delicacy that made every second hurt.

Her touch reminded me of everything I tried to forget: the silent house, the longing, the love hidden in the intervals of everything that was chaos.

- Why didn't you tell me? - he asked, his voice choked. - About the transplant. About how serious this was.

I looked at the ceiling, trying to find an answer that didn't hurt.

- Because I didn't want to be the center of your fear. It's enough for the whole world to look at me waiting for a mistake.

- And I'm not the whole world. - She held my chin, forcing me to look at her. - I'm the one who stays.

Those words crossed me like lightning.

Her look had no pity, she was sure.

- I tried to finish everything, Carina. - I whispered, tears burning. - It wasn't fair. You have a life, a career.

- And what's fair, Maya? - she replied, without raising her tone, but with a cutting firmness. - Live pretending that I don't love you? Pretend I don't think about you every news, every second?

I swallowed the cry.

She continued:

- I asked Bailey for permission. I'll stay in Los Angeles as long as it takes. I'm not leaving.

- You can't do that.

- I can. - Her eyes shone, full of a serenity that disassembled me. - I've already done it.

For a moment, I couldn't speak.

It was as if time had stopped - just us, the choppy breath, the pulsation that tried to follow the heart.

Carina leaned a little more, and her tone of voice changed - soft, but deep.

- I love you, Maya. And it's not a love of pity, nor of fear. It's the love that stays when everything else collapses. The love that chooses to stay even when there are no guarantees.

My whole body got goosebumps.

The tears came uncontrolly.

- I'm not easy to love, Carina. I'm made of broken halves, of pains that come back when the world silences.

She smiled, bringing her forehead closer to mine.

- So I stay to learn your halves. And love you too when you break.

We stayed like this for a while.

The machines around made a rhythmic sound, and between each beat, there seemed to be something alive - a song that only the two of us could hear.

- Do you know what I thought when I woke up? - I asked, after a long silence.

- What?

- That, if the world were perfect, we would be fighting for those who forgot to buy milk.

She laughed, softly.

- I always forget the milk.

- I know. - Laugh too, even weak. - And I would pretend I don't care, just to see you trying to fix it.

She looked at me tenderly, her eyes moist, and kissed my fingertips.

- In a perfect world, you would be normal.

- In a perfect world - I corrected -, you would still choose me.

The silence that followed was everything.

She approached slowly and kissed me.

A soft kiss, but full of everything that didn't fit in words - fear, tenderness, desire, promise.

It was the kind of kiss that seemed to have been saved for that moment.

And I knew.

Even if the world ended outside, that was what was left.

When she walked away, the sun was already starting to rise behind the hospital windows.

The golden rays crossed the curtains and landed on us like a secret.

- I'll stay - she said, in an almost reverent whisper. - Until the end. Until the beginning.

And for the first time in a long time, I didn't want to argue.

I just let the sound of her breathing fill the silence that used to hurt.

⸻

POV CARINA

The next day came with a kind of calm that I had never felt before.

The chaos was still there - flashes outside, headlines, reporters trying to invade the corridors - but inside that room there was a suspended peace, as if time protected us by mercy.

Maya slept again, her face serene, her breathing stable.

The sun filtered through the blinds, creating bands of light on her skin.

It was almost impossible to believe that that fragile body harbored a force that the whole world tried to destroy.

Teddy entered slowly, as if any wrong sound could break the spell.

- She reacted well - he said, looking at the monitor. - She's still weak, but the signs are good.

- Thank you, Teddy. - I murmured. - For everything.

She nodded.

- I just received an update from the organ bank.

My heart stopped for a second.

- Say it.

- It seems that they found a compatible donor. We still need to confirm the cross-tests, but... it's promising.

For a moment, I couldn't breathe.

I looked at Maya, and the tears came uncontrolatedly.

Teddy put his hand on my shoulder, firm, supportive.

- There's still hope, Carina.

I nodded, unable to speak.

My gaze returned to her - to the woman I loved and who fought in silence.

And I promised, without a voice, but with the heart:

I'll stay.

Stay to take care, to wait, to fight.

Stay because the love that survives chaos is what deserves to start over.

Chapter Text

MAYA POV

The dawn in Los Angeles has never seemed so slow.

The city, always noisy and impatient, was strangely quiet outside the hospital window. I could see the distant Marvel Studios sign still lit, as if mocking me - the symbol of everything I fought to conquer. The same symbol that now seemed distant, almost cruel.

The room was immersed in a half-light. The continuous beep of the machines was the sound of a clock that did not stop, reminding me that every second mattered. The sterile smell of disinfectant mixed with the light perfume that Carina had left on me days before - jasmine, soft, impossible to forget.

My hands trembled on the sheet. I tried to control my breathing, but my chest seemed compressed, as if my own body didn't fit on me. With each inspiration, fear rose, dense, insistent.

Today the heart will change hands.

The phrase echoed in my head, again and again.

The Marvel contract was still on the next table - the script of my first big role as a heroine, with my notes on the margins. I had underlined a phrase of the character: "Courage doesn't mean not being afraid. It means moving forward despite it."

Courage. How ironic.

The door opened slowly, and Andy appeared. She was there as always - her hair tied up anyway, her look firm.

- Hey, superstar - he said with a tired smile. - Did you sleep a little?

- Not much. - I answered, without looking at her.

She pulled the chair and sat next to the bed.

- Teddy called me. The transplant team is on their way.

I nodded, trying to look calm, but the lump in my throat almost suffocated me.

- It's already today, then.

Andy nodded slowly, his eyes watering.

- It's today. And before you ask - yes, Carina is here.

My heart raced, and it wasn't because of the medical condition.

- Where?

- Downstairs. She stayed at the hospital cafe. She said she only goes up when you want to see her.

I was silent. Her name was enough to mess everything inside me. After all - the headlines, the exposure, the accusations of "medical scandal" - Carina was still here.

- Andy... - I started, unable to look at her - if I don't wake up...

- Stop. - She cut it. - Don't start with that, Bishop.

- I need to say - I insisted. - If something goes wrong... I want you to tell Carina that she made me feel alive. Even when I was breaking.

Andy took a deep breath, holding my hand.

- You'll be able to say that yourself. I believe in that.

I wanted to believe it too.

The clock marked 5:52 am when the door opened again. The sound of the footsteps was recognizable even before the voice. Carina.

POV CARINA

The first time I saw Maya, she was dressed as a heroine. On the set, under artificial lights and cameras. Today, she wore a hospital apron and looked even stronger. Maybe because, for the first time, there was no script.

I stood for a few seconds at the door, watching her. The disheveled hair, the tired eyes, the breathing controlled with effort. Still... beautiful. Incredibly beautiful.

Andy made a discreet gesture and left, leaving us alone.

- Can I come in? - I asked, the voice almost a whisper.

- Always. - She smiled, weak, but sincere.

I approached the bed slowly, like someone who fears waking up a dream. I sat next to her, and for a moment, we were just silent. The machines, the air conditioning, the slight trembling of my hands - everything seemed amplified.

- You seem calm. - I tried to break the silence.

She let out a short laugh.

- That's acting. And look, I'm not even being paid for this.

I smiled, even with the lump in my throat.

- I think you're ready for any role.

- Even the one with the woman with the borrowed heart? - She arched an eyebrow.

- Especially this one. - I whispered. - This is the role that can save you.

Her eyes shone with something that mixed fear and tenderness.

- Do you know what's craziest? - he asked. - The world outside still wants me to wear a cape. Let you pretend to be invincible. But here, with you, I just want to be... normal.

The heart tightened inside the chest.

- Normal. - I repeated, letting the word escape with affection. - Like... have coffee together without cameras?

She smiled.

- Like me complaining about the traffic and you laughing because I get lost even with GPS.

- Or you trying to cook and almost setting the kitchen on fire.

- Hey! I know how to fry eggs.

- Burned. - I completed, and she laughed, the light, beautiful sound, an echo of what we were before all this.

- In a perfect world... - said Maya, softly - we would have time.

- In a perfect world, you would have a healthy heart and I would never need to learn to love with fear. - I replied.

She held my hand, and her touch was warm, firm, alive.

- I don't want you to be afraid.

- It's impossible, Maya. - I said, feeling the tears accumulate. - You came into my life like a fire. And now he's struggling to survive one.

She looked at me, her eyes teary, and murmured:

- I survive for you.

Before I could answer, the door opened again. Teddy.

She came in with a professional look, but the air around her weighed.

- The heart has arrived. - he said. - The procedure starts in less than an hour.

Time stopped.

Maya took a deep breath.

- That's it, then.

I nodded, unable to speak.

Teddy put a hand on her shoulder.

- We'll need to take her soon.

Maya turned to me.

- Are you staying with me until the door?

- Until the last second.

She nodded. Her look was the same as when she said a last line of an important scene - intense, present, true.

I leaned my forehead against hers and whispered:

- If this were a movie, I would say "see you in the credits".

She smiled, weak.

- So wait for me in the last scene.

We kissed. Slowly, as if time had forgotten to walk. And in that kiss, all the promises that we didn't have time to say fit.

———
POV CARINA

The sound of the stretcher wheels echoed through the corridor like a distant thunder.

With every meter that Maya moved away, I felt the ground disappear a little more under my feet.

She didn't look back - maybe because, if she did, she wouldn't be able to keep walking.

When the doors of the operating room closed, the whole world seemed to compress at one point: the space between a heart that stoped and another that arrived.

I stood there, motionless, with my hands still shaking, holding the visitor badge as if it were an amulet.

Behind me, Teddy took a deep breath.

- It will take a few hours. - he said, in a tone that tried to sound calm, but I noticed the tiredness between the lines. - You should wait in the family room.

I nodded.

But when I started walking, my knees almost gave way.

I sat on the first bench I found, lost in the noise of the respirators and hurried steps. The entire hospital seemed to pulsate at the same pace as my chest - fast, uncertain, alive by stubbornness.

I took the cell phone.

A number flashed on the screen: Andrew.

I took a deep breath before answering.

- Bye, little brother.

- Carina? - his voice came full of concern. - Has it started yet?

- Yes. - I swallowed the lump in my throat. - She came in a few minutes ago.

On the other side, silence. Andrew was a doctor too; he knew what that silence meant.

- Are you alone?

- Teddy is here. Andy too. - I said, looking around. - But... I feel lonely anyway.

He sighed, his voice getting softer.

- You really fell in love, huh?

I closed my eyes, and a tear flowed before I could avoid it.

- I don't know when it happened. Maybe when I saw her trying to hide her fear with humor. Or when he sent me that message about "just wanting someone who didn't see her as a headline".

- You know that if this transplant works out, her life changes forever. And if it doesn't work...

- Don't talk. - I interrupted, my voice breaking. - I can't think about it now.

Andrew was silent for a while, then said softly:

- Do you know what reminds me? The father. When he operated and we waited outside. You kept your fingers crossed, reminding the saints all at once.

I smiled, sad.

- And you made me promise that if everything went well, I would eat broccoli for a week.

He laughed.

- Maybe you should promise something like that now.

- I don't know if I can play with it, Andrew. - I murmured. - I saw so much in this hospital, so many people fighting. But I never imagined the fear that is when the heart at risk is that of someone you love.

- So love. Even with fear. - he said. - Because fear doesn't make you weak, sorellina. It makes you human.

I closed my eyes. His voice anchored me, but the distant sound of monitors and steps reminded me where I was.

- Thank you for staying with me, Andrew.

- Always. - he replied. - And Carina... don't forget: when she wakes up, the first face she has to see is yours.

The call dropped, but his words stayed.

I stayed there, quiet, for hours. The weather seemed liquid, dripping shapeless. The news was running outside - I saw through the notifications on the phone:

"Actress Maya Bishop in emergency surgery."

"Rumors of romance between Maya and Italian doctor grow after hospitalization."

I turned off the cell phone.

It wasn't the world I wanted now. It was her. Just her.

⸻

Later...

Teddy left the room for a moment. Her look was tired, but there was something different - a flash.

- The heart responded well. - he said, and for the first time in days, my whole body breathed. - It's still early, but... it's a good start.

The tears came before the words.

I laughed and cried at the same time, leaning my forehead against the cold wall.

- Thank God...

Teddy put his hand on my shoulder.

- It's not over yet. But she's struggling.

- She always fights. - I replied. - It's what she does best.

Teddy nodded and came back. I stayed there, alone again, but now with a thread of hope.

Hours later, it was already dawn when they called me.

- She's waking up. - a nurse warned.

My whole body moved before the brain understood. I entered the room slowly, my heart beating harder than the patient's.

⸻

MAYAN POV

Everything was white.

A light buzz filled the air.

It took me a while to understand that I was alive - that the sound I heard was the regular beep of the machine next to me.

When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was her.

Carina.

Her hair was stuck in a messy bun, her coat crumpled, the red eyes of those who haven't slept for days. But when she saw me, she smiled - and the world made sense again.

- Hey... - I murmured, my voice weak, scratched. - Am I still on the same planet?

She laughed, and the sound saved me.

- Yes, still in Los Angeles. - he replied, taking my hand. - And, apparently, with a new heart.

I looked at her, confused and emotional.

- Is he... hitting?

- It is. - She smiled, with teary eyes. - It's strong. He's alive.

We were silent for a moment. I could feel the warmth of her hand, the weight of emotion in the air.

- Carina... - I whispered. - I told them not to let you know.

- And do you think I would hear it? - she replied, a trembling laugh escaping. - Maya, I'm stubborn. Italian. In love. Choose the order.

I smiled, even with the tiredness.

- In love?

She approached, her eyes shining.

- Yes. And it's not a whim, nor an impulse. I fell in love with you before I even realized it.

She took a deep breath, and continued, her voice choked:

- You taught me what courage is. Even with fear, even hurt, you chose to live. And I want to stay. For you. With you.

I closed my eyes for a moment. The tears came without warning.

- Are you going to stay? Even with all this? With the press, with the uncertainty, with me being... me?

She touched my face gently.

- I've already stayed, Maya. From the moment you let me see who you really are.

Silence. But a full silence - of love, of promise, of life.

- I don't know what will happen after here. - I muttered. - But I know that... you are the part that makes everything count.

She leaned over and touched her lips to mine.

It was a slow kiss, to start over. A kiss that said "we're still here".

When we separated, she whispered:

- Welcome back, my heroine.

And for the first time in a long time, I believed.

Chapter Text

POV Maya

The room was quiet, except for the constant beep of the machine next to me. Each sound seemed louder, more penetrating. The cold morning light came in through the windows, but it didn't bring heat, just the feeling that the city outside continued, indifferent, while I remained here, broken inside.

The transplant had been successful. My heart now beat hard, rhythmic, the literal life pulsating inside me. But something in me remained in tatters. There was a fracture that surgery could not fix - an emptiness that fed on my own doubt, the fear that nothing else could be normal. I loved Carina, but my emotional heart was locked behind a door that I still couldn't open.

Andy entered silently, almost floating in the room, his gaze firm and worried at the same time.

- Hey, superstar - he said, pulling the chair to sit next to me. - Did you sleep a little?

I shook my head. No, I couldn't sleep. The adrenaline of what had happened still ran through my veins, mixed with tiredness and the feeling of helplessness. Every fiber of my body was tense.

She watched my face, trying to decipher my thoughts.

- I know the surgery worked - Andy began - but you still seem... distant.

I swallowed hard. She knew. I always knew.

- I know - I murmured. - But... it's not just about the transplant. That's all. Life outside, the media, the invitations, the rumors... Everything seems bigger than I can face now.

Andy frowned, but remained by my side.

- Listen, Bishop... we can control what's inside the room. But out there, they will make their chaos. The question is: do you want to be part of this now? Do you want to give interviews? Or do you just want to... exist here, in this room, without anyone looking at you?

The question hit me like a punch. Exist. Just exist. Not being the star, not being the perfect actress, not being the target of scandalous headlines. Just be me. But even that seemed impossible.

My gaze fell on the phone on the bedside table. Messages, notifications, interview invitations, and even a call from the Marvel Studios team. The director wanted to talk to me in person. In three weeks, my first big movie as a heroine would start recording - and now I didn't know if I would have strength, not only physical, but emotional.

- Andy... - I started, my voice low, almost a whisper - what if I can't deal with all this? If I can't deal with what I feel?

She held my hand, firmly.

- So, you do what you always do, Bishop. Breathe, decide one thing at a time and don't let yourself be crushed by the world. I'm here to protect you as much as I can. But the rest... it's your choice.

I took a deep breath. I tried to focus on the touch of her hand, on the human warmth that seemed the only safe haven. But the truth was clear: my physical heart had been saved, but my emotional heart was still broken. And I didn't know if I could allow Carina to get too close, even if I loved her more than anything.

The phone vibrated again, a message from Carina:

"Are you okay? Do you need me?"

The impulse was immediate: press the call button. But I hesitated. What would I do if she were there? If I couldn't correspond, if my coldness hurt her? I knew I was being irrational - Carina had always been strong, always understood me in ways that no one else could - but the fear of chaos still dominated me.

- I need to see her - I whispered to myself. - Even if everything is broken inside me.

Andy looked at me cautiously, almost begging me to rethink.

- You're not ready to face the world yet, Bishop. Not with everything out there, with cameras, rumors, invitations to interviews.

I closed my eyes. I knew she was right. But there was something inside me that needed Carina, I needed someone who reminded me that I was still human, that I could still love, even when everything around was falling apart.

- So... help me. - I said, my voice almost inaudible. - Help me see that I can still exist without breaking.

She nodded, silent, and for a moment, the room was in a kind of tense peace. But I knew that this peace was fragile, and that as soon as Carina entered, I would have to face not only my body that fought for her life, but my own wounded soul, and the truth about who I was and who I allowed to love.

The silence in the room was heavy, but now there was something else - Andy's presence, and the memory of Carina's strength - and for the first time, I felt that maybe I could face the world again, even with my emotional heart still in pieces.

POV Carina

The hospital corridor was too quiet, but for me, each step echoed as a reminder of Maya's fragility. I had been there for hours, sitting next to her bed, observing every breath, every movement. The transplant had been successful, but something inside her seemed different. She was more closed, more contained, as if she wanted to protect me from the very emotional fracture she carried.

- Maya... - I called softly, approaching your bed - do you want some water?

She turned her face, her eyes big, but distant. It wasn't disdain, it wasn't anger, it was just... distance.

- No, thank you - he replied, in a low voice, almost cold.

I felt a knot in my chest. She loved me, I knew it. But something prevented her from opening up completely. She had always been intense, but now, it seemed that the intensity was locked behind an invisible glass.

I took a deep breath and approached, sitting closer, touching his hand carefully.

- I know you're scared - she said - but you don't have to face everything alone. I'm here.

She looked away, lightly squeezing my hand, but without responding to the touch. It was as if he was protecting himself, as if he was protecting me from the chaos that he knew surrounded us.

- Carina... - she murmured, almost inaudible - I don't want to hurt you.

My heart ached, but I forced myself to smile.

- You won't hurt me. I've already decided that I'm going to stay. - And even if the media tries to turn this into a scandal, even if headlines and rumors try to separate us, I won't care. Not now. Not when the person I love has just fought for his own life.

I looked at her, trying to read the thoughts behind those tired eyes. She wanted to protect me from herself, from me, from everything. But I needed to be there, I needed to show that I wouldn't give up.

- Maya - I continued, lowering my voice so that only the two of us could hear - I excused the hospital, Bailey already knows I'm going to stay. I can take care of you. Even if you want to get away, even if you want to face the world alone, I won't leave here.

She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. The silence between us was heavy, but loaded with something that words could not reach.

- Carina... I... - he started, his voice choked - I don't want you to see what's left of me like this. I'm still... broken inside.

I felt the tear run down my face, but I didn't back down. On the contrary, I held his hand more firmly.

- You don't have to be whole for me to stay here. I'm here for you. And no matter what happens out there, what they say in the media or on the networks, what matters now is you, here, with me.

She took a deep breath, a small but significant gesture. Finally, he let me get a little closer. Every moment that passed, I tried to rebuild the safe space she needed, offering my body, my presence, my silence - everything that could serve as an anchor for her.

The phone vibrated a few times, and I noticed the notification flashes: "Maya Bishop in recovery after heart transplant", "Relationship with Italian doctor exposed", "The famous actress fights for life while rumors about romance explode". I ignored everything. All this didn't matter anymore. What mattered was her, still there, still breathing, still human, and still mine.

- You... - Maya began, her voice still weak - do you still want you to stay?

I smiled, bringing my face closer to hers, almost touching her forehead.

- Always. Until you send me away, Maya. Until you say you don't need me anymore.

She remained silent, but the slight relaxation of her body indicated that, despite everything, she had found some comfort. It was a small but significant step. I knew there was still a lot to heal - the emotional wound, the trauma, the fear - but I was ready to walk alongside her, even if each step was a challenge.

- So stay... - she murmured finally, almost inaudible, but full of meaning.

And I stayed.

It didn't matter the media, it didn't matter the rumors, nor the headlines. Being there, next to Maya, was all I needed now.

Chapter Text

POV Maya

Dawn entered through the hospital windows, filtered by the frosted glass, spilling a cold beam on the bed. Each ray of light seemed to illuminate my sense of vulnerability more than bringing warmth. The heart inside me beat firm, strong, healthy... but inside, I felt fragmented. Each inspiration reminded me of what I had lost: control, peace, normality. The transplant had given me back my life, but it hadn't erased the mess she had left.

I looked at Carina, sitting there, motionless as if she was waiting for a permission that I would never give. She looked at me with tenderness, patience, love... but I couldn't deal with it now. Each gesture seemed like a reminder that my body and my life had been invaded, exposed, analyzed and transformed into news.

- Maya... you need to get up, drink something - said Andy, approaching with the tray.

I didn't look at him. Each word sounded like an intrusion.

- No. - My voice came out cold, sharp. - I don't want anyone now. Neither you, nor anyone else.

Andy's face twitched in concern.

- Maya, we're here for you. You just went through surgery. We are trying to help, not invade.

- Help? - I repeated, almost whispering, but each syllable loaded with frustration. - No one understands what it's like to be trapped inside yourself, with everyone looking, waiting, judging. Do you think you know how I feel? Do you think you understand? You don't understand. No one.

Carina tried to speak, but I raised my hand abruptly.

- NO! - my scream echoed through the white and silent room. - I need to be alone. Alone with my chaos, with my fear, with my new heart that is not even totally mine yet.

The silence lengthened, heavy, almost suffocating. For a moment, I felt a sting of guilt - for yelling at her, for rejecting her care, for being so difficult. But then, another thought dominated me: I couldn't open my chest to anyone now. The media exposure, the headlines about my transplant, the rumors about us... all this was still out there, and I didn't have the strength to face.

I shrank on the pillow, covering my face with my hands. The machines beeped, each sound a reminder of the world that kept spinning, indifferent to my suffering. As much as the new heart gave me life, my mind was still in ruins. Every memory, every report, every photo published reminded me that no one saw me as Maya, a normal person, only as an object of curiosity, scandal and heroism.

The phone vibrated on the table. Carina. I knew it. She would try, once again, to reach me.

- Maya... - her voice sounded through the speaker, weak, calm - I know you want to be alone, but can I stay here, just to hear you breathe?

I didn't want to answer. I didn't want to give her any chance to touch my frustration.

- NO! - I shouted again - I can't deal with anyone now! Neither do you! Not even Andy! Not even the world!

Inside, my heart was beating fast, but not for fear of the transplant. It was fear of what I had become. Every beat reminded me that I was alive, yes... but broken. As much as Carina loved me, no matter how much she was there, no matter how much Andy tried to protect what was left of me, nothing could fix this feeling of chaos that I carried.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm down. But the anger kept pulsating. Every machine, every light, every look I felt on me seemed like a threat. I wanted to scream, cry, disappear. But I couldn't. There was no safe place. Not even inside me.

Carina's call remained open. I could hear his breathing, controlled, patient, but firm. She was trying to reach me without invading, trying to remind me that she wasn't alone. But I didn't want to remember that.

- Maya... you need to talk to me. Just a few words, just so I know you're alive... - she insisted, and something in her voice made me retreat.

I sighed, feeling a wave of frustration and tenderness mix. I wanted to explode her with anger and still hug her at the same time. That made me exhausted.

- I don't know if I can, Carina... - my voice came out low, almost inaudible - I don't know if I can be the person you see... Not now.

Her silence lasted, heavy, respectful. I could feel his patience, his unconditional love, and it hurt. Not because she didn't deserve it, but because I still couldn't afford to love someone fully.

I looked at Andy, sitting a few steps away. He didn't say anything, he just watched, waiting for the right moment to intervene without pushing me. I hated depending on him, I hated needing someone to keep my chaos under control. But, at that moment, I needed to admit: without him, I might have exploded completely.

- Maya... you're cold - Andy said softly - Cold not with anger, but with fear. Of what? Of love? Of life? Of all this?

I wanted to deny, scream, run away... but I couldn't. The words escaped before I could contain them:

- I'm afraid of myself. Of everything that is left. Of this whole world that won't let me breathe.

Andy nodded, as if he understood perfectly.

- So breathe now. Just that. Later, you decide what to do with the rest.

I leaned my head on the pillow, trying to forget everything. But Carina's distant look reminded me that the world wouldn't leave me alone. I knew she was there, and that made me angry, vulnerable... and, in a way, alive.

Even with the new heart, even with life returned, something inside me remained broken. And maybe, just maybe, I needed to learn to deal with it before I could fully love.

Chapter Text

POV MAYA
⸻

The day felt brighter.
Not because the sun was shining, but because the walls of the hospital room — the same walls that had once suffocated me — now felt less permanent.
It was discharge day.

Teddy Altman, my cardiologist, walked in with a clipboard and a restrained smile, followed by Andy — who stood there more like a bodyguard than a friend.
My eyes immediately searched for Carina. She was sitting in the corner armchair, trying to look invisible, which only made her more noticeable.

— Good morning, Maya, — Teddy said, sitting on the edge of my bed. — Your new heart is behaving like a champion. No rejection, stable rhythm, and an overall excellent post-op recovery. But success doesn’t mean you can go run a marathon yet.

— I know. — I tried a hint of my old sarcasm. — I can barely get up to go to the bathroom.

Teddy chuckled softly, then her expression grew serious as she flipped through the papers.

— Here are the recommendations, and they’re not optional, Maya.
First: strict physiotherapy — twice a week outside the house, and light exercises at home every day.
You need to learn to trust this new organ and rebuild the muscles that have been weakened.

I nodded. That part was mechanical. I could handle it.

— Second, and most importantly: you can’t be alone for the next few weeks.
This isn’t negotiable. Someone must be with you 24/7 for at least a month — maybe longer.
Physical recovery requires supervision for your vitals and medication.
And emotional recovery… well, that requires someone too.

The room fell silent.
I could feel Andy’s gaze — the weight of responsibility settling on her shoulders.
But she had her own life. I couldn’t ask her for that.

— I… I’ll manage, — I lied, knowing she’d see right through me.

Teddy crossed her arms.

— No, Maya. You won’t. It’s a requirement.
Besides — she tilted her head, her tone softened with tired compassion — I already spoke with your primary care physician, and he agrees.
You won’t be able to handle everything you’re feeling on your own.
My last recommendation — and the most urgent one: therapy.
You need to start sessions immediately after discharge.
Your body is healed, but your mind is still at war.
And you know it.

That hit harder than any incision scar.
It was true.
“I’m afraid of myself” still echoed in my head.
I was alive — but terrified.

— Fine, — I whispered, swallowing the anger that wanted to rise. — Physiotherapy, supervision, therapy. Got it.

Teddy stood up, satisfied.

— Perfect. Your discharge is signed. We’ll just wait for the nurse to remove your IV and arrange transportation.

As she stepped away to speak quietly with Andy, I felt another gaze on me.
Carina was coming closer.

The moment of truth.

She stopped beside my bed.
Her face was tired, but her eyes — deep, ocean-blue — never left mine.
She didn’t touch me, keeping a respectful distance that somehow felt more intimate than any touch.
Andy stood by the door, pretending to study Teddy’s papers, giving us privacy.

— I already asked Bailey for a leave of absence, — Carina began, her voice soft but firm, her Italian accent disarming as always. — Indefinitely. I told her I needed to deal with a ‘personal emergency’. And that’s exactly what this is.

I felt bile rise in my throat.
Not anger at her — anger at fate, at my own weakness dragging her back into my chaos.

— You can’t do that, — I said hoarsely. — You were supposed to go back to Seattle — to your research, to your life that doesn’t involve bullet wounds or borrowed heartbeats. I told you to go. I gave you an order, Carina! Go!

She didn’t flinch, even as my voice broke.

— I don’t need you, — I continued, forcing the words out through the burn in my chest. — You’re not responsible for me. You can’t stop your life for a… for a broken project like me.

Carina finally took a step closer.
Her hand hovered above mine — not touching, but close enough to burn.

— You’re not a broken project, Maya. — Her voice carried pain, but not hesitation. — You are my life.
And the heart beating in your chest — no matter where it came from — it’s the heart I love.

She took a deep breath before continuing.

— Teddy said you need someone with you 24 hours a day. I’m volunteering.
Not as your lover, not as your girlfriend — if that’s what scares you.
I’m offering as your caregiver.
The doctor who signed the leave of absence isn’t about to let you die alone after fighting so hard to live.

I’ll stay with you.
At your house.
I’ll handle your meds, check your vitals, make sure you go to physiotherapy and, most importantly…
I’ll make sure you go to the damn therapy.

She moved closer, her blue eyes glinting.

— You can be stubborn, you can tell me to go to hell every five minutes — but I’ll still be there.
You’re not pushing me away this time, Maya.

Her words hit me like a shock.
Love disguised as a medical ultimatum.
And it was impossible to resist.

— And what if I say no? — I whispered.

Carina arched a brow.

— Then I call Teddy right now and tell her you’re refusing to follow discharge protocol. — That familiar smirk curved her lips. — Which means you’re not leaving this hospital. So, what’ll it be, bambina (baby)?

I closed my eyes — tasting the sweetest defeat I’d ever known.

— I choose… physiotherapy, — I murmured.

Carina smiled — truly smiled — for the first time in days.

Two hours later, the reality of recovery hit like a punch.
I could barely take ten steps down the hospital corridor, even with Carina holding my arm firmly.

— It’s too soon, bambina. — She whispered patiently. — Slowly. One step at a time. Focus on the floor. You have all the time in the world now.

— I hate this. — I gasped, sweat running cold down my temples. — I used to run miles, Carina. Now I’m… an invalid.

— You’re a survivor, — she corrected, refusing to let me spiral. — Tomorrow you’ll walk eleven steps. Then twenty.
Your body is healing, Maya. Be patient with it.

— I don’t know how to be patient, — I admitted, resting my head briefly against her shoulder.

— I know. That’s why I’m here. — She kissed the top of my head.

Back in the room, as the nurse prepared my final paperwork, Carina was on the phone.
Her calm, steady voice betrayed what she was doing — scheduling my first therapy session.

She hung up and walked over to me, clipboard in hand.

— You have an appointment with Dr. Evans tomorrow at ten a.m. And I’m going with you.

I raised an eyebrow.

— Oh, no. I don’t need a babysitter for therapy. You already got what you wanted, DeLuca.

Carina gave a faint, sad smile.

— I’m not going inside with you. But I’ll drive you there. I’ll wait in the lobby.
She took a breath.
— Because I need to know you’ll be okay. That you’re taking the first step to finding yourself again.
I can’t love you while you’re still hating yourself, Maya.
So let me help you learn to love yourself again.
Let me take care of you until you can take care of yourself.

I looked at my reflection in the window.
The new heart beat strongly — a second chance pulsing in my chest.
I couldn’t mess it up.

— All right, — I said, the words feeling like a promise. — Dr. Evans tomorrow. And you can drive me home. But you have to promise me something.

— What?

— You have to go to Seattle next month. Even if it’s just for a weekend. To see your brother.
I refuse to be the monster who keeps you away from your family.

Carina smiled — a pure, genuine light breaking through her exhaustion.

— I promise.
She reached out her hand. — Now, let’s go home, mia sopravvissuta (my survivor).

Chapter Text

POV CARINA

The night was a minefield of silences.

Maya slept in the next room, the sound of the sea mixing with the soft hum of the portable monitor tracking her heartbeat. Her new heart beat strong, rhythmic, almost defiant. And yet, each pulse seemed to carry the fear of the next one.

I sat in the living room, surrounded by an apartment that no longer felt like hers. Everything — the pale walls, the faint hospital scent, the emptiness on the furniture — had the stillness of something waiting for permission to exist again.

On the table lay the discharge papers signed by Teddy Altman. Medical instructions lined up like war orders:
Monitor vital signs. Administer medication every four hours. Avoid stress.

That last part almost made me laugh. I had chosen to take care of Maya Bishop — the most stubborn, proud, and breathtaking woman I’ve ever known. Avoiding stress would be like asking the ocean to stop having waves.

I picked up my phone and dialed my brother’s number. Andrew answered with a sleepy voice.

— Carina? Are you okay? Is it urgent?

— Sorry to wake you, fratello (brother) — I whispered, sinking onto the couch. — It’s not a medical emergency. I just… needed to hear someone who doesn’t look at me with pity or exhaustion.

He cleared his throat, now more awake.
— You’re with her? She got discharged?

— Yes. Today. — I sighed. — She agreed to let me be her caregiver, but only because I threatened to tell Teddy she was being difficult. Even so, she spent the whole afternoon trying to convince me to leave. Said I’m ruining my life for a “failed project.”

Andrew stayed silent for a moment. The kind of silence that comes before a truth you don’t want to hear.

— She’s scared, Carina — he finally said, calm but steady. — Not of you. Of herself.

The words hit me like a wave.

— She’s afraid of her own ability to self-destruct. And of dragging you down with her. Maya thinks pushing you away is her way of protecting you.

He was right — painfully right. Andrew always saw people with a clarity that could cut.

— So what do I do? — I asked, my voice trembling. — I can’t treat her just like a patient. But if I cross the wrong line, she’ll shut down completely.

— Do what you always do, — he said. — Take care of her. As a doctor, as a friend, as the woman who loves her. But don’t expect anything in return. She’s going to test you, Carina. She’ll try to exhaust you until you give up. But if you stay… maybe she’ll finally believe that love can exist even in the middle of fear.

I closed my eyes, breathing in the weight of his words.

— It feels like torture, Andrew.

— It’s love, sorella (sister). And love, for the two of you, has never come easy. Just promise me you’ll sleep a little. And drink real coffee tomorrow. She needs you whole.

I smiled faintly.
— I promised I’d visit you next month. Even if it’s just for a weekend.

He chuckled softly.
— My sister, always promising the impossible. You’ll be fine, Carina. I trust you.

When the call ended, the apartment seemed to breathe with me.
The silence was still there, but it no longer felt suffocating.

I looked toward Maya’s bedroom door.
I wasn’t there to be her lover.
I was there to make sure the woman I love learned how to live inside her own body — one heartbeat at a time.

⸻
POV MAYA

Morning arrived slowly, with the sea tapping softly against the windows.

The first morning at home with Dr. Carina DeLuca, caregiver was an exercise in disguised control.

The smell of fresh coffee reached me before her voice did. Strong coffee — mine — and pancakes — hers, probably the healthy kind.
When I opened my eyes, Carina was sitting in the chair beside my bed, watching me like she was guarding a fragile miracle.

— Buongiorno, bambina (Good morning, baby), — she said, smiling, though her tone carried that unmistakable doctor authority.

— You were staring at me, — I rasped, still halfway between sleep and disbelief.

— I was monitoring your resting respiratory rate, — she lied smoothly, her lips twitching in a barely-there smile. — Now, stay still. Medication time.

I looked at the tray beside the bed — blue, white, and pink pills.
A color palette of survival.

— You don’t have to hand me the water, Carina. I’m not a child.

She handed me the glass anyway, her hand steady, patient.
— No, you’re not a child. But your body still thinks this heart is an intruder. And I’m not taking the risk of you skipping a dose or trying to prove you’re stronger than you are. — She exhaled softly. — I’m your doctor twenty-four hours a day, Maya. Accept it.

I swallowed the pills and, with them, my pride.
It was strange — I felt invaded, yet somehow safe.
Carina the doctor was unshakable.
And I was the case she refused to lose.

Then came breakfast in bed, forced reading of uplifting news — she banned gossip columns — and ten slow steps of hallway physiotherapy.
Ten steps that felt like miles.

— I hate this, — I muttered, pressing against the wall. — I used to run marathons, Carina. Now I can barely walk ten meters.

— You’re a survivor, — she said firmly. — Tomorrow you’ll walk eleven. Then twenty. The body heals slowly. Be patient with it.

— I don’t know how to be patient.

— I know. — She smiled, brushing a kiss against the top of my head. — That’s why I’m here.

⸻

The doorbell broke the rhythm of the day.

Andy stormed in, all energy and noise, too much for this fragile peace. He stopped when he saw Carina sitting on the couch, stopwatch in hand.

— Guess I’m the only one who needs clearance to come in here, — he joked, though his eyes were serious.

Carina stood, collecting the tray.
— I’ll get more coffee. Business talk, right? — She shot me a knowing look: don’t overdo it.

When the kitchen door closed, Andy sat across from me.
The easy smile faded.

— I brought some reports and emails that couldn’t wait. Not work, I promise. But… it’s about Jack.

My chest tightened.
Jack — the ex who turned my downfall into a headline.
The one who called me unstable and made my pain a story to sell.

— What did he do now? — I asked, my new heart thudding uncomfortably.

— Nothing. It’s the media. They’re hungry. They want your side of the story. The redemption arc. — He turned the tablet toward me.

The headline hit like a punch:
“Where is Maya Bishop? The truth behind the star’s disappearance after Jack’s betrayal.”

Andy sighed.
— And the worst part… Oprah called.

I blinked.
— Oprah?

— Yeah. She wants an exclusive. Your first interview since the transplant. She wants honesty, emotion, vulnerability. She wants you.

The word “vulnerability” made my stomach twist.
I was still learning how to live with someone else’s heart.
How could I expose that to the world?

— I can’t, Andy. I can barely stand. My so-called redemption arc hasn’t even started.

— I know. But this is your chance to take the power back. To tell your version. On your terms. Think about it, Maya. It’s your life.

The kitchen door opened.
Carina stood there, a coffee mug in her hand.
Her eyes said everything.
She had heard it all.

— Don’t push yourself, bambina (baby), — she said softly, but there was steel in her voice.

My heart kicked against my ribs.
Celebrity life, recovery, love — all tangled into one impossible knot.

— Give me a week, Andy, — I murmured. — I’ll give you my answer in a week.

Carina came closer, placing her cool hand against my forehead, as if checking for fever — but we both knew it wasn’t just medical.

“I can’t love you while you still hate yourself.”

Her words echoed inside me.
Maybe that interview would be the first step toward not hating myself anymore.
Or maybe it would be the stress that killed me before this new heart even had a chance to live.

I closed my eyes.
And for the first time, I felt my heart beating not just for me — but for everything I still needed to learn to love.

Chapter Text

POV MAYA

⸻

Dr. Evans

I hated the couch.
Not the one in my apartment — that one was soft, familiar, smelling faintly of sea salt and stale coffee — but this one: gray leather, cold and stiff, perfectly designed to remind you that comfort was a luxury you hadn’t earned yet.

Carina had left me in the waiting room with that look of hers — the one that blends medical authority and Italian stubbornness into something terrifyingly persuasive — the kind of look that says “If you try to leave before your session is over, I’ll drag you back myself.”

The therapist’s office was a portrait of silence.
Minimalistic, almost surgical. No photos of smiling families, no comforting plants pretending to be alive. Only the ticking of a wall clock, the faint smell of coffee, and the weight of things unsaid.

Dr. Evans was a woman in her fifties, her movements calm but exact, her eyes sharp behind thin glasses that seemed to see past the skin. Her notebook looked harmless, but I knew better. It was a weapon disguised as paper.

“Hello, Maya,” she said — her voice steady, absent of false cheer. “Thank you for coming. I read Dr. Altman’s report and your medical file. But I’d like to hear from you. Why are you here today?”

I shrugged, staring at a random point on the wall.
“Because I’m required to be. It’s part of my discharge conditions.”

“And if it weren’t mandatory?” she asked. “Would you still be here?”

I drew in a breath, my new heart thundering too loud in my chest.
“No. I’d probably be somewhere on a beach, smoking and drinking, waiting for the inevitable.”

She wrote something down — unbothered, unsurprised.
“You mentioned ‘the inevitable.’ Are you referring to your cardiomyopathy, your transplant, or your life as a whole?”

I let out a short, hollow laugh.
“All of it. I always knew I wouldn’t last long. My whole life has been a race. And now… the race is over. I don’t know how to exist without running.”

⸻

The Void and the Fame

“You’re a very successful actress, Maya,” she said. “Your agent mentioned that Oprah wants to interview you. That sounds like a path forward.”

I shook my head.
“Success,” I said, almost spitting the word. “It’s just a shiny label. I started acting to fill the void. The attention, the chaos, the parties — all of it was noise. Noise loud enough to drown out the silence that came after.”

“After?” she asked gently. “The silence that came after what?”

My throat tightened. The air turned heavier.
“My parents,” I whispered. “They were good. Kind. My anchor. They were the only place I ever felt safe. When I was sixteen, there was a car accident. They were gone before anyone could even say their names. One second. One sound. And the world stopped.”

She didn’t rush me. Didn’t murmur empty condolences. Just waited — a stillness that made me want to keep speaking.

“After that, I had to grow up,” I continued. “I went to live with an aunt who barely knew me. She didn’t hate me, but she was tired. So I decided I’d never depend on anyone again. I dropped out of school, found a theater, started working. The fame… it wasn’t a dream. It was just the side effect of needing someone — anyone — to see me.”

I clenched my fists.
“I don’t know who I am without chaos. Without control. The ‘Maya Bishop’ people adore is a performance. The strong one. The wild one. Because if I’m strong enough, no one can take me away from myself again. My bad heart was just proof that I couldn’t save myself, no matter how hard I tried.”

Dr. Evans folded her hands over her notebook, thoughtful.
“It sounds like you’ve been building walls since you were sixteen — to keep from feeling that loss again. Your heart, your career, your control… all of them became armor.”

I nodded slowly.
“The race stopped, Doctor. And I don’t know how to walk. I don’t even know if I want to.”

⸻

The Carina DeLuca Problem

The silence thickened again.
Then, before I could stop myself, I said softly,

“And then there’s Carina.”

“The doctor who saved you?” she asked. “The one waiting outside to take you home?”

I gave a nervous laugh.
“Yes. The doctor who saved me. And the one who’s ruining me.”

“Ruining you how?”

“Because she cares,” I said, the words leaving a bitter heat on my tongue. “She doesn’t see me as a patient, or a project, or a problem to fix. She sees me. The girl who lost everything at sixteen and still hasn’t figured out how to live with it.”

I leaned forward, voice trembling.
“I know how to handle anger. I know how to fight back when people use me or judge me. But I don’t know how to handle someone who stays. Someone who offers love without conditions. I push her away, I tell her to leave, I yell — and she doesn’t go. She’s steady, solid. She’s everything I lost. And that terrifies me.”

I pressed my hands over my face, my breathing uneven.
“If I love her, and she leaves — if she leaves like they did — I won’t survive it.”

Dr. Evans rested the notebook on her lap and studied me. Her voice was soft, but unyielding.
“Maya, you don’t have to know how to love properly right now. You don’t even have to know how to stay. You just have to learn how to breathe.”

I frowned, confused.

“Your new heart is a reminder,” she continued. “You were given time. What you do with that time is what will heal you. Maybe your challenge now is to allow someone to love you even after seeing your worst. Love isn’t a guarantee of permanence, Maya. It’s a moment. And right now…” — she smiled faintly — “right now, she’s waiting for you.”

The ticking clock was the only sound between us.
Then I stood, my body trembling from a fatigue deeper than muscle.

“I’ll see you next week,” she said as I reached for the door.

I didn’t promise that I would.

⸻

Carina was waiting just outside.
Sitting, her hands clasped tightly, her eyes tired but impossibly gentle.
When she saw me, she stood immediately — the movement instinctive, like her body recognized mine before her mind did.

“How was it, bambina?” she asked, her voice soft but cautious.

“The couch was uncomfortable,” I lied, feeling her hand rest lightly on my back as we started walking.

We didn’t speak. The hallway felt longer on the way out.

I was still lost. Still terrified of what it would mean to love her — of what it would cost if I did.

But for the first time in years, I had said the truth out loud.

And the heart inside me — someone else’s heart, beating steadily beneath my ribs — kept going. Strong, patient, alive.

It was giving me what I had never learned to give myself:

time.

Time to decide if I deserved to use it loving Carina DeLuca.
Time to discover if I could finally live with the silence.

POV CARINA

The waiting room of Dr. Evans smelled faintly of disinfectant and cold coffee — that sterile, lingering scent that always reminded me of hospitals and long nights that refused to end.

I sat in a dark-blue leather chair, legs crossed, hands clasped in my lap, pretending to be calm while my entire body vibrated with quiet tension. It wasn’t the kind of anxiety that made you pace; it was the heavy kind — the kind that sits low in your stomach and stretches every minute into an hour.

I wasn’t here as the girlfriend.
That version of me — the woman who loved Maya with her hands, with her body, with her chaos — had to stay outside.
Here, I was the caregiver. The word that allowed me to remain by her side without being questioned.
I was here to make sure that Maya Bishop — the woman who had survived her own death — would now learn how to survive her own mind.

Time passed like a taut wire threatening to snap.
The clock on the wall didn’t just mark the minutes — it dissected them.
My gaze drifted from the clock to the door, from the door to my phone, from my phone to the floor. Anything to distract myself from the muffled rhythm of voices behind the thick wooden door.

I knew what was happening in there. Maya wasn’t fighting the therapist. She was fighting the part of herself that equated control with survival. The part that built fortresses instead of homes.

Dr. Evans had an impeccable reputation. I trusted her competence — but I feared her speed.
Maya wasn’t a broken vase; she was a minefield.
If someone stepped too firmly, she would detonate.
And if she ran, if she bolted from that room in panic, I would lose her again.

The irony was cruel: I had saved her heart with precision and skill — and yet, I was powerless to save her soul.

⸻

I thought of our conversation the day before.
“Non mi allontanerai questa volta, Maya.” (You won’t push me away this time, Maya.)

She hadn’t answered. Just looked away — the kind of silence that wasn’t defiance, but fear.
And still, I stayed.

I had promised to be the anchor.
But sitting there, waiting outside that door, I feared that maybe I wasn’t her anchor — maybe I was the weight dragging her deeper.
It’s easy to be someone’s harbor when the sea is calm.
It’s infinitely harder when the storm believes it must destroy everything to prove it’s still alive.

⸻

The sound of the door handle turning made my pulse stop for a moment.

I stood before I even saw her face. Instinct. The kind that doesn’t wait for permission.
And then — there she was.

She wasn’t crying, but she looked… hollow.
Her skin pale, her energy drained, her usual defiant posture replaced by something heavy — defeated.
Her shoulders, always so straight and tense, had lowered a fraction.
She looked smaller.

For a fleeting instant, I didn’t see the famous actress, the untouchable star.
I saw the girl.
The sixteen-year-old who had lost everything and learned to survive by turning her pain into armor.

She talked about them, I realized. Her parents. The emptiness they left.

The thought hit me in the chest — sharp and familiar.
As if the transplanted heart beating inside her remembered loss as well.

I approached slowly, careful not to crowd her.

“Come è andata, bambina?” (How was it, my love?)
My voice was soft, a whisper that carried no expectation.

“The couch was uncomfortable,” she murmured — evasive, automatic, the reflex of someone still half-defending themselves.

I didn’t press.
I knew she wouldn’t give me details. And I wouldn’t ask.
My role wasn’t to fix her with words. It was to heal her with presence.
To offer constancy when everything else in her life had been conditional.

⸻

“Andiamo a casa,” (Let’s go home) I said gently.
“It’s time for your medication… and lunch. I made your favorite: Carbonara — with little salt, of course.”

She let out a soft sound, something between a sigh and a resigned hum.
Acceptance — small, but real.

I placed my hand lightly on her back to guide her toward the exit.
Her body tensed immediately, the instinct to retreat flickering under her skin.
But she didn’t pull away.

And in that single gesture — that tiny act of not pulling away — I felt something shift. A silent victory.

⸻

As we walked toward the car, the late afternoon sun spilled gold across the pavement.
Shadows stretched long around us.
Every step she took was proof of life — fragile, defiant, miraculous.

You’re a challenge, Andrew’s voice echoed in my head.

He was right.
But this wasn’t a challenge I wanted to conquer.
It was one I wanted to accompany.

I stood there, between worlds — between doctor and lover, between duty and devotion, between fear and faith.
Waiting for the woman I loved to dismantle herself, piece by piece, in the hope that she would one day rebuild.

And I would stay.
Even when it hurt.
Even when she couldn’t let me in.
Even when loving Maya Bishop meant practicing the most sacred form of patience.

Because she was my miracle.
And miracles — the true ones — don’t bloom in haste.
They unfold in waiting.

And I could wait.
I had all the time in the world now.

Chapter Text

POV MAYA

The air in the apartment was dense, almost tangible — as if it had absorbed every word I spilled on Dr. Evans’ couch. Coming home with Carina felt like returning to a luxury cell. I was out of the hospital, but still a prisoner of my new heart, my pills, and the truth I finally admitted.

As soon as the door closed behind me, I walked straight to the bedroom.

“Maya, you need to eat. The Carbonara is ready.”
“Not hungry. I need a shower… and silence.”

She didn’t insist. A miracle.

The bedroom was the only place where the world asked nothing of me. I fell onto the bed, exhausted — not from my body, but from the emotional violence of therapy. I talked about my parents. The loss. The need to be the strong one. I talked about Carina — the only person who loved me without asking for anything in return — and how much that terrified me. Therapy had stripped me bare. And I hated being naked.

I swore I wouldn’t think. But silence screamed. I grabbed my phone, chasing the old addiction: noise. Twitter opened instantly — fast and cruel.

@hollywood_daily: Maya Bishop missing after heart surgery! Will the star redeem herself after the Jack fiasco?
@relentlessfan: New heart, same unstable diva. #MayaBishop
@team_mayarina: Carina DeLuca spotted in L.A.! Love wins? #Marina

I scrolled faster. My own account was a collage of someone I didn’t recognize: photos from parties I barely remembered, bold quotes about “living dangerously,” selfies with empty eyes and forced smiles. I looked at my profile picture. Maya Bishop. The persona.

This isn’t me.

The truth pressed harder than any scar. The “Maya Bishop” the world loved was just a construct — a mask built on trauma, abandonment, and control. A shell for the sixteen-year-old who had lost everything.

Jack’s name in my feed twisted my stomach. Jack. My distorted reflection. My partner in chaos.

Our relationship was never love. It was a pact of destruction — two bodies dancing on the edge. He loved me because I was famous. I kept him close because he made me feel less alone in ruin.

When I began to drift toward healing — timidly, with Carina — Jack unraveled. He exposed me. Sold me. Turned my pain into a headline.

“Oprah wants your truth, Maya. Your redemption.”

But what truth? I was sitting in a dark room, unsure if I even wanted to keep acting. The emptiness was larger than my career. The “truth” Oprah wanted required performance — and I was too tired to perform.

What terrified me wasn’t Jack. It was that I had allowed it. I had allowed chaos because chaos was familiar. And now, Carina offered peace. And peace… was the scariest thing of all.

Soft knocks on the door. Andy’s voice — calm, loyal.

“Maya? It’s me. Carina said you locked yourself in. Can I come in? It’s not about Oprah, I swear.”
“No, Andy. I just need some time. Please.”

Silence. Then his sigh through the wood.

“I know therapy is hell, Maya. But you’re doing the right thing. You don’t have to face the media. I’ll handle the story. Just… don’t isolate yourself. Carina’s worried.”
“I’m fine. Really. I’ll call you later.”

Lie.

I heard him leave — and felt his disappointment echo through the floorboards. Andy had always been my anchor. But now, I was the wreckage.

Hours blurred. Then — a different knock. Gentle. Almost pleading.

“Maya? I’m leaving the Carbonara and a glass of water on the table. It’s almost time for your meds, but you need to eat something.”

I opened the door just enough for her to slip in. She placed the tray carefully, with the same precision she used in surgery — and in love.

“You don’t have to do this. I can handle it.”
“I know you can. But I’m here to make sure you don’t have to fight for everything, bambina.”

Her voice was steady, but her eyes carried exhaustion and devotion.

“I won’t force you to talk about therapy. But I also won’t let you destroy yourself. You can shut the world out — but you’ll still take care of yourself.”

She leaned in, leaving a kiss on my forehead.

“I love you, Maya. I’m here. If you want to shut out the world — Oprah, media, hell itself — I’ll help you close the door. Just say the word.”

The door closed. I was alone with the Carbonara, the soft scent of home, and the love of someone who refused to give up. I looked at the fork. Ate one bite. A small step.

It wasn’t about love. Or fame. It was about surviving. And Carina — with her Italian stubbornness — was teaching me that maybe… surviving peacefully was allowed.

In the kitchen, I stared at the empty plate in the sink. A small victory. The list of meds was organized. Vital signs logged. The white door of the bedroom — closed — still divided us.

Three hours since Andy left. Three hours since Maya locked herself away.

I was the doctor. The caregiver. The anchor. But inside, I was screaming. I had saved her. Why wouldn’t she choose to live?

I picked up my phone and stepped out onto the balcony. The sound of the sea numbed the ache. I dialed Andrew’s number.

“Carina? Did she eat? Her vitals?”
“She ate, grazie a Dio. Took her meds. Stable. But locked away again. Yesterday she opened her chest in therapy, today she shut it all down.”

Silence. Then his calm, clinical voice.

“She didn’t regress, sorella. She’s processing. She admitted her fear of losing you. That’s not regression — that’s controlled collapse.”

I tried to believe him.

“I know… but I’m tired of being the anchor. I’m the doctor who sleeps three meters away from her and can’t touch her. The woman who loves her but can only hand her a glass of water. It’s like loving glass.”
“So what will you do?”
“Not fail. She’s testing me, Andrew. She wants to see if I’ll leave. But I won’t.”
“Brava sorella.”

I hung up. And put my armor back on.

I grabbed a glass of water and walked to the bedroom door. This time, I knocked hard.

“Maya? Ten minutes of walking. Circulation. Protocol. Not a request — an order.”

Silence. I pressed my forehead against the cool wood.

“If you don’t come out in one minute, I’m calling Teddy and telling her my patient is being stubborn and self-destructive.”

A click. The lock turned.

Maya opened the door — oversized sweatshirt, red eyes, quiet rage and exposed pain.

“You’re unbearable, DeLuca.”
“I know.”

A tiny smile. A silent victory.

She started walking down the hall, slowly — each step an act of defiance. I stood still, watching. She was the labyrinth. And I… the anchor.

For now, that was enough.

Chapter Text

POV CARINA

The silence was my torture. Not the silence of the night, which promised sleep and recovery, but the silence of stubbornness.

It was 7 p.m. The plate of carbonara I had prepared — less salt, with all the nutrients a post-surgery body needed — sat cold on the counter. The bedroom door had been closed since the early afternoon, when Maya had locked herself away from the world, from Andy, and most of all, from me.

I had followed the protocol. Left her lunch. Left water. Knocked on the door and gave the walking order (which she did, grumbling), but then she went back in and locked herself up again. Maya’s desperation not to be vulnerable was forcing me to be inhuman.

I was exhausted. Not from the medical stress — I could handle medicine — but from the emotional weight of being the only one fighting for both of us. Love was supposed to be a partnership, and here I was, in an apartment in Los Angeles, throwing away my career to be the full-time nurse of a celebrity who told me to go to hell every ten minutes.

I sat in the living room, away from the door, and picked up my phone. I needed someone who wasn’t my brother, Andrew, because he would talk about schedules and plans. I needed someone who understood what it meant to break.

I dialed Amelia. She was in Seattle, where my life still made sense.

“Carina! It’s so good to hear your voice. How is she? Is Maya... letting you love her?” she asked brightly, then softened when I didn’t respond.

“Physically, she’s great. The new heart is a champion,” I said, rubbing my temples. “Emotionally... she’s a closed door, Amelia. And I’m standing outside it, knocking, exhausted.”

The words poured out of me in frustration and pain.

“She did therapy yesterday, and it was a massacre. She talked about her parents, about loss. She was naked, vulnerable. And what did she do the moment she came home? She shut down again, isolated herself, pushed me away. She’s testing me, Amelia. She’s giving me every reason to leave, just to prove I’m not different from everyone who’s abandoned her.”

I took a deep breath, feeling the rare sting of tears.

“I can’t keep being the 24-hour doctor, the caretaker. I can’t be the only one carrying both her recovery and our relationship. I’m losing my sense of who I am. I’m a brilliant doctor, Amelia. I should be doing research, saving lives in Seattle — not waiting for a locked-up woman to give me permission to love her.”

There was a long silence. Amelia didn’t interrupt — she just listened. That was her kind of care.

“So tell me,” she said finally, voice calm but serious. “What are you thinking of doing?”

I closed my eyes. The answer was there — the easy, safe, self-saving path.

“I’m thinking of giving up. Calling Andy, saying she needs a team of nurses, and booking the first flight to Seattle. I’d go back to my research, my apartment, my life without chaos.” I exhaled shakily. “Giving up.”

“You could,” Amelia said softly. “You’re strong enough to save yourself. But could you forgive yourself?”

“I could, if she said, ‘Go. I don’t want you.’ But she doesn’t. She locks herself away and tests me.”

“She locks herself away because she doesn’t know how to be loved anymore, Carina. She’s giving you what’s left of her — silence and fear. You’ve become the figure of the parents she lost, the safety that was stolen from her at sixteen. If you leave, she’ll believe love always fails. You can go back to Seattle, but you’ll leave behind a woman with a new heart and an old wound that will never heal. You’re a doctor. You know the difference between abandoning a patient and giving them space.”

Amelia’s words cut like a scalpel. I wasn’t giving space — I was running away.

“I know,” I whispered. “I won’t. But I needed you to know how close I am to collapsing. I’m human, Amelia. I’m not a robot who can survive her test forever.”

“Then fight for yourself too, Carina. Keep her routine, but don’t lose your own. If you stay, it has to be because the fight is worth it. And please, open a bottle of wine, even if you have to drink it alone.”

I hung up. The smell of cold carbonara still lingered — a reminder of my unreturned devotion.

I didn’t call Andy. I didn’t buy a ticket. But I poured the wine, and I sat down. I needed strength for tomorrow — to keep being the anchor she didn’t ask for but desperately needed.

Maya’s maze was deep, and I was tired. But I was still there. And for now, that was my victory.

POV MAYA

The silence of my room was a prison, but the alternative — the world outside, Andy’s words, Carina’s piercing eyes — was worse. I had locked myself away, but thirst or biology forced me out eventually.

I stepped into the living room and froze. Carina was on the balcony, her back to me, phone pressed to her ear. I was about to retreat, but her voice stopped me.

It wasn’t the calm, professional tone she used to give me meds. It was strained, trembling, exhausted — a sound I’d never heard from her before.

“I can’t keep being the 24-hour doctor, the caretaker. I’m losing my sense of who I am. I’m a brilliant doctor, Amelia. I should be saving lives in Seattle — not waiting for a locked-up woman to let me love her!”

I froze. Amelia. She was talking to Amelia. And I was listening to a confession I had no right to hear.

“She’s testing me. She’s giving me every reason to leave, just to prove I’m not different from everyone who’s abandoned her.”

The lump in my throat was painful. She understood everything. She knew exactly what I was doing — I was testing her love until it broke.

Then came the sentence that shattered me.

“I’m thinking of giving up. Calling Andy, saying she needs a team of nurses, and taking the first flight to Seattle. Going back to my research, to my life without chaos.”

Giving up.

The air left my lungs. It wasn’t anger — it was realization. I was breaking the only person who’d fought to keep me alive.

I leaned against the wall, dizzy. I had been trying to control loss by reenacting it — but real loss was terrifying.

“I could forgive myself if she said, ‘Go. I don’t want you.’ But she doesn’t. She locks herself away and tests me.”

Her pain wasn’t her fault. It was mine. I was the girl who lost everything and was now destroying the woman trying to give it back.

Later, in the dark of night, I went to her. It wasn’t about fear of being alone — it was about saving her from me. I needed her to know I had heard her. That her sacrifice hadn’t gone unnoticed.

When I lay beside her, clinging to her warmth, the embrace was a silent plea: I choose you. I won’t destroy you. Please, don’t go.

Tomorrow, I would go to therapy. And I’d find the words. I’d tell her I wanted to try — not just for me, but because I couldn’t bear the thought of her love becoming another ruin in my life. I had to start fighting — not just for my survival, but for hers too.

POV MAYA

I woke to the soft morning light in the guest room. Carina’s warmth was a fading memory — the space beside me, cold and empty.

I got up immediately, without panic this time, just determination. I needed to talk to her. I needed to tell her I heard the call. That I chose her.

I walked into the kitchen ready to confess. But the Carina I found wasn’t the same as last night.

She stood by the counter, posture tense in the morning light. Dressed, ready. The coffee was poured — my blend, strong — and my meds were laid out neatly. The silence, however, was ice.

“Good morning,” I said, trying for lightness.

“Good morning, Maya,” she replied without looking up from her phone. Her voice was flat, stripped of warmth, of her Italian melody, of bambina. It was the voice of the doctor — of a stranger.

I picked up the cup, waiting for her to check my pulse or my temperature. She didn’t. She just watched.

“I... slept well,” I tried, giving her an opening.

Her brown eyes met mine — steady, cold, empty.

“I’m glad to hear that. Your physical recovery is my priority. Sleep is essential. Take your meds.”

I swallowed the pills, feeling small. She was building a wall higher than ever before.

“Carina, I know I’ve been difficult. I know I’ve been testing you. But I heard—”

She cut me off, setting the phone down hard, arms crossed — controlled fury.

“You heard what, Maya? That I’m exhausted? That I’m thinking of walking away? Congratulations. You finally got what you wanted. You pushed me to the edge. Your chaos won.”

The words hit like blows.

“No, I swear that’s not it. I was going to tell you... I don’t want to test you anymore. I choose you.”

She shook her head slowly.

“You choose safety, Maya. And I’m not your safety anymore. I’m your risk. And I can’t be the only one carrying that risk — and your medical routine — alone.”

“What are you saying?” I whispered, terrified.

She stepped back, taking her car keys.

“I’ll be out for an hour. I called Andy. Told her you need professional care — someone who won’t care if you lock yourself away. Someone without a life, a career, or emotions tied to yours.”

“You’re abandoning me?”

“I’m saving myself, Maya. I saved you from physical death — now you need to save me from emotional one. You need a professional, not an exhausted lover. I’ll go with you to therapy today, but when we get back, Andy will bring the contact for a live-in nurse.”

She opened the door. Cold air rushed in.

“I love you, Carina,” I said desperately, the truth breaking free. “Please, don’t leave me.”

She stopped in the doorway, her back to me.

“You should’ve said that last night. Or the first time I asked. Not now, when I’ve run out of strength. Now, you have to learn what it means to fight for someone — not just for your own survival.”

The door closed. The click of the lock was the loudest sound in the world.

I stood there, coffee cold in my hand. I had tried to control loss — and now I was living it. I had one hour to fix the biggest mistake of my life.

My chance to fight for Carina started now.

Chapter Text

POV CARINA

I couldn't breathe until I heard the dry sound of the door closing behind me. The click of the lock sounded like a shard, the sound of a heart breaking - and, for the first time in a long time, it was not hers.

The air in the corridor was heavy, stuffy, and seemed to stick to the skin. I walked fast, almost stumbling, with my heart hammering loud enough to cover the sound of my own steps. When the elevator opened, the world turned for a second - the cold metal of the walls reflected my blurred, pale, swollen face. I barely recognized myself. Tears, contained with ferocity for days, began to burn behind the eyes, begging for freedom.

I had said the words. The worst and most liberating of my life. The ultimatum. The lie that I didn't love her - and the truth that I couldn't go on like this.

Don't cry, Carina. Don't give her that power. I repeated it like a silent mantra. Because if she saw me collapse, if she realized how broken I was, she would turn my pain into evidence. One more proof that everything you touch is torn apart. And I couldn't let her believe that - not even once again.

When the elevator door opened, I almost ran out. The hot air of Los Angeles hit me like a punch, mixed with the smell of gasoline and the constant traffic noise. I got in the car and slammed the door too hard. The sound echoed inside the vehicle, imprisoning me with the silence soon after. My hands were shaking so much that the key slipped between my fingers. When I finally turned on the ignition, the engine sounded like a distant, irrelevant roar.

I put my forehead on the steering wheel and let the body give in. The sobs came like tides, tearing what was left of my composure. Each breath was a spasm, a release of weeks of wakefulness, of sleepless nights, of suffocated love. I felt the salty taste of the tears mixed with the bitter lipstick.

Her voice still echoed.

"I love you, Carina. Please, don't leave me."

But on top of that, Amelia's always came - cold, pragmatic, like a cruel conscience. "She's testing you. She wants to see if love survives destruction."

No. I couldn't be anyone's experiment anymore. I couldn't be the battlefield of traumas that weren't mine.

I turned the key and drove aimlessly. The wide streets of Los Angeles stretched before me, impassive. The palm trees seemed to mock my pain, motionless under the too artificial blue sky. I passed by shops, cafes, hurried faces - and it was as if the world had decided to move on, while I stood still in a time that hurt.

The destination formed itself: the airport. An escape instinct. A reflection of survival.

While the car slid through the avenues, I thought about everything I tried. I had been patient, compassionate, rational. I had waited for every slightest opening in her wall, and when a crack arose, I entered, gently, with love. But every gesture was received with suspicion, every touch with fear.

And the worst - her lie. The childish excuse of being "cold" after hugging me, when what she really felt was panic for needing someone.

I screamed alone inside the car, a hoarse, deaf sound. No one to listen. No one to console. I loved Maya, but loving can't be synonymous with getting sick.

I stopped at a viewpoint, facing the sea. The Pacific stretched dark, endless, like a mirror of what I felt inside. The waves beat hard, indifferent, and the wind brought the salty and metallic smell of freedom. I picked up the phone. My hands were still shaking. Andy would answer - he always answered.

"Andy, it's me."

His voice came immediately, tense. "Carina? What happened? Maya called, she was out of her wnes. Are you okay?"

"I don't know," I replied, and the truth came out in a trembling whisper. "I gave her an ultimatum. You said you're going to bring a nurse. I can't be her caregiver anymore. I can no longer be the only one who loves here."

There was silence on the other side. Then his heavy sigh, a sound of exhausted empathy.

"I know. She loves you, Carina. But she doesn't know how to love without getting hurt. You're the only one who can break this wall."

"And who's going to get me out of mine?" The anger surprised me, warm, alive. "Who saves me, Andy? Because I'm sinking. I can no longer wait for her to decide that I'm worth the effort. I need to choose myself."

The words were hovering between us, irreversible.

It was there, with the cold wind of the ocean cutting his face and the taste of salt on his lips, that calm arrived. A dense calm, almost anesthetic.

"You're going to hire the best nurse you'll find. I'll take her to therapy today, I'll make sure she enters the room. But after that... it's over. This will be my last obligation."

"Carina, what are you going to do?"

"I'm going back to Seattle."

The sound of the city seemed to disappear for a second. "My license is over. I'll ask Bailey to reintegrate me. I need to work, Andy. I need to remember who I am without her."

"Are you sure? Maybe sleep, think—"

"No." I cut it before he finished. "I've thought too much. If I stay, I'll get completely lost. I loved her, Andy. With everything I had. But I can't drown together."

I hung up before guilt convinced me otherwise.

I stayed there for a moment, looking at the sea until the sky began to tinge orange. Then I started the car again. The airport was the only possible destination.

I bought the ticket to Seattle — morning flight. Just a suitcase, just the essentials.

I would still go back to the apartment, once again. The last one. To ensure that she entered the therapy, that she was safe, that she did not collapse alone.

But when I left there... it would be forever.

For the first time in months, the idea of leaving didn't hurt - it seemed to breathe.

POV MAYA

Carina's decision to walk away did not fall on me as a punishment, but as a sentence long written - the inevitable consequence of my own cowardice. I always thought that controlling the loss was a way to beat it. That, if I provoked abandonment first, it would hurt less. But when the abandonment really came, when she really crossed the door, reality was unbearable.

The click of the lock echoed in my head - once, twice, three times - as if the sound refused to die. It wasn't the sound of a doctor leaving for work; it was the sound of a heart giving up. I stood still in the kitchen, with the glass of cold coffee between my fingers, and for a moment I forgot how to breathe.

"Are you abandoning me?" The sentence escaped before I realized it. It was the voice of a shattered woman, a confession without armor. And Carina, with watery eyes and tired face, replied with the precision of someone who can't stand lying anymore: You should have told me that before. Now, you need to learn what it means to fight for someone.

She left. And the air became dense, heavy, unbreathable.

The panic came in waves, but it was not the usual hysterical panic. It was lucid, cold, devastating. Because I knew exactly what I had done. I tested it - again. I pushed her to the limit, hoping she would prove her love again and again, just to calm my own insecurity. I exhausted her, and when I finally found the courage to say I love you, the echo came too late. The words no longer had weight, because my gestures had annulled them.

Her voice on the balcony, earlier, crossed me like a warning repeated in loop: You're thinking about giving up. I'm going back to Seattle.

Seattle Distance. End.

I heard that and felt the ground give way under me. The idea that she was packing now, with firm hands and dry eyes, was unbearable.

I had destroyed the only person who didn't want to destroy me.

I sat heavily on the kitchen bench. The head throbbed. The tears came, but I didn't let them fall. I was tired of crying. I wanted to do it. Move. Act.

The therapy had taught me how to identify the trauma. Amelia had taught me his name. And Carina, without knowing it, taught me the price.

One hour. It was the time she gave me - an hour of silence to say goodbye, to decide if there was still something in me that was worth staying.

I couldn't follow her. I couldn't beg. I couldn't use the same old weapons - fear, guilt, drama. I needed to prove that I knew how to love in another way.

So, I thought: what was killing her love for me?

The answer came in a list, cruelly clear:

The media; the chaos; the control.

Everything that turned Carina into my nurse and not my partner.

I picked up the phone. The hands were shaking, but the mind was in command mode - the old military instinct coming back, not to win a war, but not to lose the woman I loved.

Andy answered at the first ring.

"Maya? What did Carina say? Is she going back to Seattle?"

"Listen to me," I said, without breathing. "It's not a request. It's a work order."

Silence on the other side. He knew what that tone meant.

"Carina will take me to therapy and then leave," I continued, each word tearing off a piece of my pride. "And I can't let that happen. So, you're going to help me stop it."

"Maya, she's tired. She—”

"She's exhausted because I exhausted her, Andy!" I almost screamed, my voice failing. "But I can still fix it. I know I can. Now listen to me."

I took a deep breath. The new Maya - or the one I wanted to be - began to emerge, line by line, decision by decision.

"First: cancel everything. Oprah, interviews, anything. I want you to publish a note saying that, for emotional health reasons, I'm taking a sabbatical. Say that any attempt to contact the media will be treated as an invasion of privacy. I want silence, Andy. I want peace. I want the world out of my house."

I held the cell phone tightly. "Second: look for a lawyer. The best. I want you to stop Jack from using my name publicly. I want him to disappear from my life. I don't owe anyone anything else."

The heart beat fast, but it wasn't fear - it was focus. For the first time in months, maybe years, I felt clarity.

"And third," I continued, with a firm voice, "Carina will call you with the contact of a nurse. You're going to lie. You will say that you have already hired someone, that it is resolved. No nurse will set foot here. Because Carina needs to understand that I choose my caregiver. And I choose her."

On the other side, Andy was quiet. I heard a sigh, then his voice - low, full of surprise and, perhaps, pride.

"Maya... you're finally saving yourself."

"No," I replied, with my eyes burning. "I'm saving us. And maybe it's the same thing."

I was silent, feeling the sound of the clock on the wall. Forty minutes.

It was the time I had to turn chaos into proof.

Not with words - Carina was already immune to words - but with actions.

I got up, suddenly aware of the state of the house. Glasses in the sink, medicines scattered, remnants of a disorganized routine that screamed despair. I started cleaning, fast, methodical. I exchanged the cold coffee for new flowers, opened the windows, put away everything that reminded me of illness. Every gesture was a mute prayer: stay, stay, stay.

While I was tidying up, the mirror in the hallway gave me back an image that I almost didn't recognize. Deep dark circles, pale face, reddened eyes - but alive. For the first time, I saw something there that reminded me of strength.

I couldn't lose Carina.

But, above all, I couldn't miss the chance to be someone she could love without fear.

The clock was twenty minutes old when I sat on the couch, trying to control my breathing. I knew she would come back - calm, professional, resolved. And I would need to be the opposite of everything she expected.

Not the woman in panic.

But the woman who finally learned to fight the right way.

When the doorknob turned, when she crossed that door, it would no longer be about asking her to stay.

It would be about showing, without a single word, that I deserved to be chosen.

And, for the first time, I believed that maybe it was possible.

Chapter Text

POV CARINA

The sun hadn't even risen yet when I parked in front of the building.

The sky of Los Angeles was in transition - a pale blue swallowing the last streaks of gray.

The kind of dawn that always made me think about anesthesia: the body wakes up, but the heart still sleeps.

The distant sound of the city still seemed stuck in the throat of the day. No bird, no car, just the muffled echo of a world in pause.

I climbed the steps slowly, each step heavier than the previous one.

The suitcase in my hands seemed to contain more than fabrics and documents - it seemed to carry the weight of what was left of us.

Inside her, there was a blouse of hers forgotten in my drawer. It still had the smell of coffee and the perfume she used when she wanted to provoke me.

I should have left her.

But I couldn't.

Andy was at the door, already waiting for me.

Her expression was the same as mine had been carrying for weeks: the tiredness of those who tried to be a wall and a bridge at the same time.

The swollen eyes, the tired posture, the restrained gesture.

- She's awake - that's all Andy said. Her voice came out low, as if she feared to break something delicate. - And... different.

- Different how? - I asked, my stomach contracting.

She hesitated. - You'll have to see it with your own eyes.

I went up.

Each floor seemed like a trial. Every breath, a confession.

When I arrived in front of the door, I hesitated before touching the handle.

I knew that, after that moment, nothing else would be the same.

When the apartment door opened, what struck me was not the smell of chaos - nor the noise of pots, nor the mess, nor the loud music she used to shut up her mind.

It was the silence.

A clean, lively, almost reverent silence.

The windows were open. The curtains, collected.

The air carried the smell of lemon and flower - perhaps an attempt by her to expel the weight of despair.

The table was clean, the medicines organized, the new coffee still hot on the counter.

And in the center of the room, Maya.

She was sitting, upright, calm.

For a moment, the whole world seemed to stop.

The face still had the marks of insomnia, but the eyes... the eyes had something new - not the fear of losing, but the decision to find yourself.

She got up slowly, her body stiff, her hands trembling, but without disguising.

No drama.

No supplication.

- You came - she said, and her voice came out hoarse, like someone who fought against crying all night.

- I said I would come - I replied, trying to keep control. - To take you to therapy.

She nodded, like someone who accepts a sentence she already knew by heart.

But then he took a step forward - small, almost imperceptible - and the space between us seemed to contract.

- I know you're going to Seattle. - It wasn't a question, it was an observation. - And I know I can't stop it.

My whole body armed itself against what was to come, but she continued:

- So, before you go... I want you to see what I did.

She stretched out her arm, pointing around: the tidy apartment, the flowers in the vase, the almost ceremonial organization.

Everything exuded attempt.

- I cleaned what was killing us - he said, no tears, no scream, just truth. - The chaos. The cameras. Jack. The guilt. Everything.

I took a deep breath, a hesitant step forward.

- Maya...

- No - she interrupted me, firm, her eyes shining with something that mixed fear and courage. - I don't want to ask you to stay. Not like that. I just want you to know that I finally learned. That to love is not begging not to be left - it is to create space for the other to want to stay.

My breathing failed me.

She looked at me with a serenity that broke more than any plea could.

Maya who always dragged me into chaos was now in front of me, offering calm - and this was the most devastating form of love I had ever seen.

- I'm going to therapy - she said, with an almost serene firmness. - And if you ever want to come back, you won't find the same woman.

The sound that came out of me was not crying - it was a small, trembling laugh, between pain and pride.

- You finally got it.

She looked down for a moment. - No. I finally felt it.

The silence that came after was sacred.

She took the bag, the medicines, and turned towards the door.

Before leaving, he stopped, looked at me one last time - not with fear, but with love.

An exhausted, real, mature love.

- I choose you, Carina. Even if now it's from afar.

The click of the handle sounded again.

This time, not as an end - but as the promise of a different beginning.

I stood there, motionless, among new suitcases and flowers, smelling the still hot coffee and the echo of the silence she left.

And I realized, with the cruel lucidity that only true love brings, that maybe he didn't prove himself in what he stayed, but in what he allowed himself to leave.

MAYA POV

The car was silent, and this silence was the kind that hurt.

Not the comfortable silence, what fills, but what separates. What weighs.

The guy who says everything that none of us had the strength to say anymore.

Carina drove with both hands firmly on the steering wheel, her gaze fixed on the street, her jaw contracted.

The sun had not yet imposed itself - the sky was a mixture of cold blue and gray fog, a perfect portrait of the two of us.

Each red lighthouse seemed like a vanishing point, a chance for her to give up.

But she wouldn't give up.

And, deep down, maybe that was what hurt the most.

The sound of the engine, the noise of the air conditioning and the frantic beating of my heart competed with each other.

The smell of the car was familiar - coffee, her perfume, and something like fear.

No one spoke during the entire journey.

Only the sound of the arrows and the light rubbing of the tire on the asphalt.

Sometimes I looked at her from the corner of my eye and saw the wet glow in the contour of her eyelashes, but she didn't cry.

And neither do I.

We had already cried too much - now, all that was left was the kind of pain that turns into silence.

When she parked in front of the clinic, the world seemed to diminish.

The engine stopped, and with it, everything was too quiet.

Carina closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, like someone who tries to gather what was left of strength before a battle.

It was the same gesture she made before going into surgery.

But this time, the body on the table was mine.

- I'll wait for you here - she said, with a soft voice, almost out of breath. He didn't look at me when he spoke.

Her hands still held the steering wheel as if letting go was too dangerous.

I nodded, holding the air before opening the door.

The cold morning air hit me like a blow.

The building seemed too big, the floor too unstable.

But I walked anyway.

The hallway smelled of lavender and alcohol - a mixture that should calm down, but it only made me more angry.

The white light of the reflectors made everything aseptic, as if there was no room for weakness there.

The secretary received me with that rehearsed smile of someone who learned to look empathetic without feeling anything.

"Dr. Evans will call you right away."

The sound of the clock on the wall was methodical, cruel.

Every second sounded like a countdown to what I didn't want to hear.

When the door opened, the smell of old coffee and paper enveloped me.

Dr. Evans was there, sitting in the ivory armchair, her glasses resting on the tip of her nose, her hair stuck in an impeccable bun.

She looked at me over the lenses, with that professional calm that made me angry - too calm for a burning world.

- Maya. - The name came out of her mouth without emotion, but with a weight that made me shudder. - I'm glad you came.

I sat down.

Sweaty hands, out-of-step heart.

The whole body on alert, as if it were about to be attacked.

- I came because I promised.

- And just for that? - She looked up from the notepad, like someone who shoots a question that already knows the answer.

I blinked, confused. - What do you mean?

She crossed her legs, supporting the block on her lap.

- You told me, in the last session, that you would only change when something important was at risk. And now, Carina is gone.

He paused for a short time, and the air seemed to shrink between us.

- So tell me, Maya... are you here for you, or why do you want her to come back?

The question fell like a blade.

I felt my face boil, my chest contract, the urge to respond quickly - deny, defend myself, attack.

But before I said anything, she continued:

- Because if it's because of guilt, it's not a cure. It's emotional blackmail disguised as regret.

I leaned forward, the tone rising uncontrollably. - Do you think I'm manipulating her? After everything I lost?

- I think - she replied, firm, her gaze motionless - that you learned to measure love in wounds. Who believes that she only deserves to be loved when she is in ruins.

Put the block aside.

- And now that she's moved away, you want to fix the ruins. But not for you. To prove that it can still be saved.

The silence swallowed me.

The noise of the clock came back, annoying, marking the time I wanted to stop.

- I love Carina - I murmured.

- I don't doubt it. - She leaned her elbow on the arm of the armchair. - But loving someone is not the same as healing. Sometimes, it's the last symptom.

The words crossed my skin like needles.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to go out. I meant she was wrong.

But the truth was that part of me believed in all that.

- So what do I do? - I asked, my voice almost disappearing.

- Stop performing.

I looked at her, without understanding.

- Perform?

- You cleaned the house, threw away the bottles, canceled the media. - She watched me, impassive. - Everything is great, but it's cosmetic.

He leaned his body forward.

- Inside you, you're still trying to control the narrative. Even now.

He paused.

- You want to be the improved version of yourself so that Carina comes back. But she doesn't want to be alone.

My throat burned. - That's unfair.

- It's honest. - Her voice was calm, cruel in precision. - Maya, when was the last time you loved yourself enough to change for yourself, and not to prove that it was worth staying?

The tears came, but this time without the relief of crying.

It was anger.

It was a shame.

It was true.

I stayed there, in silence.

Dr. Evans waited, without interrupting me, without offering consolation.

And, for the first time, I understood that maybe that's what I needed: someone who wouldn't let me run away.

- I don't know who I am without her - I confessed. - But I want to find out.

She nodded, slowly.

- So let's start there.

The clock marked the end of the session.

I got up slowly, my legs trembling, my body light and heavy at the same time.

When I left the room, I felt as if something had been torn from me - and, for the first time, it seemed like the beginning of a cure.

POV CARINA

The waiting room was too white.

White in a way that doesn't console - in a way that erases.

The kind of place that seems clean, but carries the smell of stories that no one wants to hear.

The air conditioning whispered a cold and constant wind, playing the role of anesthesia.

The chairs were hard, the clock on the wall marked the time with mathematical cruelty.

Each second seemed longer than the night before.

I kept my hands intertwined on my lap, watching the living room door where Maya was.

It was a common door - made of light wood, with a small metal plate: Dr. S. Evans

But, for me, it seemed like the limit between hell and the possibility of cure.

My cell phone vibrated inside the bag.

I took it with hesitation, as if the simple act of looking at the screen could unbalance me.

It was Andrea - my brother.

Andrea: I know you don't want to talk, ma... are you really coming to Seattle?

Me: Yes. Flight tomorrow.

Andrea: And Maya?

Me: The treatment will continue. I guaranteed that. But I can't be the treatment.

I sent it before guilt made me erase it.

I looked at the message for too long.

The guilt was still there - I just learned to disguise it better.

The clock ticked forty minutes.

The dry sound of the pointers mixed with the rattling of magazines being flied through by the receptionist.

From time to time, she looked at me with that careful air of who knows that the person sitting in front of her is on the verge of collapse.

I smiled back, as if that was enough.

I fixed my gaze on the door.

The urge to get up, open and enter was almost physical.

I knew exactly what was happening inside: the short breath, the stiffness in the neck, the lost look - signs that I learned to read as if they were vital signs.

But that was the cruelest part: not being able to save.

She needed to find herself in a territory where I couldn't enter.

I picked up the phone and dialed another number.

Andy answered almost immediately, as if he was waiting.

- Did she come in? - he asked, his voice soft, hesitant.

- He came in. - I answered, with a lower voice than usual. - And he stayed.

- That's good.

- It's the least.

There was a short silence, the kind that weighs between two people who share the same exhaustion.

- Did you get the nurse? - I asked.

- Yes. - She lied badly, and I realized at the same time. - Everything is fine now.

I closed my eyes.

Andy was covering Maya's plan, and I knew it.

Part of me wanted to thank you, another part wanted to scream.

But he didn't say anything.

I learned that love, sometimes, is choosing not to argue.

I hung up before the silence turned into a tear.

And, in a reflex, I called Teddy.

- Carina? - her voice came warm, but tired.

- I'm going back to Seattle. - I said bluntly. - Tomorrow morning.

- And Maya?

- The treatment will continue. Dr. Evans took over. Andy will stay around.

- Are you sure?

- No. - I smiled without humor. - But I'm going anyway.

On the other end of the line, a long sigh.

- You did what you could.

- I did what no one should need to do to prove love.

The silence that came later was a hug that didn't happen.

I hung up.

I stood there, with the phone still in my hands, feeling the echo of my own exhaustion.

The cold air in the waiting room seemed to me more and more dense - as if the world charged me to breathe when I no longer knew how.

My body wanted to cry, but I didn't let it.

I had promised myself that, if I cried, I would be away from her.

The doorknob turned.

The sound was almost imperceptible, but inside me it sounded like thunder.

I raised my face.

Maya left.

Red eyes, pale face, but... something different.

The most erect body, the firm step, even if hesitant.

The same face I knew by heart, but now with an expression I had never seen - a painful serenity, like someone who survived his own collapse.

She saw me, and stopped.

I got up.

For a second, the world was reduced to the distance between us.

- How was it? - I asked, keeping my voice steady.

- Horrible. - She gave a tired half smile. - It's necessary.

I nodded.

She took a deep breath, her chest rising slowly.

- Are you still going?

- I will.

The silence that came after was not heavy, nor angry - it was the silence of those who understood that loving is also knowing how to stop.

She took a step forward. - I understand.

- Do you really understand?

- I don't want you to stay to save me. - Her eyes shone, but not with tears. - I want that, if you ever come back, it's because you want to live with me. Not to fix me.

My chest hurt so much.

So simple. So impossible.

- So maybe - I muttered - this is not the end. Maybe it's just the space we need to come back whole.

She nodded.

The teary eyes, the shy smile.

For a moment, time seemed to hold the air between us.

I took a step closer.

- Do you promise to take care of your recovery?

- I promise.

- Take your medicine. Go to the sessions. Listen to Dr. Evans, even when she is unbearably direct.

She laughed, low, and this sound dismounted me from the inside.

- I promise. I'll be good. Try not to drive Andy crazy... nor the new nurse.

A laugh escaped me too - small, trembling, almost a disguised sob.

- And, Maya... - my voice failed - I'm not closing the door, okay?

She looked up, and in him there was something I hadn't seen for a long time: peace.

- I know.

- My phone will remain the same. - I added. - When you want to talk, when you think you can, it will be there.

Her lips trembled in an almost smile.

- Thank you for not giving up on me, even if you're leaving.

- Thank you for finally trying to stay whole. - I whispered.

We stood there, facing each other, in the middle of the cold and silent room, for a time that seemed suspended.

Then she approached and hugged me.

Not the desperate hug from before - but a quiet, firm hug, full of regret and promise.

The kind of hug that says "I still love you" without having to say anything.

When she moved away, something inside me - small, invisible - began to calm down.

- Take care of yourself, Carina.

- You too, Maya.

I saw when she turned around and went out the door.

The sound of her footsteps moving away was the trail of my goodbye.

I stood still for a moment, looking at the empty corridor, trying to memorize the air she had left.

Then, I took a deep breath. I took the bag, the coat, and walked outside.

The morning wind was cold, sharp.

The sky began to brighten in soft shades of gold.

And, for the first time in months, breathing didn't hurt.

Chapter Text

POV: Carina

One month.

Thirty days since I left Los Angeles - since I left her.

Sometimes, it feels like it was yesterday. Others, that I lived a lifetime in this interval.

Seattle remains the same: the cold air cutting the skin, the thin and insistent rain, the smell of bitter coffee on the mornings on duty. But I changed. There's something different about the way the hospital seems to echo inside me.

The first week was automatic: wake up, work, come back, sleep. Repeat. Grey Sloan was the same, but I wasn't. Teddy hugged me on the way back, with that restrained smile of those who understand without having to ask. Amelia tried to get laughs with inappropriate jokes about "the tragic Italian who ran away from a cinematic novel", and I... laughed. Or at least I tried.

Andrew, on the other hand, seemed determined to become my emotional watch.

- "You can't keep drowning at work, sorella," - he told me in the second week, after finding me napping in the rest room, still in a lab coat.

- "I'm just tired."

- "Tired, or running away?"

He was always good at crossing my defenses with a short sentence.

And I'm good at changing the subject.

⸻

Things began to fit together again - or to seem to fit together.

The hospital followed its chaotic rhythm: surgeries, emergencies, the constant beep echoing through the corridors. Teddy went on vacation, and to replace her came Dr. Leila Santoro - yes, Italian. Because the universe likes ironies.

Leila was sweet, smiling, with a more loaded Roman accent than mine. In a few days, he had already conquered half of the hospital.

And, of course, Amelia.

- "She's perfect for you," - Amelia whispered to me in the elevator, after the new doctor's first shift. - "Beautiful, calm, kind... and she doesn't look like the type that leaves you emotionally destroyed."

I rolled my eyes. - "Thank you for the clinical analysis of my love life."

She smiled, that mischievous smile that only Amelia Shepherd knows how to do. - "I'm just saying that the universe sent you a signal. An Italian replacing another Italian."

- "Or the universe is mocking me."

Since then, Amelia seemed to have gained a hobby: pushing me discreetly towards Dr. Santoro. Invitations to "group" coffees, "collective" lunches, "casual" meetings. I noticed the effort, and part of me even thought... cute. But the rest - the rest only thought about Maya.

⸻

Yes, Maya.

The name I try not to pronounce, but that lives in every silence between one beat and another.

I told myself I wouldn't look. That I wouldn't fall into the digital trap of opening her Instagram, of seeing how she is.

It lasted five days.

On Friday night, exhausted, I sat on the couch in Andrew's apartment, the notebook on my lap. A glass of wine in half. And I opened it.

The first photo was of her and Andy, laughing, holding two cups of coffee with the Los Angeles sun behind. The second, a short video - Maya, in a sweatshirt, walking in a park, the wind stirring her hair, and the simple caption: "First kilometer. No shortness of breath."

I felt my chest tighten and my heart... proud.

That heart - the new one - beating well. Strong. Alive.

I turned off the computer, but her face was there, on the walls, on the ceiling, in my thoughts.

It wasn't pain. Not anymore. It was longing. That kind of longing that doesn't hurt, just pulsates slowly, remembering that it still exists.

⸻

The following weeks mixed in a strangely familiar routine.

I got up early, reviewed cases, made rounds, attended to families. At night, sometimes I had dinner with Andrew, other times with Amelia and Kai, and listened to their stories with a smile that I pretended to be natural.

But every time the hospital was too quiet, I found myself thinking about Los Angeles.

In how Maya would be feeling.

In if she still thought about me.

Teddy left me some cases to supervise. One of them, of course, was Maya Bishop's cardiac accompaniment.

Technically, I didn't need to open the medical record - but sometimes, when the shift was quiet, I opened the hidden file. Just to see.

Regular pulse. Stable pressure. No complications.

And every time I read "No complications", I felt a small wave of relief. As if I were the one who breathed better.

⸻

At the end of a long Friday, I sat in the car, still parked in the hospital. The sky was gray, and the rain drummed on the windshield. I took the cell phone.

I opened Instagram again.

Maya had posted a new photo - of her, with the Marvel Studios badge in her hands. "Productive meeting. The Phoenix is rising."

"The Phoenix."

The name hit me right. Because that was it. Maya being reborn.

And me, standing here, looking, trying not to feel left behind.

I smiled, really this time.

It was impossible not to be proud of her.

⸻

When I got home, Andrew was already there, cooking - which meant a chaos of pans and tomato sauce all over the stove.

- "You look less tired today," - he commented, without looking at me.

- "Maybe it is."

- "Or maybe you saw a certain blonde smiling on the internet?"

I looked at him, arching my eyebrow.

- "Have you been messing with my cell phone?"

He laughed. - "I don't need to. You have the most obvious expression in the world when you think about her."

I rolled my eyes, but didn't answer.

⸻

It was almost midnight when the cell phone vibrated on the bedside table.

I thought it was some kind of notification. But the name that appeared on the screen made me freeze.

Maya Bishop.

It wasn't a call.

It was a message.

Short, simple.

"Hi, Carina.

I know you must be busy, but I just wanted to say that I'm fine. Better, actually.

I hope you are too.

- M.'

I stared at those lines for long minutes.

The heart - mine - shot.

I read and reread, not knowing if I should answer.

But when I realized, I was already typing.

"Hi, M.

I'm glad to hear that.

I'm fine too... or trying.

Your heart is doing a great job, from what I've seen."

I deleted the last line before sending.

I couldn't admit that I was still looking at her medical record.

I only sent the beginning. Simple. Safe.

But the smile stayed with me all night.

—-
The next morning, the sound of the alarm clock sounded less cruel.

The gray light of Seattle crossed the blinds and spread through the room, and for a moment, I lay down, staring at the ceiling, trying to understand what had changed.

Oh, yes.

The message.

I took the cell phone.

Nothing new.

But just seeing her name in the history already made the heart take that little jump.

It was almost childish - and, somehow, comforting.

I went to work with a strange mood, too light for those who were going to face a 12-hour shift.

Andrew noticed.

- "You look... smiling inside."

- "Is this a metaphor or a diagnosis?"

— "Classic symptom. Post-text smile."

I rolled my eyes, trying to hide the blush that was rising.

Andrew laughed. - "Ah, sorella... you're terrible at disguising."

⸻

The day went well at the hospital. Surgeries, rounds, case discussions. The new doctor - Leila Santoro - was on the same shift as me. And, as always, it was impossible not to notice her: kind, patient, attentive to the residents.

Amelia appeared in the break room in the middle of the afternoon, holding two coffees and a conspiratorial smile.

- "Guess who asked if you like Italian food?"

I sighed. - "Please say it's an institutional survey."

- "Research from the heart, perhaps." She gave me the coffee. "Leila. I think she has a crush on you."

I tried not to laugh, but it was inevitable. - "She barely knows me."

- "So what? You also didn't know the last woman who made you cross states."

- "Amelia..."

- "All, okay. No pressure. I'm just saying that it would be nice to see you smile again."

Smile. Really.

But the smile came with a sweet weight - because I knew whose real motive it was.

⸻

At night, I sat on the sofa in the apartment. The rain was falling outside, constant, and Andrew had gone out with friends. I was alone - which lately meant too dangerous for my own thoughts.

I took the cell phone. I opened the chat. The last "I'm glad to hear that" blinked on the screen.

Before I thought too much, I typed:

"May I ask what has made you smile in the photos?

(And it's not worth answering 'Los Angeles natural light filter').”

The answer came minutes later.

"Light trains, therapy, and Andy forcing me to dance in the middle of the room to test my breath.

Oh, and iced coffee. A lot of cold coffee."

I laughed. Alone, out loud.

Her typing continued.

"There's also something new... Marvel.

I think I'll accept the project.

They want the movie to be called The Phoenix.

It looks kind of cheesy, doesn't it?"

My fingers moved before the head thought:

"It's not cheesy. It's symbolic. You've always been good at reborn."

It took me a while to realize how much more intimate that sentence sounded than I intended.

But Maya responded quickly:

"I think it was the best compliment I received this month."

And suddenly, talking seemed natural again.

We exchanged messages for more than an hour.

Simple things: she talking about Andy, how the neighbor had a cat that appeared every day at the window, how the therapist insisted on her to meditate (without success).

I told about the shifts, the confusions in the hospital, Amelia's comical attempts to get me dates.

Maya typed:

"Please tell me she's not trying to push you to some poor innocent soul."

"Worse. For an Italian named Leila."

"My God. The universe really has a sense of humor."

"It's not funny."

"It's a little bit, yes."

I smiled, shaking my head.

That lightness - that laugh - I haven't felt it for weeks.

⸻

In the middle of the conversation, she sent a photo.

Nothing rehearsed: just the corner of her room, the sun going through the window and taking her face.

She seemed... alive.

With color, with light, with health.

Looking at that image was like inhaling clean air for the first time in a long time.

"You look good," I typed.

"I'm fine," she replied. "Really, this time."

I stood there, looking at the screen, my heart calm.

It was comforting to see that she was rebuilding her world - even if I was just a distant echo in it.

⸻

That night, before going to sleep, I wrote to her again:

"Is Andy still trying to control your diet?"

"Try it. But now she lets me steal a potato chip a week."

"This is true love."

"And you? How is your routine?"

"Chaotic, tiring, and full of people trying to make me go out with an Italian woman."

"It looks like a good series title."

"The Italian and the Other Italian."

"I would watch it."

"You're a suspect."

"I am. But I like the plot."

Laugh again. Alone.

And I realized that loneliness hadn't seemed like a burden to me for a long time.

⸻

Days later, the shifts became intense again. Teddy sent me photos of the vacation with Owen and Leo, and sometimes, when I opened the reports, I saw Leila's signature in the cases.

Amelia continued her hilarious attempts to push us into a cafe, and Andrew didn't miss a chance to provoke.

But now there was something new.

A small, discreet glow that turned on every time my cell phone vibrated with a notification.

A new message.

A short sentence.

A lost emoji.

And, on one of those nights, Maya wrote:

"I was looking at some pictures of Italy today.

Those landscapes that look painted.

It must be amazing to be there."

I kept looking at the message.

And I typed slowly:

"I was thinking about taking a vacation there, actually.

It's been so long since I came home."

"Really?"

"Seriously."

Her answer took a few seconds.

"You should go.

I think the Italian sun would do you good."

"Maybe."

There was a long, silent pause.

And then, with a little joke that sounded almost like longing:

"If you weren't a supercelebrity now, I would even take you with me.

I would love to see this white body of yours taking sun."

She laughed alone, hiding her face in her hands.

The heart beating fast, light, for the first time in so long.

But before she could think of answering something daring, she sent a laughing emoji.

"I'm kidding. (More or less.)”

I took a deep breath.

And I let the laughter stay with me until I fell asleep.

⸻
POV: Maya

The Los Angeles sun wakes up before me.

Always.

But today, for the first time in a long time, I don't care.

I open my eyes and the light enters through the white curtains, spreading a golden glow in the room. The air is light - and so is my chest.

It takes me a few seconds to understand the reason.

My cell phone on the bedside table still shows Carina's last message.

The Italian and the other Italian.

I laugh alone. It's almost ridiculous how something so small can change the weight of an entire day.

I get up slowly, as the physiotherapist taught me. The heart beats at a firm, stable, almost stubborn rhythm - and every time I feel this, I remember her.

Carina said that the human heart is an orchestra. And that, when it works well, the body dances together.

Ine, after so long, is dancing again.

⸻

The house smells like coffee and toasted bread - a sign that Andy is awake.

I go downstairs and find her sitting on the counter, her hair tied up anyway, reading something on the tablet.

- "Good morning, model patient," - she says, without looking up.

- "Good morning, authoritarian boss."

- "Medicines already?"

- "Yes, ma'am."

- "Pressure?"

- "Normal."

- "Humor?"

- "Incredibly good."

She raises an eyebrow, suspicious. - "Italian message involved in this good mood?"

I roll my eyes, laughing. - "You're unbearable."

- "And you're predictable. It was her, wasn't it?"

- "Maybe."

Andy smiles. - "Let me guess... something witty, charming and with an accent."

- "You talk as if you knew."

- "I know. And I like her, even if you never admit how much she still likes her."

I don't answer. I just take a sip of coffee and let the silence tell the rest.

⸻

My routine has returned to shape - and this, for me, is already victory.

Mornings are for medicines, monitoring, stretching.

Then comes the light physiotherapy, and sometimes, a short walk with Andy in the park.

I still feel tired faster than I would like, but the shortness of breath almost disappeared.

When the sun touches your face and the wind comes soft, it seems like an everyday miracle.

The afternoon is for therapy - the kind of commitment that, at first, I hated.

But now, sitting in that armchair and talking about what I lived, about what I lost, about what I'm still afraid to feel... doesn't scare me anymore.

Today, I talked about Carina.

About how the silence between us sometimes seemed like a necessary break - and, other times, a lack that hurt in the ribs.

My therapist said that not all love needs to be presence.

That, sometimes, he exists as a silent force, just to remind you that you survived.

I left the office with a warm chest, light.

⸻

The meeting with Marvel was surreal.

I stood in front of the building for almost five minutes before entering.

The badge in his hands, the heart racing - but not of fear. Of excitement.

Inside, the walls had movie posters, storyboards, conceptual art.

And there was my name at a meeting table: Maya Bishop - The Phoenix.

They talked about the script, about strength, about rebirth - and everything seemed almost ironic.

The main character was someone who literally comes back to life.

And when the director asked if I felt ready to act for this, I laughed.

Because, for the first time, I felt it.

At the end of the meeting, I left the building with an iced coffee in my hand and an absurd desire to tell someone.

But the only one that came to my mind was her.

And for a second, I almost called.

⸻

When I get home, Andy is on the couch with the neighbor's cat on his lap - the usual invader.

She looks up and sees my smile.

- "Was the meeting good?"

- "It was amazing. They want the project to start in two months. The director said that I have the exact energy he imagined."

- "Phoenix energy?"

- "Exactly."

Andy smiles, but looks at me with that air of who knows more than he says.

- "And are you going to tell her?"

- "Who?"

She laughs. - "Don't play dumb, Bishop."

- "Do you think I should?"

- "I think she would be proud. And... maybe a little happy to see you shining again."

I'll think about it the rest of the afternoon.

In Carina's calm voice.

In the way she said "Maya" as if the name had more letters than it really has.

⸻

At night, after the shower, I lie in bed with my cell phone in my hands.

The conversation is still open.

Rolling up, you can see everything: the humor, the jokes, the short messages that seem too long when you want to say what you can't.

I type and delete about ten times before sending:

"I had the first meeting with Marvel today.

It was surreal.

I think the new heart liked the idea of being a superhero."

The answer comes minutes later.

"I knew you were going to make it.

The Phoenix is the perfect name.

I'm proud of you."

I smile.

It's impossible not to smile.

"Thank you.

And... thank you for continuing to believe in me, even when I didn't believe it myself."

"I've always believed."

For a moment, time seems to stop.

I read and reread those two words - I always believed - and I feel the same warmth in my chest that I felt when she held my hand in the hospital, weeks ago.

⸻

Later, Andy appears at the bedroom door.

- "You're smiling at your cell phone. This is a dangerous sign."

- "Go to sleep, Andy."

- "Only if you promise me that you will sleep too, and don't keep imagining an Italian doctor inviting you to drink wine in Tuscany."

- "Good night."

- "Good night, signora Bishop."

I throw a pillow at her, but we both laugh.

⸻

After the house is silent, I keep looking at the ceiling.

The mind goes back to her last message, and to that joke about the white body sunbathing.

The light, provocative, natural way.

But what really stayed was the tone - that "maybe" she wrote when she talked about Italy.

I pick up the cell phone again.

I open the browser.

I'm looking for photos of Tuscany.

Fields, hills, golden light.

And, for a moment, I imagine.

Both of us there.

No hurry, no pressure, no paparazzi, no fear.

She teaching me to say things in Italian, me laughing at the way she pronounces my name.

I laugh softly alone.

Andy would have reason to mock.

But no matter how much I try to convince myself that it's just a silly thought, the heart - the new one - throbs differently.

Did she really mean that?

Could I go without ruining everything with the media, or with the past?

I don't know.

But for the first time in a long time, I'm not afraid of doubt.

She exists, and she's beautiful.

I close my eyes.

And before going to sleep, I think about the sound of her voice - and how, perhaps, this is just the beginning of another kind of love.

A calmer one.

More patient.

More ours.

Chapter Text

POV: Carina

One week.

Seven days since the last message, and yet it seems that the words have been hovering in the air, like the rain that never ends in Seattle.

I try not to look at my cell phone at the beginning of the shift. I try to pretend that the absence of notifications doesn't bother me. That the conversations that were suspended - the laughter, the emojis, the internal jokes - are not needed. But the body knows. The body always knows.

Grey Sloan is full again. Teddy came back from vacation, tanned, rested, and laughing at something Owen said in the hallway. Leila Santoro, on the other hand, is saying goodbye. Returning to Rome.

She entered the break room early in the morning, with a small box in her hands and that calm smile.

- "Prometta che verrai a Roma, almeno una volta," she said, hugging me with a genuine affection.

Promise you'll go to Rome at least once.

I promised, of course. Because promising is easy.

The difficult thing is to fulfill when the simple idea of setting foot in Italy makes me think of her.

After Leila left, Amelia appeared almost instantly, as if the universe had invoked her to fill the silence.

- "So... Italian love is gone."

I rolled my eyes. - "It was a co-worker, Amelia."

- "Handsome, kind and dimpled work colleague. You have a type, Carina."

- "My type is peace of mind. And apparently I'm missing that."

She laughed. - "Okay, okay. I'm just saying that maybe the universe gave you a beta test."

- "A beta test?"

- "Yes. Before returning the original version."

I didn't need to ask who the original version was.

Her name doesn't need to be said. It's in every pause, in every joke, in every complicit look that Amelia throws before changing the subject.

⸻

The following days were a blur of rain, coffee and patients.

But even in the rush, my mind was still traveling - to Los Angeles, to that illuminated room I saw in the photos she sent, to her smile, alive, full of color.

Sometimes, at night, I kept looking at the ceiling and thinking about what was never an invitation, but sounded like one:

"If you weren't a super celebrity now, I would even take you with me."

And I thought - what if?

What if I had said that with more courage?

What if, instead of joking, I had made the real invitation?

What if we were both there now - on an Italian balcony, with the sun rising on the sea, she laughing at my accent, me pretending I'm not in love again?

But the "what if" is dangerous.

It sounds like hope in disguise.

And hope, I learned, is a kind of vertigo.

⸻

Teddy noticed that something in me had changed, and of course, she didn't let it go.

- "You look lighter, Carina."

- "I must be sleeping better."

She arched an eyebrow, that clinical look of someone who has seen all kinds of human denial.

- "Or maybe I'm talking to someone who makes you smile."

I didn't answer. I just closed the medical record in front of me and shrugged.

- "Work is therapeutic."

- "Lying can also be a defense mechanism," she replied, with that tone too calm to be casual.

I left the room before she started asking too many questions.

But, in the corridor, the thought came back: what if?

⸻

Andrew also noticed.

At Saturday dinner, he looked at me over the pasta plate and said:

- "You have that look of someone who is daydreaming."

- "It's the wine."

- "Or it's someone."

I sighed. - "Andrew..."

- "What was it? I like Maya. And I think you still like her too. I'm just saying that... maybe you didn't really break up."

I was silent for long seconds.

- "Sometimes, things need to end so that they can continue in another way."

He looked at me tenderly. - "Or maybe you just need to stop being afraid of being happy."

These conversations always make me restless.

Because deep down, he's right.

⸻

The next morning, the shift was interrupted by a blue code on the pediatric floor. The rush took me straight to automatic mode - breathing, focus, precision.

But when the case ended and the child's heart beat again, I felt something inside me align too.

Life is fragile. And yet, it insists on continuing.

During the shift break, I took the cell phone.

I opened the chat with her.

Nothing since the last "I always believed".

The words still haunted me.

Because they were true.

And also because they reminded me of what I didn't say: I also believe in us.

But what could I say now?

That sometimes, in the middle of the night, I still hear her laugh in my head?

That every time I see the map of Italy in the newspaper, I think of her lying on a beach in Amalfi, with her hair wet from the sea and the sun kissing her skin?

I sighed, put my cell phone away.

But the "and if" didn't go away.

He stayed with me all day, like a song playing too low to be ignored.

⸻

At night, when I got home, the rain had stopped.

The air was cold, clean.

I took a blanket and a glass of wine, sat on the balcony.

Seattle was silent.

And for the first time in a long time, I felt like talking to her.

Not a message. A voice.

But before I found courage, the cell phone vibrated.

It was a photo.

Maya.

Again, with the sunset of Los Angeles behind her.

The caption: "One day maybe I'll change the California sun for that of Tuscany."

Smile.

The cup shook in my hand.

Maybe the universe isn't mocking me, after all.

And for the first time, in a low voice, I whispered:

- "What if..."

———
POV: Maya

One week.

Seven days without new messages.

And yet, I keep picking up my cell phone before going to sleep, just to watch that last conversation.

Not because I expect something - but because the sound of her name on the screen still brings me a calm that nothing else brings.

The routine has been predictable, and maybe that's what keeps it working.

I wake up early, even before the sun, because the body still doesn't understand the concept of rest.

I make coffee - strong, bitter - and take the medicines looking at the reflection on the kitchen glass.

Sometimes there is still a slight tremor in the hand. It's not fear, it's memory.

The body remembers what the heart tries to forget.

Then comes the therapy.

Dr. Evans says I'm doing well, that I can already talk about what happened without losing my breath.

Sometimes, she makes me laugh with those strange medical analogies that only someone who has lived with too many doctors would understand.

Today, for example, she said:

- "Your heart is a transplanted organ, Maya, but it's also a stubborn organ. He wants to live."

And I laughed.

Because deep down, she's right.

⸻

Andy has been my biological clock.

She enters the room without knocking, opens the curtains, turns on the coffee maker and says:

- "Come on, superheroine, life calls."

She pretends not to worry, but her look betrays me.

There is always a discreet fear, that kind of fear that only those who have almost lost you can feel.

In the late afternoon, we walked around the neighborhood.

She talks about her new boyfriend - "or something like that", according to her words - and I try not to laugh when I realize that she is as confused as I was months ago.

Sometimes, she talks about Carina too.

Not directly, but with that care that Andy tries to disguise and never succeeds.

- "Did you see her new interview about the pediatric program in Seattle? You're beautiful, by the way."

- "I saw."

- "And...?"

- "And... she looks good."

Andy looks at me for a few seconds, then shrugs.

- "You also look good. Maybe it's time for the two of them to admit that they're not very good at being away."

Smile.

But I didn't answer.

Because the new heart may be beating, but it's not ready to throw itself again yet.

⸻

The meeting with Marvel was surreal.

They want me to be the face of the new project - The Phoenix.

Yes, the title is literal.

Yes, I laughed when I heard it.

Andy said: "If this is not destiny, I don't know what it is."

I spent the morning in a photo studio in Venice Beach.

Hair in the wind, light makeup, team shouting terms that I barely understood.

At one point, the director said:

- "We want to show strength, but also vulnerability. Think about rebirth."

And for a moment, I thought of her.

In how she always looked at me - as if she saw me reborn, every time I fell.

That look of someone who never doubted, even when I doubted everything.

At the end of the essay, the photographer showed me one of the images.

I was smiling. Really.

The kind of smile I thought I had lost.

⸻

At night, I sat on the balcony, the hot air of Los Angeles sticking to my skin.

The cell phone blinked with new messages - Andy, Marvel, some old friends.

But none of them were hers.

So I opened Instagram.

She had posted a photo.

Seattle, gray sky, a glass of wine.

The caption was simple: "Life is made of E se's."

My heart missed a beat.

The same kind of failure that comes when something inside you recognizes a secret code.

And if.

For a moment, I imagined the scene:

Carina and I in Italy.

Sun hitting her shoulders.

She laughing, lying on a lounger, saying something like "You finally have color, Maya Bishop."

And I pretend I don't want to look.

I shook my head, laughing alone.

Andy passed behind me at that very moment, with a glass of juice.

- "Why this silly smile?"

- "Nothing. Just... a random thought."

- "Does this thought have a name?"

- "It has an accent."

She looked at me sideways, pretending to be surprised.

- "Italian scent?"

I nodded yes, and she laughed out loud.

- "Maya Bishop, you're screwed."

- "I know."

But it was a good screw.

A screw that made me feel alive.

⸻

At dawn, sleep didn't come.

I lay down, staring at the ceiling, with my heart beating too fast.

E turned back.

What if I called?

What if I just heard her voice?

Nothing too much - just... listen.

I took the cell phone, I hesitated.

I touched her name on the screen.

The call started.

It took a few seconds, but then her face appeared - confused, but smiling.

Loose hair, pajamas, tired and beautiful eyes.

- "Maya?"

- "Hi."

- "You know it's two in the morning here, right?"

- "I know. Sorry. I just... needed to hear your voice."

She took a deep breath, but the smile stayed.

- "I thought of you today."

- "Me too."

Silence.

The comfortable type, which does not need to be filled.

After a while, she put her chin on her hand and asked:

- "So... how's Marvel superheroine doing?"

- "Oh, did you know?"

- "Teddy told me. And... I saw the photo. You're radiant."

- "It's just lighting."

- "No. It's rebirth."

I was quiet.

Because it was the kind of thing only she could say without sounding cheesy.

We talked for almost an hour.

About the hospital, about Andy, about nothing and everything at the same time.

She told about Teddy coming back, about Amelia trying to arrange a date.

We laughed so much that for a moment I forgot that there was an entire continent between us.

Before hanging up, she said:

- "You know... I still think about Italy sometimes."

I felt the air lock in my throat.

- "Is it?"

- "Yeah. But... maybe it's better to keep it as a 'And if'. At least for now."

I nodded.

- "For now."

The screen darkened, but the smile stayed.

And when I finally fell asleep, the sound of her voice still echoed in my mind.

And if.

⸻

Chapter Text

⸻
POV MAYA

The expression was for now. For now.

I could feel the resonance of those Carina's words deep in my throat, a soft echo in the middle of the background noise of my new life. A new continent separated us, but the thread that united us seemed stronger now that we had put Italy's "what if" aside. It wasn't an end. It was a break. A promise.

For now, I was a superheroine.

I was installed in my luxury trailer - a mobile palace with wooden walls and an espresso coffee that made any Italian coffee shop jealous. It was my refuge during the endless hours of training and takes. I looked at the clock: 10am. I had half an hour off before my simulated flight class.

Andy, my agent and the anchor who kept me sane, came in in a hurry, typing something on her cell phone. She was more elegant than ever, with a blazer that seemed to cost the value of my old Ford.

- "Maya, love, five minutes. I know you have to learn to float without breaking your neck, but I need to introduce you to someone who will be more important than your stuntman," - she said, without taking her eyes off the screen.

- "More important than the person who guarantees that I don't die? This is serious," - I commented, closing my script and getting ready on the couch. - "Are you the president of the studio? Because I haven't trained my smile of submission yet."

- "Better. It's your happiness factor. Your insurance against Hollywood's nervous breakdown."

Andy finally put down the phone and, at the same time, made a gesture to the door, where a tall and smiling woman was waiting, with an aura of competence and charm that filled the trailer.

- "Maya Bishop, this is Mel," - Andy said, with that tone of voice of someone who is presenting an investment of millions. - "Mel is your new Personal Agent of Well-Being and Image Coordination. In practice, her job is only one: to ensure that Maya is always smiling, well fed and with her personal agenda intact. She is your shield against stress."

Mel advanced, and her energy was palpable, like a spark. The smile was big, but professional, although the green eyes had a curious, almost evaluative quality, that reminded me of the way Carina looked at me in the hospital, when I was trying to diagnose something I didn't want to admit.

- "It's a pleasure, Maya. I'm Mel," - she said, extending her hand. Her grip was firm, her skin soft.

- "The pleasure is mine," - I replied, studying her. She wore an impeccable tailoring set and her hair, an illuminated brown, seemed to defy gravity.

- "Mel is our expert in pampering and logistics. She takes care of everything, from your gourmet food to who you sit in the front row of a parade," - Andy explained, already back on his cell phone. - "She's a find. I can't do everything anymore, and Marvel insisted that you need someone exclusive to the 'human' part."

- "And I take my work very seriously," - Mel intervened, with a tone of voice that sounded like a slightly smoky whiskey. She turned to me, tilting her head just enough to make it seem more intimate. - "Keeping Maya Bishop happy is now my main life mission. And I'm starting to think it's a very... rewarding mission."

Andy made a confirmation sound in the background, without paying attention. I just laughed. Mel looked like a movie character.

- "Is this the part that I give you my list of ridiculous demands?" - I asked.

- "This is the part where you tell me your favorite coffee," - she said, and then blinked, a quick and deliberate gesture. - "I already know, of course. Triple latte, oats, cinnamon. But I wanted to hear you say it."

- "Impressive," - I said, without taking the smile off my face.

- "This is just the beginning. I foresee all your wishes, Maya," - Mel continued, her voice lowering a tone again. - "I'm here to pamper you. To make you laugh in your hours of boredom. To make sure you're not alone."

It was a flirt. It was obvious, clear and sparkling. Mel was beautiful and willing to go beyond the professional, and this attention was new. It was not the critical attention of the media or Carina's urgent attention in the emergency room. It was light, fun, harmless.

Friendship was the word I was ready to apply to this new dynamic. A set friendship with catering benefits.

- "Welcome to the team, Mel," - I said, offering a genuine smile.

- "Thank you, Maya. It's going to be a fun journey," - she assured, and then looked at Andy, who was leaving.

- "Bye, girls! Honey, you stay here, take care of my star," - Andy shouted as he closed the trailer door.

When we were alone, silence filled the space, but it was not the comfortable silence of a video call at dawn with Italy. It was a silence full of expectation, of looks.

Mel broke it, approaching my coffee table.

- "All right, tell me about your favorite chocolate. We need to make sure that your emergency stock is paparazzi-proof."

I smiled, feeling a slight amusement by your intensity. She was a hurricane of good intentions and innocent flirtations. Whatever Mel thought she was selling, I was just buying the company and the coffee. My heart already had a fixed address, and for now, it was waiting for the day when it would become forever.

But in the meantime, who am I to deny a little lobster and the attention of a number one fan?

Mel asked about the chocolate and the emergency stock, and I answered her with a laugh that was kind of genuine, kind of tired.

- "Gluten-free, organic, and preferably with at least seventy percent cocoa," - I instructed, tilting my head towards me. - "It's my only healthy addiction that Andy doesn't monitor."

- "I wrote it down. Healthy addiction is my specialty, Maya," - she assured, opening the electronic agenda. Her professionalism was almost disturbingly efficient, even when she was involved in insinuations. - "Marvel wants you to be perfect, but I want you to be satisfied. There is a subtle difference."

- "What's the difference?" - I asked, genuinely curious about the philosophy behind my "happiness factor".

She closed the agenda, her eyes fixed on mine, and the smile disappeared for a moment, revealing a small crack of seriousness.

- "They want you to shine to sell tickets. I want you to shine because you're brilliant, and it's easier to do that when you have someone who reminds you that you're made of flesh and blood, and not just special effects."

That took me by surprise. It wasn't what I expected from a corporate wellness agent. It was the kind of observation I reserved for conversations with Andy, or, in a completely different tone, for an Italian doctor who saw beyond the stage.

- "That's a great line," - I said, laughing to relieve the tension she had unintentionally created. - "Is it from your personal agent manual?"

Mel smiled, and the flirtation returned, more intense, involving her whole face.

- "No. It's my special line for you. It's not a script, Maya. It's the truth."

She took a step back, returning to the impeccable posture of the Personal Agent.

- "Well, my to-do list includes calling a chef in Paris for your Thursday dessert and making sure your flight to Comic-Con doesn't come close to any turbulence. But I'll come back to supervise your lobster. And your laugh. It's my favorite part of my job."

And with that, she left, leaving the smell of expensive perfume and the echo of a promise that was more than logistics.

- "It's not a script, Maya. It's the truth."

I sat down, feeling the slow adrenaline she left behind. It was flattering, of course. Mel was the embodiment of attention. Everything she did screamed: "You are important. I wish you." It was the icing on top of a status cake, an easy and steady validation that I was attractive and successful.

And that's exactly why it didn't mean anything.

Honey was a temporary balm for my vanity, a fun fireworks display. She was here, now, on my set, in my luxury bubble. But it was superficial.

I closed my eyes, and the image of Mel was replaced by that of Carina, in pajamas, with messy hair and half-closed eyes of sleep on my cell phone screen.

Carina never wore designer pantsuits to impress me. Carina never promised me lobster or dessert from Paris. She gave me the truth, sometimes hard, about my weakened heart and my fear of living. She gave me the uncertainty of Italy's "what if", and the weight of "for now" that we had agreed.

Carina saw me without lights, without special effects, with my face swollen with crying and my fear stamped. She loved me. Or loved me. It was complicated.

Mel had only seen the Hollywood heroine, and was selling the fantasy that this heroine deserved to be worshiped without reservation.

- "I want you to shine because you are brilliant."

Mel's sentence was beautiful. But Carina had said: "No. It's rebirth." And only Carina could say that. Only she knew how close I had come to the end.

The phone vibrated in my hand: a message from Andy, remembering the flight simulation.

There was no time for sentimentality or to analyze innocent flirtations. I had to get up, put on my high-tech uniform and pretend I could save the world.

I had to shine. For now. And keep the deepest truth, the one that hit the rhythm of someone else's time zone, for me. Mel could give me the lobster, but Carina gave me the floor. And I needed both to survive this circus.

I sighed, took the script again, and tried to ignore the itching of sending a "good morning" message that would be "good night" from her side of the world. For now.

⸻

Pov Carina

The scalpel was heavy in my hand, but the adrenaline kept me steady. Three hours of surgery, an aneurysm that would dance a tango with hell, and the familiar and overwhelming feeling of having pulled someone away from the edge of the abyss. It was my favorite chaos, my absolute focus.

I left the OR without haste, the mask coming down. The white lights in the hallway were blinding, but I felt good. Exhausted, but with a clear mind. There was something honest about the surgical center; the rules were clear, the risks were tangible.

Outside, life was a blur of subjectivities.

I took my phone from the closet, trying to ignore the pain in my lower back. It was almost eight at night in Seattle. Ten hours apart from where Maya was, which meant she was already off duty, probably back at her luxury trailer or at some debut party that Andy forced to attend.

The image of her, in pajamas and with messy hair on the video call, was the anchor I was holding. The promise of the "for now" was a double-edged sword: it gave me space to breathe, but I also remembered the distance and the possibility that the "forever" would never arrive. I needed to focus on Seattle.

I slid through the timeline, ignoring most of the medical news, until a luminous and exaggerated pop-up broke my bubble. It wasn't from a gossip site, but from an entertainment portal that I casually followed because of Amelia. The title was impossible to ignore, flashing in bold on the screen:

HAS NEW HEROINE ALREADY FOUND HER "HAPPINESS FACTOR"? ROMANCE IN SIGHT FOR MAYA BISHOP AND HER PERSONAL AGENT.

My heart jumped not of anxiety, but of irritation.

- "Personal Agent?"

I clicked, and the photo filled the screen.

Maya was laughing. Not the restrained and sincere smile I knew, but an open, radiant laugh, with all the teeth in place and the perfect lighting, almost artificial. She was impeccable, her blonde hair falling on a shoulder, wearing what seemed to be a ridiculously expensive blazer.

And next to her... Honey.

The woman was impressive. Tall, brunette, with an eagle look and a suit that seemed to have been sewn into the skin. She was very close to Maya, with her head slightly tilted, and a smile that was intense, almost predatory. Mel's arm was casually next to Maya's, in a proximity that, for a work set photo, was too intimate.

I felt a cold sting in the pit of my stomach. It wasn't jealousy, not yet. It was confusion.

Maya had Andy. Maya had a trailer. Maya had a Parisian chef (I had read that somewhere). But who the hell was this woman?

The article continued, describing Mel as a "well-being and logistics professional with a history of dealing with Hollywood divas, but who seems to have found a unique chemistry with the new Marvel star". They called her Maya's "happiness factor".

Happiness factor. I snorted. My happiness factor was a glass of red wine and five uninterrupted hours of sleep, not a glamorous woman following me with an insinuating smile.

- "The chemistry is undeniable, and sources from the set ensure that Mel is seen all the time accompanying Maya, ensuring that the star is always 'smiling' and 'satisfied'."

Satisfied.

The word resonated, and that's when the confusion gave way to something sharper. Who. IT IS. Honey?

I had already dealt with the media and rumors about Maya before. They were always exaggerated and unfounded headlines, but this time it was different. It was not a vague gossip about a one-night stand; it was an intimate work relationship, promoted as a romance. And Maya was smiling. That smile seemed to say that, yes, maybe she was enjoying Mel's attention.

I felt a heat rise up my neck, and it wasn't the heat of exhaustion.

I took a deep breath, trying to remember my training: Diagnose and discard the emotional.

What is this, Carina?

It's the media being the media, and Maya being Maya: an actress, a beautiful person, surrounded by beautiful people.

But... Mel was awesome. She was very close. And Maya was letting her be close.

My stomach wrapped, and suddenly the "for now" we had agreed on looked like an anchor thrown into agitated waters, about to be pulled away. Maya was thousands of miles away, in a world of fantasy and convenient flirtations. And I was here, keeping the promise.

I closed the phone screen hard, ignoring the desire to call Maya - and ignoring the even greater desire to call Andy. What would I say?

- "Hi, your new 'Personal Agent of Happiness' is flirting with my girlfriend-not-girlfriend, and the media is saying they're getting married?" Ridiculous.

I put my cold forehead against the metal cabinet.

For now.

I just hoped that for now it wouldn't turn into too late because of a woman named Mel and a tabloid headline. The scalpel was easier to handle. At least he didn't flirt.

⸻

The phone seemed to weigh a ton in my hands. I had spent almost twenty minutes staring at the headline, and each word seemed to deepen into my skin like thin needles.

Personal Agent of Happiness.

I knew I shouldn't call. We had just established a fragile routine of "days off" and "emergency calls", a non-aggression agreement that protected our space "for now". Calling now, ten minutes after seeing a compromising photo, would be shouting: I saw it, I'm jealous, who is this Mel?

I was a doctor, surgeon, adult. I should be mature and trust Maya.

But the photo, that proximity and that socialite smile in Maya...

I discarded the idea of the call. Very intrusive. A text message was more subtle. It had to be trivial. It had to be about me, but with a clear bait for her.

I opened the conversation window, my finger hovering over the keyboard.

Carina: Ciao, bambina. I just left the OR, tired, but well. I saw a beautiful apartment today at Queen Anne. The view is spectacular. Reminds me a little of the one you liked. I wanted to show you the photo. Let me know when you can talk. Kisses.

I sent it.

The excuse was perfect. It mentioned a future (apartment), a memory (that view) and put me in a vulnerable (tired) position, which usually made Maya respond quickly.

I blocked the screen and threw the cell phone on the bench in the rest room. Trying to look casual while my brain created scenarios of Mel and Maya laughing at internal Hollywood jokes was a painful physical effort.

I poured myself a glass of water, tried to read an article about a new laparoscopic technique. Useless. Every three seconds, I picked up the phone again.

No answer.

Ten minutes.

Fifteen minutes. She must be sleeping. Or working. Or... laughing with Mel.

Twenty-five minutes later, the phone vibrated. My heart shot in a way I hated, not the boom-boom of a defibrillator, but the anxious and ridiculous tum-tum of a teenager.

Maya: Bye, Carina! Congratulations on the surgery. 🍾 (I didn't know you were looking for an apartment!) Send me the photo! I'm on a quick break on the trailer, and the internet is terrible. Tell me how was your day.

Not to mention the article. Not to mention Mel.

Her message was perfect. Friendly, affectionate, professionally casual. Exactly like a star who is avoiding a subject would do.

My fingers flew over the keyboard.

Carina: I'm not actively 'looking', but sometimes I find these jewels. It's amazing, it feels like a dream. I had to close the article about aneurysm I was reading because it looked like I was going to kill myself with boredom! Haha.

I had to force the bar subtly. I had to make her talk about what she was doing, not about what I was doing.

Carina: And you? "Quick break" sounds like Marvel is exhausting you. Are you and Andy getting some time to breathe? Are your snacks at least decent?

The snacks. Trivial. She was talking about snacks. She could mention the chef. She could mention who was in charge of the snacks.

I needed her to say 'Mel takes care of my snacks'.

The wait was even longer.

This time, it took almost an hour. I had already finished the article, had a second glass of water and almost picked up the phone for a direct call when the answer came.

Maya: Haha, Marvel never sells out. But yes, it's intense. Andy is in media strategy meetings all day, but everything is under control. My new 'happiness factor' is keeping an eye on my chocolate stock and my schedules. The lobster for lunch was phenomenal.

Lobster. Chocolate. "New happiness factor".

She used the term of the article. Was she mocking the media, or was she telling me something I should know?

My blood froze. She hadn't used the name, but the description was clear. She was admitting the existence of this dynamic.

I could feel the distance of that message, the glamour of the movie set permeating every word. It was as if we were speaking different languages.

What did "happiness factor" mean to her? A fun friend? Or the immediate and convenient replacement of the intensity we had decided to pause?

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to respond calmly, not to fall into the panic trap. I wouldn't give Mel the power to make me the jealous and hysterical girlfriend.

Carina: Lobster? Chic. It's good that you have someone taking care of it. Tell me, what is this new movie that is in your script? You never told me the details of the plot.

I had to change the subject. If she wanted to talk about her work, let her be. But in the background, the image of Mel, smiling and glued to Maya, became a permanent wallpaper in my mind.

I didn't need Mel to know that Maya was a shining star. But I needed Maya to assure me that, under that glow, the heart still beat for me.

And she wasn't guaranteeing anything. For now, Mel was.

Chapter Text

⸻

P.O.V. MAYA

The vibration of my phone on my lap was a relief. Anything to distract me from the need to memorize thirty lines of dialogue on how to close a black hole with the strength of my mind.

I opened Carina's message.

Carina:

Bye, little girl. I just left the OR, tired, but well. I saw a beautiful apartment today at Queen Anne. The view is spectacular. Reminds me a little of the one you liked. I wanted to show you the photo. Let me know when you can talk. Kisses.

I read the message twice. My heart jumped fast, but it wasn't a boom of passion, it was more of a click of satisfaction.

She thought of me. She's sharing the future.

I loved the fact that she included me, even subtly, in something as big as buying an apartment. It was the kind of thing we did with the person.

I answered quickly, ensuring that she knew that she was on my mind, but without giving a chance for the conversation to deepen, because Mel could come back at any second with that lobster.

Maya:

Bye, Carina! Congratulations on the surgery. 🍾 (I didn't know you were looking for an apartment!) Send me the photo! I'm on a quick break on the trailer, and the internet is terrible. Tell me how was your day.

I sent the message.

I was genuinely curious about the apartment. The view. Our view.

It was good to know that, despite all the chaos and distance, Carina still associated the great decisions of her life with my tastes.

It was the thread.

A few minutes later, her second message arrived, talking about the boring aneurysm article and then the question:

"Are your snacks at least decent?"

I laugh alone. She was so cute.

Concerned about my eating habits more than my fame.

But then came the third message, the one that was loaded with subtext.

Maya:

And you? "Quick break" sounds like Marvel is exhausting you. Are you and Andy getting some time to breathe? Are your snacks at least decent?

I could feel the concern, but also the smell of the question she really wanted to ask.

I knew that the photos with Mel had come out.

Mel was a public relations buzz power plant, and she had this annoying ability to look like my girlfriend in every photo.

It was not intentional on my part, but Mel clearly had fun with the ambiguity. Andy warned me that Marvel wanted this kind of attention.

I had two options:

A) Ignore the topic "Mel" completely and change the subject, which would be dishonest, or

B) Touch the subject in a light and fun way, proving that it was just the media.

I chose the second one.

Maya:

Haha, Marvel never sells out. But yes, it's intense. Andy is in media strategy meetings all day, but everything is under control. My new 'happiness factor' is keeping an eye on my chocolate stock and my schedules. The lobster for lunch was phenomenal.

"Happiness factor."

I used the term of the article on purpose.

It was an inside joke about the circus.

I was signaling to Carina: Yes, I know what the media is talking about, and it's bullshit. She's just an agent.

If she was jealous (and I secretly hoped she was), this answer would calm her down, showing that I wasn't hiding anything.

Her answer came almost immediately, which already told me that my stratagem did not totally calm her down.

Carina:

Lobster? Chic. It's good that you have someone taking care of it. Tell me, what is this new movie that is in your script? You never told me the details of the plot.

The tone was controlled.

Too controlled.

She was pretending to be interested in the plot of the movie when, in fact, she was asking me to prove that Mel was not the main plot of my life.

I sighed. She was harder to fool than the black hole in my script.

The problem is that I couldn't have this conversation now.

Not by message, and not with Mel about to come back.

I had to be professional.

I had to keep the "for now" in place.

Maya:

The plot is ridiculous, full of quantum physics, but in the end I close the black hole with an explosion of solar energy. Or something like that. I'll call you tonight at my time zone. I need ten minutes to tell you how intense Mel is with chocolate. And to see the apartment! I love you, Carina.

I found myself typing the last two words: "I love you."

I deleted it.

No. Not now.

The pressure was too much.

It had to be light.

Maya:

The plot is ridiculous, full of quantum physics, but in the end I close the black hole with an explosion of solar energy. Or something like that. I'll call you tonight at my time zone. I need ten minutes to tell you how intense Mel is with chocolate. And to see the apartment! Kisses, Maya.

I sent it.

At least Baci was there.

I put the phone aside and forced myself to face the script page.

I knew that the conversation about Mel and the happiness factor was inevitable.

And I knew I had to be the one to start, to reassure Carina that this new and glamorous life had not changed what we felt.

But Mel's constant flirting was fun.

It was easy.

And Carina's intensity, even miles away, was difficult.

She demanded honesty and depth, and I was too tired to deliver it.

I just needed to hold on tight on mine for now.

And tonight, the conversation would be about the apartment and the lobster, and I would ensure that the conversation about the black hole would remain in my script.

The trailer door opened. Honey.

- The lobster is ready, my heroine. And I have a scoop on your new magazine cover - she said, the predatory smile again on her face.

- You're fast - I said, smiling back.

- I'm efficient. And I love to see you smile - she murmured, the uncomfortable proximity back.

I just laughed and got up.

After all, the lobster was ready.

And Carina would call later.

Everything was under control.

For now.

I smelled the lobster before I saw it, and it was glorious: butter, garlic and the salty breeze from the coast.

Mel guided me to the small dining table in the trailer, which she had decorated with linen napkins and a single tiny but elegant flower arrangement.

- I organized lunch to be a "happiness tasting" - she announced, sitting in front of me. His presence was as magnetic as his smile. - This lobster came from the Maldives. It's my gift to you, a reminder that you deserve the best. In everything.

- Maldives? - I raised an eyebrow, taking the fork. - You must be very good at your job, Mel.

- I'm better than good - she corrected, taking a glass of sparkling water. - I'm dedicated. And when it comes to you, I'm obsessed with success.

We ate in a comfortable silence, broken only by the sounds of the cutlery and Mel's stories about celebrities - she had an endless collection of backstage anecdotes that made me laugh. She was the definition of easy entertainment.

- But seriously - Mel said, putting down the fork and leaning a little. - I saw the photos that came out. The buzz is great. And I don't know if you noticed, but the public is buying our chemistry.

- Buying? - I said, pretending to be confused, but knowing exactly where she wanted to get.

- Yes. They love the idea that the soft-hearted heroine is falling in love with her sexy agent. Don't look at me like that - she laughed, but there was a sparkle in her eyes that was just for me. - It's Hollywood, Maya. Ambiguity sells. I protect you from stress, and we sell a little "romance on the set". It's a win-win.

- For you - I murmured, but the smile didn't leave my face. The lobster was very good for me to focus on ethical details.

- For both of us. Think about it. Keep the paparazzi's focus on our "escapes" and not on who you're actually talking to on the phone at three in the morning - she said, and my body froze.

She knew. Or, at least, she suspected.

- I don't know what you're talking about - I said, returning to my icy star tone.

Mel shrugged, without being intimidated. - Don't worry, I'm your guardian. I'm just saying that whoever is on the other side of the world doesn't need to worry about the media. I'm the perfect distraction. - She smiled, and this time the smile was less flirting and more complicity. - I'm your friend, Maya. Your very dedicated friend.

The word friend didn't sound like a surrender, it sounded like a promise.

A promise that she would take care of my facade, allowing me to keep my private reality intact.

It was a kindness disguised as opportunism.

- You're the best, Mel - I said, and this time, it was totally sincere.

The relief was immense. She wasn't a threat; she was an ally. She was willing to be my shield.

Taking advantage of the opening, I took my cell phone and opened the photo that Carina had sent me. It was a blurred screenshot of an apartment ad.

- Look - I said, turning the cell phone to Mel. - My... doctor, Carina, sent me this. She saw it in Queen Anne.

Mel picked up the phone and studied the photo. Her smile softened, and the intensity in her eyes decreased.

- It's beautiful. And it looks like her - Mel said, returning the phone.

- There is - I agreed, looking at the infinite sea on the screen.

- She's the one who really makes you laugh, isn't she? - Mel asked, her voice low.

I was silent for a moment, feeling the change of vibe in the trailer.

There was no more lobster, no buzz, no personal agent. Just two women talking about reality.

- She's the one who reminds me that I'm made of flesh and blood - I confessed, unconsciously repeating what Mel had said earlier. - She's my rebirth.

Mel nodded, understanding perfectly. - I'm not the rebirth, Maya. I am the upgrade of your catering and your security escort against broken hearts. But the rebirth... you have to hold on tight.

- I'm going - I assured, looking at the screen.

For now it seemed more bearable now.

The trailer door opened. The driving assistant.

- Maya, five minutes for the next scene. And the black hole costume has to be perfect.

Hollywood magic was back.

Mel got up immediately.

- See? The world needs you - she said, and the professional flirtation was back. - I take care of the dishes, you take care of the universe. And remember: I'll be waiting for you with the organic chocolate. Your happiness factor is always here.

I thanked her, put the script under my arm and went to the door.

The universe was waiting for me.

And finally, I had an ally who understood that, while Hollywood's Maya Bishop shone to the media next to Mel, my truth was safe, thousands of miles away, in the heart of an Italian doctor.

I just hoped that, when it came time to end the for now, my heroine could be fast enough to close the distance.

⸻

⸻

P.O.V. Carina

Silence.

That's what I had on the other side of that chat. A silence full of lobster, chocolate and a damn "new happiness factor" that had no name, but had the shape of a tall and smiling woman in the headlines.

I read her last message again.

Maya: The plot is ridiculous, full of quantum physics, but in the end I close the black hole with an explosion of solar energy. Or something like that. I'll call you tonight at my time zone. I need ten minutes to tell you how intense Mel is with chocolate. And to see the apartment! Kisses, Maya.

Mel.

Finally. The name.

She couldn't resist using it, even if it was just to tell me that this woman was "intense with chocolate".

Maya's subtlety was as obvious as the sunrise: I'm telling you her name to prove that she's harmless and to assure you that I'll call you.

But why the need to wait until "tonight in my time zone"?

Why not say: It's just an agent, Carina, the media is exaggerating, as always?

Because, I suspected, Mel was not harmless, and Maya was enjoying that attention.

I looked at the clock. Half past eight at night in Seattle.

If she was going to call me "at her time zone" (which meant noon in Los Angeles), I would be in the middle of my morning round, or in another surgery. It was her way of controlling the moment, of giving me a time where my attention would be divided, making my interrogation difficult.

I sighed, feeling a deaf pain in my temple.

I love you, Carina.

I could almost see the words in my mind, in her perfect and direct handwriting - the words she had erased.

That's what was missing in those messages: raw intimacy, urgency. There was only the polished shine of the movie star.

I decided I couldn't stand still.

If I was going to have to wait for her goodwill for the call, I would at least use my time to understand the threat.

I left the rest room and went to my desk, turning on the hospital computer.

I typed Maya Bishop agent Mel in the search field.

The first result was the same article I had seen before, but now there was a photo gallery:

Mel, handing a bottle of water to Maya on the set. (Mel is too inclined.)

Mel, laughing at a joke Maya told. (Mel is touching her arm.)

Mel, the two side by side, in a digital magazine cover photo, with the headline:

THE NEW HOLLYWOOD COUPLE YOU NEED TO MEET.

I felt a cold nausea.

The buzz wasn't casual. It was a campaign.

And Maya was participating.

She was laughing and touching back, and allowing this woman to be in her constant personal space.

I went back to the article, looking for Mel's last name.

Melanie Vance

Personal agent of one of the largest talent agencies in New York, specialized in "brand management" and "image optimization".

Image optimization.

What it meant: Mel was paid to make Maya look in love and happy.

And that made me feel a chill.

Because I remembered what Maya had said on that call, before we agreed with the "for now".

"No. It's rebirth."

Maya saw my attention as the truth.

Mel's attention was a fantasy, a product.

And now, Maya was mixing the two things, or, worse, she was using Mel as a shock absorber against the intensity of our call.

I closed the browser tightly.

I trusted Maya.

Yes. I trusted our past, our connection, the fragility that she shared only with me.

But I didn't trust Hollywood.

I didn't trust Melanie Vance and her work as a "happiness factor".

And I didn't trust Maya who was so far away, in the middle of a whirlwind of fame and temptations, that she could get carried away by convenience.

I took the cell phone again.

I couldn't resist.

I wasn't going to call her in her time zone.

I was going to wait for ours.

And when she called, there would be no conversations about black holes or lobster.

I'll ask you about the apartment, Maya.

And you will tell me that the view reminds me of the one we had.

And then I'll ask: Who exactly is making you laugh so much that the media thinks you're going to get married?

And I needed more than "she's intense with chocolate."

I needed the truth.

I went back to my schedule: Emergency surgery, 9:30 pm.

For now, I had work.

I had lives to save.

And that was real, tactile and undeniably important.

I just hoped that, when Maya's call arrived, I wouldn't find out that my own life, the one I was trying to save, had already been kidnapped by a super villain in a pantsuit.

⸻

The adrenaline of the surgery had passed, leaving behind only the physical exhaustion and acidity of unsaid text messages.

It was 11:45 pm.

My shift was over, and I was alone in my apartment in Seattle, staring at the photo of the new apartment in Queen Anne that I had sent to Maya.

The view was spectacular - the kind of view that made you want to buy a bottle of Chianti and never leave the house again.

But now, the view seemed like an insult.

A memory of the future that I was building alone, while she was busy being the "happiness factor" of someone else in Los Angeles.

The silence in my apartment was heavy.

I could hear the ticking of the clock and, in my head, the echo of the camera clicks focusing on Mel and Maya.

I'll call you tonight at my time zone.

I knew that, in her time zone, "tonight" would be in about three hours, in the middle of my night.

I wasn't going to stay awake, waiting like a fool.

I wasn't that person.

I went to the kitchen and served myself a generous glass of red wine, the only "happiness factor" I trusted.

I sat on the bench, casually browsing my medical news feed - a conscious effort to land me in reality.

It didn't work.

The phone rang.

It was 12:05 a.m.

Almost an hour earlier than I expected for "her time zone".

I looked at the caller ID: Maya Bishop.

I felt my heart jump stupidly again.

I swallowed the wine and answered the second ring, trying to sound calm.

- Ciao, bambina, - I said, with the most relaxed tone I could gather.

- Carina! Did I wake you up? Sorry, I thought I was still on my schedule...

Her voice was full of a slight euphoria - the post-success tone of voice I knew from the time she won Olympic medals.

- No, I'm awake. I just got home. How was the recording of "closing the black hole"?

- Ridiculous, - she laughed. - Quantum physics and special effects. But it was fun. Honey fed me lobster for lunch. I called you to tell you about the chocolate.

- Oh, yes. Mel. Your new... guardian of nutrition - I said, unable to avoid the tip of acidity.

There was a small pause on the other end of the line.

I knew she had noticed.

- She's intense, Carina. She's... an agent, but she takes herself very seriously, - Maya explained, and her tone of voice changed, going from euphoria to confidence that I recognized. - Actually, she's being my ladder. Marvel wants me to sell the "new Hollywood darling" costume, and Mel is my co-star of this media clowning.

- And are you happy to be a co-star of a clown that the media is calling a "romance"? - I had to ask. I couldn't be subtle anymore.

A long sigh.

- I saw the headlines. It's the price, Carina. I'm doing nothing but eating lobster and laughing at her jokes. But... she's my ally. She gives me the perfect coverage so that the media doesn't meddle in my real life. She is nothing more than that. Trust me.

The word trust hit me like a light punch.

I trusted her.

But did I trust your judgment in the middle of that pressure?

- I trust you, Maya. I just don't trust a woman who wears a suit more expensive than my annual salary and who gets paid to make you laugh - I said, the truth suddenly coming out.

Maya laughed, and the laugh was genuine.

- Oh, love, jealous? That's cute.

- It's not jealousy. It's pragmatism. Jealousy is emotion. Pragmatism is knowing that "happiness factor" is a marketing term and not a diagnosis.

Tell me, does Mel know about your condition? Does she know about your fragility that you hide so well?

The line became silent.

I had hit the nerve.

- No, - Maya replied, her voice now a whisper of regret. - No one knows except Andy and... you. It's my secret.

- Exactly. It's our secret - I reinforced. "Our" was the key. - Mel has her version of Hollywood. I have your real version. And it's the real one that matters.

What would Mel do if you had to cancel a recording because your heart is hurting?

- She would make the best public relations excuse in history, - Maya murmured.

- I would do an electrocardiogram - I replied softly. - That's the difference. You have to remember her, bambina.

- I remember. That's why I called you. I wanted you to see the apartment.

The change of subject was abrupt, but welcome.

I sent the photo again.

- Do you see the balcony? - I asked.

- Yes. It's huge. Beautiful, - Maya said.

- And can you see the ocean? It's the same color. Reminds me of that view of Genoa, on the first day. When you told me you were afraid of me.

There was silence.

That silence that only the two of us had.

The comfortable.

- Yes. I remember. That's why you sent me this photo, - Maya said, and this time, her voice was broken, real. - You want me to come back. To Seattle.

- No. I want you to know that no matter how bright your trailer is, or how good the lobster is, I'm saving the view for you. It's mine for now, - I said.

- I know. And I promise that Mel is just my shield against stress. And that when I come back, the first place I go is in your apartment, to see the view, - she promised.

- I'll wait for you, love.

- Kisses, Carina.

The screen darkened.

The lobster and the "happiness factor" were still there, but for a moment, my vision was clearer.

Mel was a black hole, but my love was the solar explosion.

And I just had to hold on tight, for now.

⸻

P.O.V. Maya.

Her voice on the line was my compass. Even when I carried jealousy disguised as medical pragmatism, Carina anchored me in reality - and that's exactly why I loved her.

She didn't compete with the chaos of my new life in Los Angeles; she translated it into human language.

"I'll call you tonight at my time zone."

That's what I said. But what I meant was: I need time to be me again before I call you.

Her answer had arrived as a surgical letter, precise, with layers of irony and affection:

Carina: I'll ask you about the apartment, Maya. And you will tell me that the view reminds me of the one we had.

And then I'll ask: who exactly is making you laugh so much that the media thinks you're going to get married?

She always saw me even before I knew what I was feeling.

I already knew the question. And she knew that I knew.

I distracted her with jokes about lobster and chocolate, but Carina brought me back with a single word: view.

The view of Genoa. The sea that reflected what we were - vulnerable, unpredictable and completely interconnected.

"You want me to come back. To Seattle."

These words came out of my mouth without control, and her silence before answering tore me inside.

"No. I want you to know that no matter how bright your trailer is, or how good the lobster is, I'm saving the view for you. It's mine for now."

Hers for now was a promise with an indefinite expiration date.

When I hung up, I stood there, with the phone in my hand, feeling the echo of her voice mixed with the noise of the fans on the set.

She was giving me space, but also reminding me that this space had an owner.

And I needed this memory.

Mel had disappeared momentarily - probably after another vegan chocolate - and the trailer was silent. The smell of lobster was still in the air, along with a soft perfume of makeup and metal.

I took my script, tried to focus on the lines about solar explosions and black holes, but the only thing that was spinning in my mind was the tone of Carina's voice telling our secret.

I opened my cell phone gallery.

Not the recent photos, with polished smiles and perfect angles. The old ones. The real ones.

But now, in Los Angeles, distance was an armor.

Here, I could be the woman the public wanted: strong, charismatic, full of quick shots and solar energy.

In Seattle, I was vulnerable. I was the diagnosis.

And to love Carina was, in part, to admit that I could still break.

I picked up the phone and opened the conversation with Andy.

It was time to put a brake on this narrative that Mel was so willing to sell.

Maya: Andy, I need a favor. I know Mel's "buzz" is great, but I want to slow down. Subtly. Nothing drastic.

Andy: Do you want the emergency brake or the handbrake?

Maya: The handbrake. Let it seem like my idea.

I locked the screen. I took a deep breath.

Mel was a brilliant professional, but I couldn't let her shield take me away from those who really mattered.

I opened Instagram and looked at the last photo posted - me and Mel laughing, wearing sunglasses, holding cups of coffee.

The simple text:

☀️ solar energy and caffeine — survival mode activated.

The comments were a flood of hearts and couple theories.

And I knew Carina would see.

I took the cell phone again and typed:

Maya: I saw that the photo went up. I don't want you to think anything wrong. Mel and I are just colleagues - or a good distraction for the paparazzi.

Maya: You are my "for now". The only one.

I waited.

No immediate response.

But I could imagine her slight smile, the one that came before a "lo so" - I know.

I lay down on the sofa in the trailer and closed my eyes.

In my head, Carina's voice still echoed:

"I'm keeping sight for you."

And I knew that, sooner or later, I would come back to her.

Not because the media ordered it, nor because the paper demanded it.

But because, in the end, the real black hole of my life was not in the movie.

That's what I felt every time I hung up the phone and realized how much the silence between us hurt.

Honey, I could have my day.

But Carina - always - would have my night.

And, for now, that was enough to keep me spinning on my own axis, without collapsing.

Chapter Text

(P.O.V. Carina De Luca)

I woke up with a taste of salt in my mouth and the feeling that the day had already begun.

There were few decisions to make before the shift: put on the coat, swallow coffee and keep the "for now" in place.

It was a faint promise, but still mine.

⸻

Sleep came late, and was interrupted.

Maya's call, with her hoarse voice of sleep and the genuine fear that I was jealous, had calmed me down - but left me on the edge of the emotional precipice.

She was safe. She was being honest. For now.

When the alarm rang at 5:30 am, the world seemed to be made of lead.

I got out of bed dragging my feet and went to the kitchen to try to bring my day to life with a strong coffee.

I had a complex angioplasty procedure in the middle of the morning, and the required concentration was incompatible with my mind divided between Seattle and Los Angeles.

Andrew was in my living room, thrown on the couch, with a cereal in one hand and a look of judgment in the other.

- You look like you fought a bear and lost, sorella - he said, without taking his eyes off the television.

- I fought against my time zone and lost - I grumbled, turning on the coffee maker. - Maya called late. Or early, depending on how you calculate.

Andrew turned off the TV.

- Ah, the superheroine. Hollywood buzz has reached my feed. Congratulations. She and her personal agent seem very much in love. Honey.

I rolled my eyes.

- Don't be ridiculous, Andrew. It's advertising. Melanie Vance is paid to make Maya look happy. It's her "happiness factor", not the "romance factor".

- And what's the difference, Carina? The woman gives her lobster and makes her laugh. She's beautiful.

The media thinks it's romance.

You're ten hours away, reading electrocardiograms - he said, his voice getting softer.

He knew where to attack.

- The difference is that Melanie Vance doesn't know that Maya has a dilated cardiomyopathy, and it wasn't her who stopped her from giving up everything when her life collapsed - I replied, my voice low and tense. - The difference is that Melanie Vance is the fantasy, and I am reality.

And Maya chose me. For now.

Andrew slowly nodded his head.

- So the "for now" is killing you, isn't it? Every time the phone rings, you wonder if her heart is beating for you, or if it's just Mel guaranteeing the chocolate stock.

I took my coffee, feeling the burning in my throat.

- You should have taken that vacation, Carina - he said, changing focus. - Took Maya to Italy when the set stopped. I took them both out of this Hollywood madness for a week.

This "what if" about the trip you plan is torturing you more than the distance.

Italy.

The place I dreamed of showing her.

The idea of a week in the Mediterranean was a constant plan, a refuge that I mentally reviewed: sun, wine, no paparazzi.

A place where Maya wouldn't be the Marvel star, nor I the doctor who monitored her health.

We would be just Carina and Maya, without the weight of my profession and without the glamour of hers.

But fear paralyzed me.

A vacation invitation looked like an invitation to "Where are we, anyway?"

It was the kind of movement that defined a relationship.

And I didn't want her answer to be contaminated by the brilliance of Hollywood or the gratitude that I'm the only one who knows about your secret.

If she said "yes" to Italy, I needed it to be for me, and not for a break in the agenda.

- I can't just drag Maya on a trip when she's in the middle of a giant project, Andrew - I defended myself, feeling the lie in my mouth.

The truth was that I didn't have the courage to admit to her how much I needed that time.

- You wouldn't drag her. You would save her - he insisted. - Mel is being paid to be the happiness factor, but you are the health factor, sorella.

Get her out of that toxic environment. Take her to our coast.

It's the only place where she has to face who she is, without a double or a personal agent.

I took the coffee to my mouth.

- I saw the apartment at Queen Anne. The view is beautiful - I changed the subject, trying to get back to the surface of our agreement.

Andrew smiled.

- You're saving it, then. It's a good sign.

You don't keep an eye on people who are just "for now", Carina.

He got up, ready for work.

- Think about it. Perhaps the only way to close the black hole is not with solar energy, but with a one-way ticket to Sardinia.

At least for a week.

Say it's a heart assessment in the field.

He gave me a quick kiss on the forehead and left.

I was alone, staring at the stain on my coffee cup.

Andrew was right.

I was saving the future for her in Seattle, but I longed for a temporary present in Italy.

I couldn't postpone it anymore.

I had to be brave.

I had to turn my vacation costume into a real invitation.

⸻

The monitor display in the operating room radiated a cold blue, contrasting with the warm red of my concentration.

For two hours, I was just a cardiologist - focused on the angioplasty that would save the life of a middle-aged man who barely knew that his "happiness factor" was about to be turned off.

The surgery was a success.

The unobstructed plate.

The blood flowed.

I left the OR with the family satisfaction of the duty fulfilled, but my mind could not hold on to the diagnoses.

I was stuck in the mental image of Sardinia.

Cardiac evaluation in the field.

Andrew's suggestion was brilliant in its simplicity.

It was the perfect excuse.

I wouldn't be inviting Maya to a romantic vacation that would put our fragile "for now" at risk.

I would be calling for a medical check-up in a paradisiacal setting.

I went to my office and closed the door.

The timing was everything.

I couldn't wait any longer.

If Mel continued to be her shield, I needed a counterattack that would get her out of that environment.

I picked up the phone - but not to call.

I needed a message that was professionally irrefutable and personally tempting.

I typed, deleted, typed again.

Carina: Maya. I just got out of surgery. Thinking of you (always).

Delete.

Too soft.

Too much Carina-Obsessive .

I tried again.

Carina: Maya. Your last echocardiogram is bothering me.

I'm not satisfied with your exposure to Hollywood stress.

We need a controlled break.

I took a week off in two weeks. I want you to take it off too.

Italy. It would be a "heart assessment in the field".

Sun, wine and me monitoring your rhythm every hour.

It's irrefutable.

I need this. You need this. Yes or yes?

Kisses.

I read the message.

She was direct, bold and used my medical authority to justify my emotional need.

The last sentence - "I need this. You need this." - it was my admission that the "for now" was exhausting me.

I took a deep breath and pressed send.

The phone vibrated in my hand, and this time it wasn't a response from Maya, but a breaking news notification.

EXCLUSIVE: MAYA BISHOP WILL COLLABORATE WITH AGENT MEL ON A NEW CHARITY PROJECT BEYOND THE SCREENS.

The headline was accompanied by a photo of Mel and Maya in front of a banner of a charity organization - both smiling, looking like the perfect image of a "powerful couse".

The article talked about how their partnership was extending to humanitarian work.

My body stiffened.

She was expanding the farce.

He was making the "happiness factor" an intrinsic part of his brand, of his heart.

My message had barely arrived, and her response to the world was:

Honey is not just a flirt. She is my charity partner.

The jealousy, which I had tried to stifle with pragmatism, came to the fore - sharp and instantaneous.

It was not a jealousy of possession, but of substitution.

She was filling the void of my absence with Mel's convenience.

The phone rang.

A notification.

Maya's answer.

Maya: Carina. I... yes.

Yes, to Italy.

Yes for the cardiac evaluation.

And yes, for the wine.

I need the "yes or yes" right now.

Tell me when and where.

I'll fix Mel's schedule.

Kisses.

The relief hit me first, a soft blow that almost made me cry.

She said yes.

She was willing to fight against her own schedule, her own agent, to come to me.

The smile opened on my face - but was interrupted by the image on the screen of Mel and Maya.

I typed again, the smile still there, but now mixed with a cold determination.

Carina: Great. I'll schedule the flight to Sardinia.

But a warning: your "happiness factor" doesn't come.

It's just the cardiologist and the patient.

And if I see the name Mel on your timeline somehow during this week,

I'm going to give you a heart punishment that you'll take a long time to forget.

It's my condition for healing. Understood?

I wasn't asking anymore.

I was demanding.

And at that moment, in my mind, the Mediterranean seemed the only way to prove to Maya that my love was stronger than any Hollywood headline.

The "for now" was about to be tested.

And I was ready.

⸻
POV: Maya Bishop

The phone slipped from my hand, falling on the leather sofa. It was almost eleven in the morning, and I had just read the headline:

"EXCLUSIVE: MAYA BISHOP WILL COLLABORATE WITH AGENT MEL ON A NEW CHARITY PROJECT BEYOND THE SCREENS."

I knew this was going to happen.

Mel had convinced me that extending the happiness factor to charity would give depth to my image and keep us away from real scandals. It was the perfect branding move: the new heroine is not only beautiful, she has a heart of gold - and a personal agent who accompanies her in everything.

A heart of gold.

I almost laughed. If they knew how literally my heart was a concern...

The timing, however, was catastrophic. The news had come out minutes after my last exchange of messages with Carina, where I assured her that Mel was just a shield. Now, Mel seemed like a life partner, a collaborator of noble causes.

Thank you, Hollywood. Thank you for making my love life a public relations nightmare.

Exactly at that moment, the phone vibrated again.

It wasn't a paparazzi notification - it was my cardiologist.

And her message didn't have the light tone of our usual conversations.

⸻

Carina:

Maya. I just got out of surgery. Thinking of you (always).

Maya, your last echocardiogram is bothering me. I'm not satisfied with your exposure to Hollywood stress.

We need a controlled break. I took a week off in two weeks. I want you to take it off too. Italy. It would be a "heart assessment in the field". Sun, wine and me monitoring your rhythm every hour. It's irrefutable. I need it. You need this. Yes or yes? Kisses.

⸻

I read the message twice, and a heat spread through my chest, faster than the adrenaline rush in a flight scene.

It was her voice - but with the authority of a doctor who wasn't asking, she was prescribing a cure.

Cardiac evaluation in the field.

Genius.

She was using my secret, my weak point, as a plane ticket.

She was forcing me to abandon my celebrity cocoon for a week, to force us to face the reality of our "for now".

I felt the desperate need to say yes.

The idea of a week in the sun, away from scripts, from Mel and Andy's incessant pressure, was paradise.

It was my escape.

And it was a physical reminder that what I had with her was more important than any contract.

But the fear paralyzed me for a second.

In Italy, I would be the patient.

I would be Maya with a fragile heart, without the superheroine's armor.

She would see me without the perfect set lighting, without the distraction of Mel's jokes.

What if my heart failed her?

I looked at the headline about charity, then at my phone.

I needed to risk it. I needed us.

⸻

Maya:

Carina. I... yes. Yes, to Italy. Yes for the cardiac evaluation. And yes, for the wine. I need the "yes or yes" right now. Tell me when and where. I'll fix Mel's schedule. Baci.

⸻

I sent it, feeling my pulse speed up.

The "for now" had just gained an expiration date.

One week.

Seven days to win back my cardiologist before Hollywood took me back.

I was about to call Andy, planning the perfect lie to take a week off, when Carina's answer arrived. And this time, she wasn't joking.

⸻

Carina:

Great. I'll schedule the flight to Sardinia. But a warning. Your "happiness factor" doesn't come. It's just the cardiologist and the patient. And if I see the name Mel on your timeline somehow during this week, I'll give you a heart punishment that you'll take a long time to forget. It's my condition for healing. Understood, captain?

⸻

I laughed. A loud and hoarse laugh that echoed through the trailer.

My Carina was back.

Not the worried doctor - but the possessive and intense Italian woman who demanded total attention.

Cardiac punishment.

The threat was as hilarious as it was sexy.

She wasn't just saving me from stress; she was saving me from Mel.

And I loved it.

The condition was hard, but fair.

She saw me give in to Mel's convenience to avoid the intensity of us.

Now, she was forcing me to choose.

I got up from the couch, feeling a focus that I haven't felt since the last time I was on the athletics track.

I had a goal, a deadline - and a heart punishment hanging over my head.

I picked up the phone and called Andy.

- Andy, forget about the media meeting about charity tomorrow. I need a week off in two weeks. Reason: urgent and confidential family problems. It needs to be irrefutable.

- A week? Maya, you can't just disappear! The buzz with Mel is peaking, Marvel... - Andy started.

- I know what Marvel wants, Andy. And I know what I want. I'm going to Italy. With Carina. I need a medical excuse, and you know the real reason - I whispered.

There was silence on the other side. Andy knew how serious my secret was.

- Italy. Right. I'll find a way. But you're going to owe me a Vogue cover.

- And Mel? -

- Mel will be very sad. She can take care of the charity alone for a week. Tell her that the captain called me for an emergency check-up in Europe. She will understand.

I hung up.

The smell of lobster, which used to be the aroma of my luxury, now looked like the smell of my temporary prison.

I had to undo the knot of Mel, fame and "for now" in just two weeks.

But the promise of Sardinia, the sun and Carina's absolute presence was the adrenaline injection I needed.

⸻

The trailer door opened.

Mel.

She had the widest public relations smile I had ever seen, holding a bottle of organic champagne and a printed copy of the article on charity.

- Maya! Fantastic news! The digital cover is pumping! "Maya and Mel: Partnership that Touches the Heart." Marvel is ecstatic. Your image of a heroine with social responsibility is more solid than your armor! - she said, putting everything on the coffee table.

I couldn't laugh.

- Let's not celebrate yet, Mel. I need to talk to you. -

Her smile faltered. - What's wrong? You look like you just received a summons from a judge. —

- I received something worse. A medical order. I'm going away for a week. I need you to cover my trail and say it's an urgent family problem. Something that cannot be questioned. —

Mel stared at me, her eyes narrowing. - You have ten meetings scheduled, two magazine covers... and Marvel wants the official announcement tomorrow. Maya, you can't just disappear! -

- I can't not go. I'm going to Italy. With Carina. —

- Carina... the Dottoressa of the time zone. I knew that the lobster wasn't strong enough to compete with an obsession. —

- It's not obsession, Mel. It's the opposite of Hollywood. She's the only person who reminds me that I'm made of scar tissue. —

The silence that followed was heavy.

I took a deep breath.

- My heart is not original, Mel. I had a transplant. And Carina is the cardiologist who monitors me from afar. She left months ago... and now we're trying to figure out if we can reconnect. I need this week. —

The shock crossed her face.

The entire PR structure collapsed.

- Do you have... a transplant? -

- I have. And the stress of my new "happiness factor" is not helping. She gave me an ultimatum: a cardiac evaluation in the field in Sardinia. If I don't go, she admits me. It's serious, Mel. —

She nodded slowly, without the slightest trace of the usual smile.

Her look was now one of respect.

- I understand. You are much more than branding, Maya. —

She raised her glass. - I'm going to create the most impenetrable excuse in Hollywood. A chronic family problem that requires you to go to Europe for medical coordination. Charity continues. And I'll be "in a place without wi-fi", expanding the partnership. —

He looked at the headline on my phone.

- I'm sorry about that. I swear I didn't know I was going out now. -

- I know. But Carina saw it. And she gave me a condition. -

I showed the text.

Mel read and laughed. - I like her. She's intense. And she loves you. I'm not a challenge, I'm a warm-up. -

- Exactly. And you are the best ally I could have. -

She raised the glass again. - Go get your heart. I'll take care of your armor. -

I picked up the phone. The smile back. Light fingers on the screen.

⸻

Maya:

Understood. The "happiness factor" is on sick leave. You can confiscate my phone on landing. But don't forget the wine. And... I love you. Without exceptions.

⸻

I sent it.

Without exceptions.

No exceptions.

The "for now" had just been replaced by a one-way ticket for forever.

I was going home - to the only person who saw my fragility and loved her exactly because of her.

Chapter Text

P.O.V.: Carina DeLuca

The office was silent when I closed my laptop and rested my hands on the desk.
The screen still displayed the headline that had been haunting me for hours:

“Maya Bishop and Melanie Vance: The Partnership That Touches the Heart.”

The heart she was touching was mine.

I had read and reread every line, studying the photos — Maya’s laughter, Mel’s light touch on her shoulder, the golden Los Angeles light turning everything into a magazine spread.
It was beautiful. It was convincing.
But it wasn’t true.
It couldn’t be.

The message Maya had sent me shortly before that article dropped still burned in my mind:

“I’ll call you tonight in my time zone.”

And I believed her.
I believed in the voice that trembled a little when she said “for now.”
I believed in the woman who, even surrounded by cameras and scripts, still breathed with me in the same rhythm — even from thousands of miles away.

But believing wasn’t enough.
The media’s job was simple: turn shadows into storylines. And now, those shadows were seeping between us.

I closed the tab and stared at my reflection in the glass.
What I saw was a determined woman — tired, but still whole — and ready to fight.
I couldn’t compete with Mel on a public stage.
But I could win where truth lived: in the body, in the touch, in the silence between two people who truly know each other.

And so, I started to plan.
Not an escape.
A recovery.

⸻

Sardinia.

The name itself sounded like healing.
And that was exactly what I intended to offer — even if medicine didn’t recognize the kind of treatment I had in mind.

I picked up my phone and called Andy.
It was the middle of the night in Seattle, but I knew she’d be awake. Andy was the kind of person who slept with a tablet glowing beside her and a PR crisis on silent mode.

“Carina,” she answered in that I already know this is trouble tone. “Please tell me you’re not about to turn Marvel Studios into a medical facility.”

“I’m about to turn Marvel into silence,” I replied. “I need Maya off the radar for one week. No set, no calls, no emails. Can you make that happen?”

There was a pause — then a long, resigned sigh.

“I can. I told Mel that Maya’s ‘sick cousin’ was getting worse and the family asked for total privacy. She bought it. She’s even planning a charity campaign… somewhere without Wi-Fi. And yes, she’s upset. But she’s too good to make it look suspicious.”

“Perfect,” I murmured. “Now, I need a small house. Isolated. By the sea. No luxury, no room service. I want her to see the sunset and remember who she is.”

Andy gave a tired laugh. “You’re going to feed her bread and wine while trying to fix her heart?”

“Exactly,” I said. “What heals a heart isn’t comfort — it’s truth.”

We both knew this plan was more emotional than clinical, but Andy didn’t comment.
She understood.
It was time to strip Maya of the Hollywood shine — to make her remember what it meant to live, not just to perform.

When I hung up, I stared at the phone still open to our last conversation.
Her words echoed in my chest:

“You want me to come back. To Seattle.”
“No. I want you to know I’m saving the view for you. It’s my for now.”

My for now.
It sounded beautiful — and hurt like a diagnosis.

I needed to turn that “for now” into forever.
And Sardinia would be the place where that happened.

⸻

Leave granted.

I had two weeks — two weeks to organize my life in Seattle, cover my shifts at the hospital, and prepare my mind for the inevitable impact of having Maya Bishop completely alone — and under my watch.

The first step was unavoidable: Chief Bailey’s office.

I knocked on the door with my clipboard under my arm, feeling like a teenager about to lie her way out of school.

“Dr. DeLuca,” Bailey said without looking up from her report. “Tell me this is about a new catheter protocol and not my schedule. I’m sleeping less than an insomniac intern.”

“It’s about your schedule, Dr. Bailey. And it’s urgent,” I said, firm.
She lifted her gaze — sharp as a scalpel.

“Impossible. You’re my only full-time interventional cardiologist who hasn’t taken sabbatical. Where are you going? Sardinia? Romantic getaway or family emergency?”

I sighed. Better to speak her language — medicine.

“It’s a preventive medical emergency. It’s about Dr. Bishop — my patient. The transplant requires constant monitoring, and her current stress levels are unsustainable. If she keeps this up, we could face rejection within weeks. I need to remove her from that environment. Just for one week.”

Bailey crossed her arms, analyzing every word.
She knew Maya’s history — the medical, the public, the emotional. And she could tell I was mixing truth with feeling. But she also knew I’d never risk a patient’s life.

“You’re requesting medical leave… for a ‘field cardiac assessment’?”

“Exactly. Isolation, controlled diet, continuous monitoring,” I confirmed, fighting the urge to add and therapeutic love.

Bailey exhaled deeply.
“One week. Sardinia. Don’t call the hospital. And if your performance drops when you’re back, we’ll have a long, unpleasant conversation.”

“Understood,” I said, unable to hide my relief. “My performance will be flawless.”

When I walked out with the signed approval, it felt like being handed a pass — to either hell or paradise.

⸻

The accomplice.

I met Andrew at a café near the hospital. He looked at me like a man who could spot trouble from a mile away.

“You look like you’re about to kidnap a superhero,” he said, amused.

“Close enough,” I replied, sliding my phone across the table. “Got the week. Sardinia.”

He read the texts, shook his head, and laughed. “‘Cardiac punishment.’ You’re unbelievable.”

“It’s the most honest diagnosis I’ve ever given,” I said. “Mel is a stress trigger disguised as an agent. I need one week of mental peace — for her and for me.”

Andrew rested his elbow on the table, eyes soft with affection.
“Carina, let’s be honest. This isn’t a medical retreat. This is you trying to win back the woman who made you afraid of being forgotten.”

I inhaled slowly, not denying it.
“Yes. And the only way to cure fear is to turn it into certainty. She needs to remember who we are. Away from Marvel, away from Mel. Just us.”

“Then go,” he said with a smile. “Save her heart. And yours. But please, book a decent flight. You’ll need energy for the kind of therapy you’re planning.”

We both laughed — but the truth lingered.
I wasn’t running away. I was returning to the origin — to the place where the intensity began.
Not Rome, not fantasy.
But the sea, the wind, the raw heat of Sardinia — where everything is too real to fake.

⸻

When I got home, I sat on the couch and reread our last exchange.

Carina: The ‘happiness factor’ is officially on medical leave. You can confiscate my phone upon landing. But don’t forget the wine. And… I love you. Senza eccezioni.

I love you.
No exceptions.

That was what I needed to prove — to both of us.
That love wasn’t a pause between commitments, nor a for now until the next premiere.
It was the sea against the rocks — constant, patient, relentless.

The check-up was scheduled.
And I wasn’t willing to accept anything less than a diagnosis of Forever.

——-

Pov Maya Bishop

The call with Andy had been resolved: a convincing “family medical emergency” for Marvel, and a “charity expansion in a place with no Wi-Fi” excuse for Mel.
I was free. Free for Sardinia. Free for Carina.

Relief was a constant hum through my body, silencing the stress of the set and the fear of my condition.

I was in my trailer, packing my suitcase — not with the cocktail dresses and designer blazers Mel had insisted I buy, but with simple clothes: comfortable jeans, cotton shirts, and my old black bikini. The kind of clothes Carina liked to see me in. The kind of clothes that didn’t require makeup — or a performance.

As I folded a shirt, my phone buzzed.
It wasn’t Carina, but Mel.

Mel: Captain. All set. The “sick cousin” is in a medically induced coma in Switzerland and needs your emergency medical co-coordination. No one will question it.
I’m heading to a charity retreat with terrible cell reception. Zero photos. Zero leaks.
Sardinia is all yours. Bring back a calmer cardiologist.
And by the way: Carina’s flight is a commercial red-eye. Your luxury days are over.

I smiled at the text.
Hollywood “luxury” couldn’t compete with real intensity.
The fact that Carina was flying overnight in economy, probably dying of back pain, just to pull me out of Los Angeles, was proof of how invested she was in our truth.

I stopped in front of the dresser, staring at the small cardiac monitor I wore under my top.
The device recorded every beat, every arrhythmia. I only removed it for action scenes or medical exams. It was my darkest secret.

In Sardinia, Carina would check it herself.
She would have access to my data, my sleep patterns, my stress levels.
She would have total control — and I would be exposed.

The fear returned, a tight knot in my stomach.
What if she saw the numbers and decided the risk was too great?
What if she realized that my heart, despite the transplant, was still damaged — by the fear of abandonment, by the fear of surrendering to what we felt?

Italy wasn’t just a getaway.
It was our turning point.

I remembered our conversation the night before — “ti amo. Senza eccezioni.”
I hadn’t deleted it.
For the first time, I had declared my love without the safety net of “for now.”

The phone buzzed again. This time, it was her.

Carina: Your flight leaves in 48 hours. I arranged a car for you in Olbia. The car has GPS. That’s enough.
I left instructions for the property with Andy. I’m counting the hours, amore.
And yes, the wine is already there. But only after the “evaluation.”

Her tone was stern, but the amore and the “wine is already there” calmed me.
She was making me walk through hell — but promising paradise afterward.

I looked at my suitcase.
The only thing missing was my journal.
The journal where I wrote about my fears, my symptoms, and, more recently, my longing for her.

I picked it up, flipping through old pages filled with notes about my fragility.

I have to go to Sardinia with the truth.

I needed that week of “field cardiac evaluation” to prove to Carina that I could be the partner she deserved.
A partner who didn’t need branding or armor to protect her.
A partner who loved her senza eccezioni.

I closed the suitcase.
My trailer — once a luxurious refuge — now felt like a gilded cage.
The life of Maya Bishop, movie star, was on pause.

I was about to embark on the most important journey of my life.
Not to save the universe on screen — but to save my heart, and our relationship.
And I had only one chance to prove that my connection with Carina was the only headline that mattered.

Sardinia was calling.
And for the first time in months, my heart — even transplanted — was beating with a rhythm that felt… hopeful.
For now was ending.
And I was heading toward our forever.

⸻

The suitcase was closed, passport in hand — and the only thing missing was courage.
I was sitting on the bed in my trailer, holding my phone, staring at the picture Carina had sent me of her apartment in Queen Anne.
The view was beautiful, but it didn’t ease the knot in my throat.

I called Andy, knowing she’d be the only one to understand the panic consuming me.

“Andy,” I said, without preamble, as soon as she answered.

“Maya, it’s ten at night here. I just fabricated a family crisis in Switzerland involving a cousin’s cousin. You’re free, Mel is in transit to the ‘charity retreat,’ and your car’s already on its way to the airport.
You’re about to have a week of hot Italian sex with your cardiologist. What’s missing?”

“The instruction manual, Andy!” I nearly yelled, but kept my voice low so the security guard outside wouldn’t hear.

“Manual for what? It’s Carina! You love her! She loves you! The manual is: take off your clothes and say ciao bella!”

“It’s not that simple! You know that we never… that we never actually got there.”
The confession came out as a whisper. “The last time I saw her, we were in crisis. Before that, I was sick, and she was treating me.
Our intimacy has always been broken. She left, Andy!
And now she’s inviting me to Sardinia for a ‘field cardiac evaluation,’ which is just an excuse for… for the next step.”

I started pacing, nerves taking over.

“I don’t know how to act! I’m a superhero who closes black holes on screen, but I don’t know how to be around a woman who’s seen me cry out of fear of dying.
What is she expecting? The Hollywood Maya, sexy, in silk lingerie? Or the patient, vulnerable Maya who just needs a hug?”

“You’re both, you idiot,” Andy replied, though there was tenderness in her tone.
“Carina loves you for the vulnerability, and she desires you because you’re sexy.
It’s that combination that made her leave — and that’s what’s bringing her back.”

“But what do I pack? I bought this black lingerie, almost see-through, that Mel said was ‘powerful.’
What if Carina thinks I’m trying to be Mel? That I’m competing with her flirting?”

Andy sighed.
“You’re taking the black lingerie, because you want it.
And you’re taking your torn cotton shirt, because she wants it.
And you’re going to let Carina take the lead, because the only thing she wants in Sardinia is control over your heart.
Let her examine it.
Let her touch you.
Let her remind you what’s real.”

“And if she asks me about my future?”

“You tell her the truth. You tell her your future is with her. Senza eccezioni.
You’re scared that intimacy will destroy what you have — but distance already did.
Sardinia is your chance to build something real, Maya.
No shortcuts.
Go there and be the most difficult patient — and the easiest lover. That’s what she needs.”

I stopped pacing. Andy was right.
I’d been trying to apply a Hollywood script to an Italian emotion.

“Okay. I’m taking the lingerie and the cotton shirt. And the journal.”

“The journal? Why?”

“Because I need her to know that even when she was gone, and I was pretending to be my ‘best version’ for Mel, she was the only thing I wrote about.”

There was silence.

“That’s the most romantic and dangerous thing you’ve ever done, Maya. Good luck. And send me an olive emoji when you land safely.” Andy laughed before hanging up.

I smiled, feeling the adrenaline kick in.
I was about to walk into the boarding gate and take the most important flight of my life.
I’d leave behind the heroine, the personal agent, and the Hollywood buzz.
I was going to Sardinia — to be healed, and to heal.

I grabbed my suitcase.
For now was dead.
I was going to my forever.

Chapter Text

Two weeks.
Two endless weeks that dragged like years — and yet vanished like seconds.

The airport in Olbia shimmered under the morning sun, bathed in the kind of golden light that only the Mediterranean could produce — warm, alive, carrying the scent of pine and salt. The air itself smelled like memory. Sardinia. Home.
I felt alive. Nervous, but alive.

I had arrived twenty-four hours ahead of Maya — time enough to inspect the small stazzu Andy had arranged. A rural Sardinian farmhouse, perched between the hills and the sea, its stone walls sun-bleached and proud. The view stretched endlessly — olive groves, blue horizon, the low hum of cicadas. No neighbors, no noise, and barely a hint of cell signal. Exactly as I’d requested.

No lobster. No luxury. Just a fridge filled with goat cheese, local wine, and quiet.

That morning, I’d unpacked the suitcase Andy had shipped ahead — Maya’s suitcase.
Inside it, a story unfolded: the black lingerie Mel had chosen, folded neatly beside the ripped cotton shirt Maya always slept in.
The duality of her — hero and human — nestled together in one small carry-on.

And then, the diary.

I’d found it by accident, tucked into the outer pocket.
Heavy, filled with notes, dates, fragments of pain and resilience. I didn’t open it — though the temptation burned. I wouldn’t invade her privacy. But its weight in my hands reminded me just how much she was willing to expose to rebuild what we’d lost. She had brought her heart here in ink, as an offering — a treaty between us.

I looked at my watch.
Her flight had landed ten minutes ago.

The arrival gate was a chaos of voices and sunlight.
I waited by the exit, wearing denim shorts and a simple white top. No hospital scrubs, no masks, no performance. Just me — skin kissed by the Mediterranean sun, heart steady but trembling under my ribs.

The 4x4 Andy had arranged rolled to a stop — dusty, discreet, practical.
The passenger door opened, and she stepped out.

Maya.

No makeup. Hair messy from the flight, golden in the light. Jeans, a plain white T-shirt, and exhaustion clinging to her like a ghost. But God, she was beautiful — the kind of beauty that no camera could capture. Not the Marvel heroine. The patient. The woman I loved.

Her eyes found me before anything else — blue, sharp, uncertain.
Then that smile appeared. Not the public one, but the quiet, fragile one she saved for private moments — for us.

I walked toward her. Slowly. No rush.

She froze, letting her bag fall to the asphalt. For one suspended heartbeat, we just stood there, separated by ten feet and two months of silence.

“Carina,” she whispered, her voice cracked by distance and nerves.

“Ciao, bambina,” I breathed, and it came out like a prayer.

The embrace happened without thought.
Not the hesitant, careful hug from Seattle — but one that consumed air, doubt, and ache all at once. She smelled like recycled airplane oxygen, like sweat, and like the familiar scent of her shampoo.
Beneath my hand, pressed against her back, I could feel her heart — fast, but steady. The borrowed organ beating like it had finally found its rhythm again.

“You came,” she murmured against my neck.

“I ordered you to,” I teased, forcing a bit of authority into my tone, just enough to hide how close I was to breaking. “The car is here. The house is rustic. The signal is terrible. Your phone is officially confiscated and happiness metrics are banned.”

She smiled, the fear in her eyes replaced with challenge. “Understood. Doctor’s orders. You look beautiful, Carina.”

“And you,” I said, holding her gaze, “look like you need a week of sleep. Which, luckily, is the first item on my treatment plan — right after an ECG.”

She bent to grab her suitcase, and I caught the faint blush on her cheeks.
The sight of her — alive, breathing, within reach — was almost too much.

As she approached the car, I remembered the late-night conversation with Andrew.
Maya’s fear of intimacy mirrored my own fear of abandonment — two people terrified of needing too much.

“Carina,” she said softly, stopping by the passenger door, sunlight carving golden edges around her shoulders. “I… I don’t know what you’re expecting from this week. I don’t know if you want the hero or the patient. I don’t know how to act.”

I stepped closer, my voice low, steady. I slipped the small cardiac monitor from her waistband with one swift movement, sliding it into my own pocket.

“I’m expecting the truth, Maya. No scripts. No Mel. No galaxies to save. Just you — the woman who calls me at two a.m. to say she misses me. You don’t need to act. You just need to be.
The only thing I’m waiting for, amore, is for you to let me examine you.”

I took her hand, fingers trembling against mine. “Now — let’s go home. Sardinia doesn’t wait. My diagnosis? You need sun, wine, and rest. The check-up starts the moment you close your eyes.”

I opened the door for her.
She smiled — small, real, tired.
And for the first time since Seattle, we were no longer living in different time zones, or different versions of ourselves.

For now was dead.
I was ready for our forever.

⸻

POV: Maya

Dinner was delicious — and excruciating.

Carina had made fresh tomato sauce that smelled like sun and soil, simple and perfect. The Sardinian wine was unlike anything I’d ever tasted — sharp, honest, alive.
But every bite came with a silent evaluation. Not of the food. Of me.

The house was exactly what she’d described: stone walls, flickering candles, waves crashing faintly beyond the open window. No TV. No Wi-Fi. No bottled luxury. Just us — and the weight of reality pressing down.

“All right,” Carina said after her last sip of wine, her tone shifting seamlessly from host to physician. “Medical protocol starts now.”

She stood and went to her bag, pulling out a small leather case.
Not her usual hospital gear — a compact cardiology kit, elegant and precise. The sight alone made my pulse jump.

“Sit,” she instructed, pointing at the wooden chair.
I obeyed. My hands trembled slightly as I lifted my shirt, letting the cool air brush over my skin.
Under the dim light, every scar seemed to glow — the faint line of the transplant, the pale circles where electrodes had once been. I wasn’t a hero here. I was anatomy.

Carina’s movements were calm, professional. Too professional.
Her touch — clinical, detached — was almost unbearable.

“Breathe deeply. Don’t move.”

The machine hummed. She placed the stethoscope on my chest, her fingers grazing skin that still remembered her warmth. The sound of my heart — someone else’s heart — filled the silence between us.

“Your rhythm is… tense,” she murmured. “Extrasystoles. You’re more stressed than you admit, bambina.”

“I’m calm,” I lied.

“No. You’re not. Your heart never lies.”
She removed the stethoscope, expression unreadable.

When she finally put the kit away, she seemed to shift back into something softer — the Carina I knew, not the doctor. But something had already cracked open between us.
She’d seen me stripped of every defense.

“Diagnosis: severe stress, sleep deprivation, and emotional overload,” she said lightly. “Prescription: one week of rest. Now, the hardest part — the bedroom.”

I pulled my shirt back on, trying to steady my breathing. “Is there a guest room?” I asked, almost pleading.

Her smile was small, teasing. “It’s a stazzu, Maya. Rustic. One bed. Big enough for both of us.”

My heart — the tense one — skipped several beats. The black lingerie I’d packed suddenly felt like a cruel joke.

“Carina, I know this trip is our chance to fix things,” I said, stumbling over my words. “But we were never… normal. The last time you saw me, I was dying. And now you’re my doctor again. I don’t know what you expect. I don’t know if I’m supposed to hug you or ask for a second opinion.”

Her silence was unbearable. I was ready to run.
Then she stepped closer, and her hands framed my face — gently, firmly — the same way she had when I’d collapsed in that hospital bed.

“I love you, Maya. Senza eccezioni. What I expect is for you to stop acting for me,” she said, voice a mix of tenderness and quiet frustration. “I saw the lingerie in your suitcase. And the ripped cotton shirt. I don’t want the hero. I don’t want the patient. I want the woman who dares to tell me the truth. If that truth is that you’re too scared to share a bed with me tonight — you tell me. And I’ll sleep on the couch.”

The tears came fast.
Her empathy was more disarming than any declaration of love. She wasn’t judging me. She was giving me permission to be afraid.

“I’m not scared of you,” I whispered. “I’m scared of breaking. Of disappointing you. Of my heart not being ready.”

“Your heart is more than ready,” she murmured, brushing her thumb along my jaw. “It’s been calling me back for months.”

She took my hand and led me to the bedroom.
The bed was enormous, the sheets sun-dried and rough against my fingertips. She sat first, gazing out the window at the dark sea.

“No pressure, amore. We have a whole week. For now, you sleep. Beside me. Because your heart beats steadier near mine. That’s all I ask — honesty and breath.”

She lay down and opened her arms. The invitation was quiet but absolute.
“I’ll monitor you all night,” she said with a faint smile. “Not as your doctor — as your guardian. Vieni.”

I swallowed hard. Sardinia no longer felt like a test. It felt like shelter.

I slipped out of my jeans, put on the soft shirt, and climbed into bed.
No lingerie. No armor. Just me.

Carina pulled me close, my head resting on her shoulder, her heartbeat steady beneath my ear.

“Shh. Sleep,” she whispered, fingers sliding through my hair.

The fear lingered, but softened — replaced by something quiet, sacred.
For the first time in months, I wasn’t fighting my own pulse.

Sleep came quickly.
Forever could wait.
For now, there was peace.

⸻

POV: Carina

The Sardinian sun rose slowly, filtering through the wooden blinds in streaks of gold and dust.

I woke before dawn, by habit — but my body refused to leave the warmth of the bed. After months of being the doctor, the protector, the planner, I allowed myself the luxury of simply feeling.

Maya slept deeply, the kind of deep, unguarded sleep I hadn’t seen in her since before the transplant. Her head rested on my shoulder, the curve of her cheek soft against my skin. Her breathing was slow, rhythmic — her heartbeat steady. Finally.

I watched her.
Not clinically, not as a patient — but as the woman I’d missed so fiercely it had hurt to breathe.

The sunlight kissed her hair, turning it almost white against the pillow. Her lips were parted slightly, her face relaxed. This was my Maya — unmasked, unarmored, divine in her fragility.

I let my hand move — first tracing the line of her jaw, then her cheek, then the stray strands of hair that brushed her eyes. The tenderness was instinctive, unstoppable.

My lips followed, almost of their own will.
The first kiss — her forehead. A thank-you.
The second — her nose. A ciao, bambina.
The third — inevitable — found her lips.

A whisper of contact, not to wake her, only to confirm that she was real.

Maya stirred, a small sound escaping her throat — a soft sigh that carried months of silence and longing. Her hand tightened on my arm, and she kissed me back.

Not as the patient. Not as the lover in hiding. But as us.

I pulled back just enough to see her eyes half-open, blue and dazed, her voice rough with sleep.
“Carina,” she murmured — part breath, part prayer.

I kissed her again — deeper, certain.
The world outside dissolved: the hospital, the fear, Mel, the distance. There was only this room, this bed, this pulse beneath my palm.

My hands moved to her face, her shoulders, her back — memorizing the contours I’d dreamed of for months. The kiss deepened, slow but fierce, like a storm gathering under calm skies.

“Senza eccezioni,” I whispered against her lips.

She echoed it, voice trembling and sure all at once.
“Senza eccezioni.”

And in that moment, everything else — the separation, the fear, the silence — ceased to exist.

The diagnosis was undeniable.
Love, total and unreserved.
And the most beautiful cardiac evaluation I would ever perform was just beginning.

Chapter Text

Pov: Maya
Carina's kiss was not a request, it was a declaration of possession. It was everything we had avoided saying or doing for months, amplified by the silence of Sardinia and the urgency of our reunion.

I was not thinking about my heart rate. I was not thinking about the transplant. I was only reacting to the familiar warmth of her mouth, to the way my hands finally found her, running through her hair, pulling her closer.
"Senza eccezioni," I repeated, but my voice was hoarse and nearly lost. It was the only word that mattered. The only rule.

The kiss ended, but not the intimacy. Carina moved on top of me, the weight of her body lightly supported, forcing me to sink into the mattress. Her gaze was hungry, intense, totally stripped of the medical mask.
"I waited for you, Maya," she whispered, her forehead resting against mine. "I waited for you to come back to me. To us."

"I came back," I guaranteed. "I am here."
I could feel the tension of the for now (for now) finally dissolving. There was no longer the barrier of fear, nor the need for me to prove something. Carina was not examining me; she was feeling me.

She lowered her face, kissing my chin, my neck, and I felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the weather. The loose t-shirt I was wearing was no barrier for her. Her hands, the same hands that saved lives and that had applied electrodes to me just hours before, were now undressing me with a loving precision.

I helped her, pulling her own t-shirt over her head, revealing warm skin and defined muscles. The Sardinian sun streamed through the blinds, no longer golden, but dazzling, illuminating our haste.

My fear of intimacy dissolved under her touch. I had brought the silk lingerie from Hollywood, but that was not what we needed. We needed the raw truth, skin against skin, without fantasies.

Carina lay down next to me, and I could finally feel the totality of her body against mine. My heart rate was erratic, yes, but it was a living, excited rhythm, and I knew it was the sweetest sound she had ever heard.
She kissed me again, and this time, the kiss was a conversation. A long, drawn-out conversation about longing, about distance, about the fear that por enquanto would become never.

I did not need words. I pulled her to me, feeling the desperate need to merge with her, to prove that my loyalty was physical, visceral.

Her touch was a balm. It was my antidote to fame, to stress, to illness. In Los Angeles, I was the star who needed luxury catering. In Sardinia, I was the woman who desperately needed the Cardiologist who loved me.
"I am not going anywhere," I promised, my voice muffled. "We have one week. And the only thing I want is for you to touch me. Not as the doctor. Not as the guardian. Just as mine.

" Yours. Always," she replied, and the kiss that followed left no doubt.
The caresses became deeper, bolder. Her hand slid down my thigh, coming back up, finding what I had avoided confessing. The vulnerability of my heart did not extend to all my desires.

I took a deep breath, feeling the sweat and the salty air of the sea. I surrendered to the moment, knowing that this was the first page of our new chapter. There was no longer the risk of rejection. There was only mutual surrender and the certainty that Sardinia would not just be a "cardiac evaluation," but the true rebirth.

Our always began there, in the heat of Sardinia, with the sound of the waves and the urgency of two hearts finally reconnecting.

Pov: Carina

The sun was already high, and the gold streaming through the window illuminated the dust dancing in the air and the urgency that covered our reunion. Maya's kiss was no longer a request, it was an answer. A hungry answer that I had been waiting for months.

Our bodies were intertwined, the warm Sardinian air refusing to leave our lungs. I separated myself minimally, not out of necessity to breathe, but out of an urgent need to see the woman who was beneath me, without clothes, without masks.

My gaze traveled down her chest. For a brief instant, I saw the line that was so familiar and so frightening to me. The vertical, thin, long scar in the center of her chest. The transplant line.

Mel saw the heroine's armor. I saw the fragility she hid. But there, under my gaze, I saw no weakness. I saw the line of combat, the proof that she had fought for life, for our life.

I slowly traced the scar with the tip of my fingers, with the reverence of one who touches a masterpiece. There was no disgust, no fear, only an overwhelming love for the strength that mark represented. I knew that the acceptance of this scar was the total acceptance of our for always.

"You are a survivor," I murmured, placing a light, soft kiss on the skin beside the line.
Maya moaned, and it was a sound of acceptance, not pain. She pulled me, but I resisted, determined to go at my own pace. I had waited too long to be in a hurry.

My hands ran over her shoulders, arms, and found the softness of her breasts. They were firm, beautiful, and the heat they radiated was my only map. I kissed her there, with a delicacy that contradicted the urgency I felt. I needed to savor her skin.

Her nipple hardened under my touch and, in an impulse I couldn't control, I captured it with my mouth. The taste was salty, warm, addictive. The moan that escaped her was the only approval I needed. I felt her heart accelerate again under my head, but this time, it was a rhythm of pleasure.

I looked at her, her blue eyes filled with a passion I hadn't seen since the last time we were together, and I moved.
Descending.

Light, slow kisses, traveling down to her stomach, where the skin was smoother and the warmth more intense. I felt the muscles contract slightly beneath my lips — muscles trained to be those of a heroine, but which at that moment surrendered to my touch.

My gaze met the final barrier: simple panties. Cotton. It was not the expensive silk of Hollywood. It was the truth.

Thank God.

The simplicity of that piece gave me the certainty that the Maya I wanted was there, beneath me, surrendered and real. She had not prepared for a performance; she had prepared for me.

I smiled against her belly and pulled it, the sound of the soft cotton against my mouth was the proof that there was no more room for fear.

"I love you, Maya," I said, my voice muffled. "And this week, I will prove to you that your heart belongs to me. Senza eccezioni, and without expensive clothes."
I did not wait for the answer. The only answer I needed was in her touch, in the way her hands intertwined in my hair, pulling me up and down. The check-up had been completely replaced by the most important evaluation: the evaluation of the soul. And the diagnosis was Fire.
I was kneeling, my head nestled in the warmth of her belly, the feel of the simple cotton fabric against my mouth was the last and most innocent barrier. I didn't need fancy silk. I needed honesty, and those soft, cheap panties were the sweetest proof that she was there for me.

I lifted my head, meeting her eyes. The kiss had been fire, but this moment called for calm water. It called for respect. It called for the certainty that haste would not break what we had waited so long to fix.

"Maya," I whispered, my voice hoarse, extending my hand toward the strip of fabric, but pausing. I waited. I needed her consent, given without the pressure of passion.
Her blue eyes were wide open, unfiltered, watching me. She saw my hesitation, and understood immediately.
"You don't have to ask, Carina," she replied, her voice deep and breathless. The tone was not one of permission, but of total surrender. "I'm tired of barriers. Tired of acting. Mel can give you the illusion of a flirtation. But I... I am giving you the only truth I cannot hide."

And then, before I could even move my hand, she opened her legs, a silent, voluntary invitation that took my breath away. It was an act of total trust, of total surrender.
" Take them off," she requested, the urgency barely contained. "Tira everything, amore. I just want to feel you."

My heart pounded, not the worrisome rhythm of a patient, but the accelerated rhythm of a lover who finally had her wish granted. The delicacy I promised was maintained. With a gentle touch, I pulled the cotton, the fabric sliding over the skin that was now entirely mine.

The air of Sardinia, the smell of pine and salt, all mixed with the intoxicating scent of her skin. I didn't need wi-fi to connect with Maya; I only needed her taste.
I approached, and the first touch there was a mutual sigh of relief.

"È qui (It's here)," I murmured against her skin, my voice barely audible. "It is here that you belong to me. The only place Mel will never reach."

Maya arched her back, moaning loudly with the pleasure that hit her. "Sì! Ah, Dio... please. I've missed you so much. I can't wait anymore."

Her warm, tense body curved against me, and the need to dominate my touch disappeared. I already had control. I already had her consent. I already had her truth.
I kissed her there, with the passion and urgency that this week in Sardinia promised. It was not an examination. It was not a punishment. It was our rebirth, senza eccezioni. The check-up had been officially postponed indefinitely.
The time in Sardinia stopped being measured in Seattle or Los Angeles hours; it curved to the rhythm of our moans and the urgency of our bodies. The morning light flooded the room, but I was trapped in the warm, delicious darkness that was her mouth.

I kissed her there, with the passion and urgency of one who had waited a lifetime for this taste. Maya's taste was surreal — salty, sweet, the essence of the sea and desire, infinitely better than I had imagined in every lonely night in Seattle. I lost myself in her rhythm, moving my head and my mouth with the precision of one who was performing the only surgery that mattered.
She was surrendered, completely.

Her legs, open in an invitation that I gladly accepted, trembled. Her hands, previously hesitant, now clutched my hair with a strength that reminded me that, despite being a patient, she was still the athlete, the competitor, the star I knew.

"Carina... Oh, Dio... Sì," she gasped, her name mixing with sounds of pure pleasure. "Don't stop! I need... more, amore."

The plea propelled me. I deepened the kiss, wanting to devour her longing, her fear, and transform them into pure sensation. I was not just giving pleasure; I was receiving her rawest truth, unfiltered.

But I wanted more. I wanted to feel her in all dimensions.
With a gentle, but determined movement, I introduced two fingers into the mix, immediately finding the warmth and moisture that were waiting for me. The contrast of textures — the wet touch of my mouth and the internal pressure of my fingers — took her to a new level.
Maya's body reacted instantly. Every muscle in her abdomen, her thighs, contracted in response to the dual stimulus. It was a reflexive, powerful response, a testament to her intensity.

"Ah! Carina! It's too much... it's troppo," she moaned, and I felt her hips lift, pressing against my hand and my mouth.

The moans became words, her breathing a chaotic sound of urgency. She moaned my name repeatedly, in Italian and in English, her voice broken and desperate.
"Carina... Amore mio... Please!"

I knew she was on the edge. I kept the rhythm, slowly and steadily, knowing that her total surrender was the only diagnosis I would accept.

Finally, her body stiffened. A loud, hoarse cry escaped her lips, and she arched, trembling in a long, powerful climax that felt like hours. Her hands in my hair tightened one last time before relaxing, and she fell breathless onto the sheets.

I pulled away, slowly, to give her space to breathe, and looked at her face. It was red, sweaty, and her eyes were moist, but with a glow I had never seen in red carpet photos. It was the beauty of liberation.

I lay down beside her, and hugged her, pulling her so that her head rested on my neck. She was trembling slightly.
"Your heart is great, bambina," I whispered, kissing the top of her head.

"It's not. It's racing," she replied, her voice faint, but with a smile in the tone. "It's beating for you, Dottoressa."

The for now had been washed out to sea. In Sardinia, there was only us, and the steady rhythm of a future that had finally begun.

Chapter Text

Pov: Maya

The fire of Sardinia burned inside me, and Carina’s mouth had led me to a place of absolute surrender. I was lying on the sheets, gasping, feeling every spark of my excitement extinguish, but there was an echo, a need that the Dottoressa had neglected in her urgency to heal me.
I felt her pull away, the kisses slowing to light caresses, and I knew she was about to lie down, satisfied with her "diagnosis." But our partnership was not a one-way street.
I opened my eyes, which were still burning with pleasure, and grabbed her arm before she could pull away completely. I turned her over, with a strength that came from my passion, not my training. Carina looked at me with surprise and adoration.

— No. No, Dottoressa," I murmured, my voice still hoarse, but with a firmness she always respected. "You examined me, diagnosed me, and healed me. Now, I am examining you. And you have a serious deficiency in mutual pleasure."

I moved over her, the sight of her naked skin under the Sardinian light was my new work of art. She was beautiful, sweaty, and completely surrendered, but I needed more. I needed the senza eccezioni I had promised.

— You were so wet for me, amore. You can't just leave like that," I whispered, lowering my face to her neck, kissing her and nipping at her skin. "I am your partner de vitá, Carina. And partners take turns leading. I want your vulnerability now."

I descended slowly, with the same precision she used, but with the fury and urgency I had repressed for months. I captured her nipple with my mouth, sucking with a desire that made her gasp. I wanted her taste, the certainty that my mouth could drive her to the same madness that hers drove me to.

— It's my turn to save you. You are so hot, Carina," I whispered against her skin, feeling the warm air of the room in my lungs and her scent in my nostrils. "You told me that my heart beat for you. I'm going to make your entire body beg for me."

I moved, faster, bolder. I did not stop at her mouth, I wanted her raw truth. I went down her body, kissing her belly, feeling her muscles contract with my possession. I was seeking her point of surrender.
But there was a hesitation. An idea that excited and terrified me.
I stopped, hovering over her, my breathing heavy. "Carina, look at me."

She opened her eyes, full of desire and confusion.
— I want to take you. I want to fuck you until you scream my name. From behind. But I need to know if you are ready for that vulnerability. I want you delivered, Dottoressa. Are you ready to be mine in every way?"
The silence was tense, but only for a moment. The passion in her eyes transformed into total acceptance.

— I am yours. Take me," she whispered, her voice hoarse, without hesitation. "I am all yours. Do what you want."
With permission granted, I went back down, kissing her there, tasting the passion she had kept hidden. I didn't use my mouth for long. I needed the totality of touch. I got up, and helped her turn, positioning her on the bed.
I knelt behind her, my heart pounding. I penetrated her with my fingers, feeling her wetness and contraction welcome me. I heard her murmur in Italian, words that were a mixture of pleading and adoration.

— You are so tight for me, Carina," I gasped, my mouth near her ear. "You were made to be taken like this. Scream my name when I hit you."

I accelerated the rhythm of my fingers, pressing her to the limit. I was not the doctor, I was the actress, the lover. And I was giving the performance of my life.
Her body began to tremble beneath me, a loud, hoarse scream that only my name could contain.
I pulled away, exhausted, lying down beside her, holding her tightly.

— I love you, amore," I whispered, feeling her soft body nestle against mine. "We have one week."
Her body was soft, satisfied. She kissed me, a kiss of gratitude and promise, the deepest touch of our entire reunion.

— Senza eccezioni, Maya," she whispered, her voice loaded with love. "You fucked me perfectly. I am delivered."

I smiled, feeling my heart beat strong and steady. We had the whole week. And our Forever had begun with the certainty that our partnership was 50/50, in every way.

Pov: Carina

Maya's touch on my back was firm, but her voice in my ear had the sweetness of challenge. She turned me over, and I saw her move over me, her blue eyes filled with a hunger I only saw when she was pushed to the limit.
I had allowed myself the arrogance of the satisfied physician, thinking my "diagnosis" of pleasure was sufficient. She, however, had the complete treatment plan in mind.

— You have a serious deficiency in mutual pleasure," she said, and the tone was one of sexy reprimand.
I couldn't resist her command. I let her kiss me, bite me, suck me, feeling the return of desire explode within me. Her mouth on my breasts was more possessive than mine had been. She was claiming.

— You are so tight for me, amore," she whispered, and her dirty talk hit me like an electric shock. I could feel my body preparing for surrender.
Then she stopped. The pause was torment.

— I want to take you... from behind," she said, her voice low, serious. "But I need to know if you are ready for that vulnerability. I want you delivered, Dottoressa. Are you ready to be mine in every way?"

My heart was pounding—not dangerously, but with the fury of passion. Vulnerability. She asked me for the one thing I, Carina DeLuca, the controlling surgeon, avoided. To be completely exposed.

The strap-on was for her. The dirty talk was for her. But she was asking me to invert the control, to surrender myself to her in a way that would make me totally dependent on her gentleness and her strength.
The moment was very long, but my answer came from the depth of my soul, not my logic.

— I am yours," I whispered, my voice hoarse, without hesitation. "Take me. I am all yours. Do what you want."
With my permission, she kissed me one last time, and then helped me turn, to position myself. The warm Sardinian air on my back, the sunlight through the blinds, and my body in a position that begged for possession.
I felt her fingers on me, and the introduction was smooth, but firm. Her urgency was real, but her consideration was stronger.

— You are so tight for me, Carina," she gasped, her mouth near my ear. "You were made to be taken like this. Scream my name when I hit you."

Her dirty talk was my undoing. I felt her intensify the rhythm, and the pleasure was overwhelming, mixed with the novelty of the position. It wasn't just the sex; it was the trust of being like this, exposed, under her command.
I screamed, a sound my mouth couldn't contain, my body arching to the pressure of her fingers.

— Ah! Maya! Amore! You are the only one who does this to me! Dio!"

I lost myself in her rhythm. My mind emptied of all medical logic. There was only the sensation, the possession, the certainty that my Hollywood girlfriend was the only person who could drive me to this state.
The climax was a shockwave that made me tremble and moan her name repeatedly.
When she pulled away and lay down beside me, I turned and nestled into her embrace. I was totally delivered, exhausted and at peace.

She kissed my hair. — Senza eccezioni, Maya. You fucked me perfectly. I am delivered."

I didn't need to answer. My body, my heart, and my vulnerability were there, proof that our partnership was now complete. We had one week. And our Forever had begun with the truth.

Chapter Text

⸻

POV MAYA

I was lying on Carina’s chest, listening to the rhythmic steadiness of her heartbeat beneath my ear. The sound was almost hypnotic — the kind of constancy that could quiet every storm inside me. I was exhausted, content, more at peace than I’d been in months.
But I wasn’t done. I couldn’t be.
We had one week to rebuild a life, and the day was only beginning.

Her lips brushed the top of my head.
— You’re quiet, — she murmured in that low, sleep-rough voice that still carried the echo of last night. — You’re thinking about the lobster, aren’t you? I can make more tomato sauce.

I laughed, lifting my head to look at her. Carina’s brown eyes — usually alert and serious — were softened now, hazy with tenderness and lazy contentment.
— I’m not thinking about food, — I said, sliding my hand over her abdomen. — I’m thinking about your “cardiac evaluation” method. It’s very effective, Dottoressa.

She gave me that slow smile — the kind that promised trouble.
— I’m glad you found the therapy satisfactory. But now, it’s time to rest.

— Ah, but that’s the problem, — I teased, moving on top of her, challenge sparking in my eyes. — I feel like my transplanted heart hasn’t been properly tested yet.

— Maya… — she warned, but a smile was already forming.

— No, seriously, — I went on, lips hovering near hers. — You know that even after a transplant, dilated cardiomyopathy requires the heart to handle emotional spikes. And the last “evaluation” left me in a dangerously euphoric state. I need a second opinion.

I kissed her — slow, teasing — and whispered against her mouth:
— I need to see if my transplanted heart can handle high-emotion conditions, Dottoressa.

She let out a low moan, her hand sliding up into my hair, pulling me down. The scientist in her surrendered to the lover.
— That’s the most ridiculous excuse you’ve ever used.

— It’s a perfectly valid medical excuse, — I murmured, moving down to her neck. — And honestly, I think your heart rate could use a boost too — to make sure you don’t slip back into Seattle stress. It’s mutual treatment.

Sardinia turned, once again, into our testing field — where science gave way to passion.

⸻

Later, the afternoon sun spilled through the windows, gilding the stazzu walls in gold. We lay side by side, fingers intertwined, eyes fixed on the rustic ceiling beams. Our breathing synced — slow, even, content.

— We’re going to drive Andy insane, — I murmured, laughing. — She’ll call Mel and say, “The cousin’s not improving. They’re kissing on a Sardinian cruise set!”

Carina squeezed my hand, smiling.
— Mel will make up some excuse about “intimate co-coordination therapy.” They’ll survive. The world of Hollywood won’t stop spinning for a small hiatus.

— It’s not a small hiatus, — I corrected, turning to face her, voice serious. — It’s our reset. I can’t go back to that, Carina. To Mel’s lies. To the distance. I chose you. The “for now” is dead.

Her eyes mirrored my seriousness.
— I know. You said you want Queen Anne. You said you want your heart close to mine. That’s a plan, Maya. And I’m in.

I nestled closer, resting my head on her shoulder. The future — once an abstract, terrifying concept — now felt tangible, alive with promise.
— You know what I see in my future, amore? — I whispered.

— What do you see?

— I see you yelling at me in Italian because I used the last bottle of olive oil. I see Seattle, that apartment of yours with the gorgeous view. I see my heart… stable. And I see… a few kids running around the living room.

Her body stiffened beneath mine. I knew I’d hit a tender spot.
— Kids? — she asked, her voice slightly tense.

— Yes. But with one condition, — I lifted my head and kissed her. — They need to have your eyes, Carina. Blue is good for an actress, but your brown eyes are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I want to add a few kids with your face to my list of blessings.

The tension melted away. Carina’s face softened; she pulled me into a tight embrace.
— I love you, Maya Bishop, — she murmured into my hair, her voice trembling with emotion. — And I’m willing to have a baby. Or two. Or three. Let’s drive Andy mad and have everything. Senza eccezioni.

I smiled against her skin. I had come to Sardinia afraid of intimacy… and I was leaving with a life plan.
My transplanted heart was more than fine.
It was healed.
Forever was real.

⸻

POV CARINA

The late afternoon sun painted the walls bronze. I was exhausted but peaceful, wrapped around Maya’s body — until her confession, “kids running around the living room,” hit me like a defibrillator shock.

My body went rigid.
— Kids? — I repeated, my voice thinner than I meant it to be.

She held me tighter, refusing to let the subject go.
— Yes. But with one condition, — she said, kissing my shoulder. — They need to have your eyes, Carina. I want to add a few kids with your face to my list of blessings.

I swallowed hard. Kids. Plural. It sounded so real, so final.
— Wow. Kids. Plural, huh, Maya Bishop? — I said, trying to keep my tone light, though insecurity tasted bitter. — You know what you’re saying? You’re at your peak, with Mel selling you as the next Wonder Woman. Kids mean stopping. They mean the domestic life the press will devour.

I sighed, letting the truth escape.
— And I… I’m just me. The doctor who monitors you and yells in Italian. I’m not a Hollywood buzz. You can’t just hand me your life and a whole family after one week of vacation.

Maya stopped smiling. She touched my face, her gaze — as sharp as it was gentle — grounding me.
— It’s exactly because you’re “just Carina” that I want those kids with you, — she said, her voice steady. — I want your quiet, Carina. Your stability. Sardinia isn’t a getaway; it’s a proof of concept.

She kissed me, a kiss full of promise and fire.
— I’m not joking about Queen Anne. Or about kids, plural. It’s you, or no one. I love you, Dottoressa. And I want our kids to learn to say Mamma in Italian.

My resistance dissolved.
— I love you, Maya Bishop, — I whispered, my throat tight. — And yes, let’s drive Andy crazy and have our life. If there are kids, then kids it is. I’ll start researching fertility clinics in Seattle… but only if you let me examine you when you’re pregnant.

Her laughter filled the room — warm and alive. And my heart finally accepted the diagnosis: Forever.

⸻

That night, I lay on her chest, listening to the sea blend with her breathing. The tenderness with which she’d approached the subject — my loss, my fear, our future — was proof of how much she had grown. She wasn’t just asking me to be a mother.
She was offering me healing.

But the doctor in me still needed evidence.

I pulled back slightly, propped on one elbow, and took her hand.
— I love you, Maya, — I began, voice steady. — And I’m not joking about the kids. It’s my greatest blessing, my deepest wish. But we need honesty. The last time we were together, I left. I didn’t come back for a month because I didn’t want you to stay out of pity — or gratitude because I knew your medical secret. You needed to choose yourself first. And you did.

She stayed silent, her expression softening with the memory.

— I’m proud of you, amore, — I continued. — But I’m scared. Scared that this talk — Queen Anne, Seattle, kids, plural — is just the moment. Post-distance. Post-Italy. And that when we’re back in Los Angeles, when Mel and Marvel start calling again, you’ll look at me, the doctor who nags and cooks with olive oil, and realize life here is too simple.

She brought my hand to her lips.
— I understand your fear, Dottoressa. But my transplanted heart doesn’t handle lies well. I chose you because you’re my only truth. I’m still in therapy. I want to live for me — but I want to live with you. The kids… they’re my reality check. If I’m willing to sacrifice my career for our family, then you know the “for now” is dead.

Her honesty disarmed every defense.
She kissed me softly, then said:
— I want your quiet, Carina. It’s what keeps me alive. Now stop interrogating me and come kiss me again. We have a week to build the foundation of this future, and I won’t waste a second on what Mel or Marvel think.

I smiled, my soul lighter. The future was terrifying — and beautiful.
But it was ours.

⸻

Our last night in Sardinia lingered like a warm, sweet haze. I sat on the veranda, wrapped in a linen sheet, watching the sun melt into the copper-colored sea. Inside, Maya was clattering in the kitchen — probably brewing coffee too strong for any human heart.

One week. That’s all it had taken — to rebuild a universe.

I remembered everything: the confessions, the laughter, the silence beneath the olive tree. The pain we laid bare and the love we rebuilt. I remembered Maya washing dishes in that torn cotton shirt, telling me she didn’t want to run from herself anymore.
She had healed me — and without knowing, I had healed her too.

I stood and went inside. She was at the counter, back turned, pouring water into the pot. I wrapped my arms around her from behind, resting my chin on her shoulder. The scent of coffee and her skin — it was the smell of my future.
— What are you thinking, amore? — I whispered.

She turned in my arms, smiling softly.
— I’m thinking about how good our life in Seattle will be. And how I’ll drive your hospital crazy when you go on maternity leave.

I kissed her jaw, feeling the faint roughness of her unshaven skin.
— That’s my Maya. But tell me the truth, Carina — what are you afraid of?

I met her gaze head-on.
— I’m afraid that tomorrow, when you see Mel and Marvel again, you’ll tell me that the quiet life I gave you here isn’t enough. That the Italian impulse fades, and the American plan takes over.

Maya cupped my face in both hands, her blue eyes as clear as the sea that morning.
— My transplant doesn’t lie, Carina, — she said softly. — It was failing under Los Angeles stress. And it’s healed here, with you. I’m not choosing you out of impulse — I’m choosing you out of necessity. You’re my only way to live. My five-year plan is you. And yes, life will be quiet at Queen Anne, and I’ll love every second of that quiet. Because boredom with you is my peace.

She kissed me, deep and certain, sealing our truth against the reality waiting beyond the island.
— I love you, Dottoressa, — she whispered. — And don’t worry. I’ll call Andy as soon as we land in Seattle. Forever starts tomorrow. Senza eccezioni.

I held her as tightly as I could. The proof of concept was complete.
The diagnosis was forever.

Chapter Text

POV MAYA

The sound of Carina’s alarm — that cruel, sharp beep-beep — tore through the soft fabric of our Sardinian bubble.
The sun hadn’t even risen yet. The room was still bathed in a cold gray light, a physical reminder that vacation time had ended.

I groaned and buried my face in the pillow. The certainty of last night still lingered on my skin, but the weight of Los Angeles was already pressing on my shoulders.

Carina stirred beside me. She didn’t reach out — and that, I knew, was a sign. She was already in airport logistics mode: pragmatic, methodical, focused.

— Five minutes, amore. The car will be here in thirty, — she said, her voice professional, yet still laced with that soft warmth that was only hers.

I turned to her, feeling the ache of goodbye before even standing up.
— I don’t want to go, — I confessed, clutching her arm. — I want the Barolo to last another week, and Andy to have a real nervous breakdown.

Carina smiled — that small, knowing smile that always undid me.
— I know. But you have a life to dismantle, Maya Bishop. And I have a hospital to return to — and a house to prepare for the Italian chaos and the future you promised me.

She sat up. But before fully standing, she kissed me. It wasn’t the passionate kiss of the night before — it was a foundation kiss, sealing our promise.

— I need you to promise me something, — she said, her brown eyes firm and serious. — You’re going to face Mel. You’ll tell her the “happiness factor” is dead. And you’ll call Andy. You’ll tell her it’s not an if anymore. It’s a when.

— I promise, — I said, my voice trembling. — I’ll burn every bridge except the flight bridge to Seattle. And you… you’ll go to Queen Anne. You’ll find us a room with enough light for our future kids.

I pulled her into my arms, inhaling the familiar comfort of her skin. The pain of separation was physical — a twisting ache in my chest. Leaving her to go back to Los Angeles was the hardest part. I could face Mel. I could face Marvel. But the thought of another ocean between us was excruciating.

— I hate leaving you, — I murmured against her neck.

— You’re not leaving me, — she corrected, steady and sure. — You’re letting me go back home. And I’ll be waiting for you — with olives, and maybe a stethoscope, to make sure you haven’t had a relapse in LA.

We dressed in loaded silence, each piece of clothing pulling us back toward reality. My jeans and T-shirt felt like armor again.

In the car, on the way to the airport, our conversation stayed practical: flight logistics, coded messages for Andy, my plan to end the Marvel contract. But beneath the surface, the unspoken promise of the night before pulsed like a heartbeat.

At Olbia airport, we said goodbye in a long, quiet embrace, hidden from curious eyes.
— Come back whole, Maya, — she whispered, her fingers brushing my face. — And call Andy.

— I will. I love you, Dottoressa. See you soon.

I watched her walk toward the gate for Seattle, and only then turned to face my own flight — straight back into my personal version of hell: Los Angeles.

⸻

On the plane, I found Carina’s phone in my bag — it buzzed with hundreds of notifications. I ignored them all except one. I pressed “call.”

— Andy, — I said, without preamble. — The “for now” is dead. The “what if” has become “when.” I’m going back to LA to end things. Prepare my comeback. But my future’s in Seattle, at Queen Anne, and Carina’s my full-time cardiologist. And yes — we’re planning kids. Plural.

There was silence on the other end. I could almost picture her — the best agent in the world — frozen mid-sip of coffee.

— Maya Bishop, — she finally said, voice tight but proud. — You are my drama queen and my favorite hero. Welcome back to chaos. I’ll call Mel. Prepare for war — but this time, you’re not fighting alone.

I smiled. Sardinia had been my sanctuary. Andy was my backup. And Carina — Carina was my destiny.

⸻

The dry air-conditioning of Los Angeles hit me like a shock wave when I stepped off the plane. It didn’t smell like salt or pine, just recycled air and obligation.
I took a deep breath. The time for running was over.

I wasn’t going to run from the film, from Mel, or from my life. I’d face everything head-on — but this time, with Carina as my gravity center. The next year would be about honoring my commitments while building my bridge to Seattle.

⸻

In the car on the way back to my rental apartment — which now felt cold, sterile, and painfully large without Carina — I called Andy again. I knew she was juggling her controlled panic, and she deserved to hear my voice.

— Maya Bishop, — she answered on the first ring, relief and stress mixed in her tone. — I thought you’d be in a paradise resort, not back in purgatory.

— I’m back. And I’m great, — I said, smiling. — The transplant’s working like a Swiss watch, but my chief cardiologist insists on relocating near her patient.

— Great. What does that mean exactly?

— It means the “what if” became “when.” I’m finishing the movie, Andy. I won’t run from responsibility — not from you, not from Mel. I’ll give you the year you need to sell me. But after that… goodbye Los Angeles, hello Queen Anne.

Andy exhaled dramatically.
— A year. I can work with a year. Now spill — I held Mel and Marvel off for ten days. I deserve Sardinian details. What happened during the “cardiac evaluation”?

I laughed, sinking back in the car seat. The tension melted. Talking to Andy felt like writing the final scene of a movie.
— What happened is life. I turned my world upside down, Andy. She proposed with a €200 Barolo and the logistics of an action film. And yes — we talked about kids. Plural.

— WHAT? Kids? Plural? — Andy shrieked. — You’re not talking about the “sick cousin” cover story, are you?

— Kids, plural, with her brown eyes, yes. And she wants to carry. It’s our healing, Andy. I’m done with bad girls and scandals. I want Carina, the house, the chaos of diapers — and peace.

Andy was silent for a moment, then her voice softened.
— Finally. I’m so happy for you, May. I can see it now — your real ending. But okay, logistics time.

— Exactly. Carina logistics.

I outlined my plan.
— I like Mel. She’s been incredible — agent, friend, fire extinguisher. But boundaries are changing. I’m not hiding anymore. I’ll finish the film, play the press game, but no fake interviews about “lonely heartbreak.” Carina comes first. Always.

— That’s mature, — Andy said, proud. — I’ll call Mel. You rest, call your Dottoressa, and book your ticket for Seattle. Queen Anne’s waiting.

I smiled, staring out at the harsh LA sun. Chaos was waiting — but this time, I had direction.

⸻

Back in my apartment, luxury smelled like bleach. The walls felt empty after the sea and olive groves. I slipped into my most professional armor — sleek black blazer, pressed slacks, heels sharp enough to kill self-doubt.

Mel was waiting in my living room, sipping herbal tea, composed like she’d just survived a hurricane.
She wasn’t yelling — which was worse.

— You’re tanned, — she said flatly.

— Sardinia. Strong sun, — I replied, sitting across from her. No apologies. No excuses.

— Your “sick cousin in Switzerland” excuse has officially expired, Maya. Marvel’s furious. I turned your disappearance into a “mental health retreat” narrative. I saved you from a PR disaster.

— I know. And I’m grateful, — I said calmly. — You’re the best, Mel. Which is why you deserve the truth.

I met her eyes.
— I wasn’t in Switzerland. I was in Sardinia. With Carina. My heart — both old and new — is perfectly fine. But the happiness factor is officially dead.

Mel placed her teacup down with surgical precision. The porcelain clicked — sharp, deliberate.
— What does that mean, Maya? That you dumped the doctor, or that you’re about to ruin the “tragic single heroine” image we built for the premiere?

— It means I’m finishing the movie. I owe you that — and myself. But I’m not living a lie anymore. I won’t hide Carina.

I explained, clearly and firmly.
— You can control the media story however you want, as long as I have final say. No “lonely actress” headlines. I’ll sell the flirt on screen, but my life is mine. My future’s in Seattle. With her.

Mel stayed silent for a long moment, studying me. She wasn’t seeing her star anymore — she was seeing a woman who’d made peace with herself.

— Seattle? For a doctor? You know what that does to your image, Maya? Your buzz is built on LA.

— My buzz didn’t make me happy, Mel. Carina does. Happiness is non-negotiable. I’m giving you a year to close the big deals. After that — I move. And yes, — I added, smiling slightly — we’re planning kids. Plural. It’s not Sardinian euphoria. It’s a life plan.

Mel exhaled deeply, eyes closing as numbers, contracts, and chaos danced behind them. But she was the best for a reason. When she opened her eyes, there was resolve.

— Fine, Heroine. You’ve given me a year and a getaway plan. But if this Carina is going public, she needs to look flawless. No ripped shirts. And I want a prenup, at least for the optics.

— There’ll be no prenup. And she’ll look flawless — she’s a DeLuca. — I stood, extending my hand. — I love you, Mel. But my Forever matters more than my Oscar.

She stared for a beat, then took my hand.
— Partners in crime. One last year. But you owe me a cocktail — and I’m keeping tabs on that Seattle heartbeat. You’re my only star, Maya.

The war had been avoided. The future was secure.
Queen Anne — and the kids — were officially on the horizon.

⸻

POV MEL

Coffee in Los Angeles was never strong enough for what Mel had to handle.

I sat in my glass-walled office, staring at the emergency agenda. My star client — and the center of my career — had just handed me an ultimatum that rewrote my next five years.

The phone rang. Andy’s voice came through, taut but smug.
— Mel, I think you’ll need a stronger coffee.

— I need a new client, Andy. She gave me a year and a plan for Seattle, plus plural children and a doctor in charge. I had to agree. What the hell did you do in Sardinia?

Andy laughed — that unbearable, satisfied laugh.
— I did what you couldn’t. I forced her to be happy. I sent the flowers, the Barolo, the “life partnership proposal kit.” I made sure she didn’t crawl back to her mess here.

— You’re telling me I lost my biggest client to a “family plan” and an Italian delivery service?

— You lost her to love, Mel. And truth. And you should know this — Maya’s healed. Her heart wouldn’t survive another LA lie. With Carina, she’s stable.

I rubbed my temples.
— I’m her agent, Andy! I can make her a global phenomenon. And now I have to sell the image of a heroine who quits Hollywood to raise kids in Seattle?

— That’s why you’re the best, Mel. Sell it! Sell “the hero who found real life.” Sell “sacrifice for love.” It’s authentic — and authenticity sells.

Andy’s tone softened.
— And one more thing: if you ever try to separate Maya and Carina — to create a scandal or manipulate the narrative — I’ll bury it faster than you can write the headline.

I sighed, conceding.
— Fine. No lies for the doctor. She’s part of the brand now. But mark my words — I’ll make this story legendary. The wedding? Vogue exclusive. The first baby? Cover story. The “Forever Plan” will be the biggest campaign of my career.

— Good, — Andy replied. — Because I’m already looking at properties in Queen Anne. Maya’s happy now. Our only job is to keep it that way.

The call ended. I stared at my reflection in the glass — calculating.

Maya Bishop’s life had just become my next masterpiece.

I called my assistant.
— Cancel all new client meetings. Send flowers to Dr. DeLuca in Seattle — the most expensive arrangement you can find. And bring me the Queen Anne real estate catalog. We’re setting up operations in Seattle.

The game had changed.
And I was ready to play.

Chapter Text

P.O.V. Carina DeLuca
⸻

The rhythmic clicking of keyboards and the distant hum of heart monitors made up the soundtrack of my afternoon.
I was leaning over a pile of patient charts, glasses slipping down my nose, trying to decipher reports and numbers that all blurred together in shades of gray. The scent of stale coffee and printer ink surrounded me.

The happiness of Sardinia felt like a dream — a warm, salty memory that evaporated every time the steady beep of a monitor dragged me back to reality.

On my computer screen, a spreadsheet glared like a cruel reminder: “Estimated Costs — Queen Anne Project.”
The total value was obscene. The kind of number that made your chest tighten — and not for medical reasons.
Andrew had been right: stability was expensive. I needed more shifts, more hours, more days that bled into nights.

I was buried in that thought when a sudden, strange silence fell across the cardiology wing. Not the normal kind — the eerie kind that comes before a disaster or something absurd.
I looked up, ready to scold some clumsy resident… and froze.

A delivery man stood at the door, breathless, balancing what looked like an entire forest.
Lilies — dozens of them. White, pink, some still in bud, others open in perfect, fragrant bloom. The sweet, heady scent rolled into the room, overpowering the sterile tang of disinfectant.

— “Dr. Carina DeLuca?” he asked, hesitant, clutching his clipboard with both hands.

— “Yes,” I replied, standing slowly.

He set the vase down on my desk — which immediately vanished beneath the explosion of flowers. The contrast was ridiculous: papers, stethoscope, pens… and a garden.
A sealed envelope nestled between the petals.

My heart skipped a beat.
I picked it up and opened it carefully.

The handwriting was elegant, precise — and unmistakably Mel.

“Congratulations on your new partnership.
The logistics plan is in full swing.
Leave the olive oil to me.
— Mel (Love Logistics Agent).”

A short, incredulous laugh escaped me.
The Love Logistics Agent!
That was Mel’s version of surrender.

The flowers weren’t a gift — they were a white flag. A silent truce. A recognition that she’d lost the battle but joined the war of love under new management.

I looked at the lilies and felt a familiar warmth bloom in my chest.
Maya had done it.

Before I could breathe again, my phone buzzed. Her name lit up the screen, and the sound of the ringtone made my heart slow — ironically.

I answered before the second ring.
— “Did you get the flowers?” I asked, already smiling.

On the other end, Maya’s voice came low and amused, rich with that energy that disarmed me every single time.
— “Did you get them? Mel surrendered, Carina! She’s calling herself the Love Logistics Agent! I swear I heard her rehearsing a Vogue speech.”

— “I read the note,” I said, laughing. “I’m staring at an entire garden on my desk. My hospital smells like perfume instead of disinfectant. Your agent is a genius… but also a lunatic.”

— “We’re the lunatics, amore,” she teased. “And I’m calling to tell you the full war plan, because you’re the boss. I told you that you’d call the shots — and I meant it.”

As she spoke, I walked to the window. The late afternoon sun poured through the glass, catching the petals, turning them into a soft pink storm.
On the phone, Maya laid out the “war plan”: the one-year contract, the transition to Seattle, the “sacrifice for love” public narrative, the planned hand-holding appearances.

— “It’s insane,” I murmured, pinching the bridge of my nose.

— “It’s insane, but it’s safe,” she said firmly. “And here’s the part that matters, Dottoressa. I told Mel that all creative control over you is yours. You set the rules for our wedding, our house, your wardrobe. If she says ‘stylist,’ you say ‘wrinkled T-shirt.’ I’m in for whatever you want. You’re calling the shots.”

Her words went through me like a soft current — grounding and electric all at once.
It wasn’t cinematic romance. It was real love. Vulnerable. Brave.

— “You’re incredible, Maya Bishop,” I whispered, eyes burning. “I accept the partnership. But the wedding won’t be in Vogue. It’ll be at the courthouse. The party will have wine and no glamour. And yes, I’ll wear my wrinkled shirts — just to annoy your agent.”

She laughed, the sound bright and musical, and it melted everything heavy inside me.
— “I can’t wait. I love you, Carina. And Queen Anne is on its way.”

When the call ended, I stayed there for a moment, staring at the lilies.
Chaos had officially arrived in Seattle.
And for the first time in a long while, I was ready for it.

⸻

Later that night, back home in the small apartment I still shared with Andrew, I tried to find a corner big enough for the massive arrangement.
The smell of lilies mixed with the aroma of fresh coffee. Andrew was leaning against the counter, mug in hand, wearing the expression of a doctor evaluating a particularly difficult case.

— “It’s all very lovely, sorella,” he began, tone half teasing, half serious. “The garden, the phone call, the surrender of the Devil’s Agent. But I need to ask you something — and I want Carina the doctor answering, not Carina from Sardinia.”

I crossed my arms, bracing myself.
— “Go ahead, fratellino.”

— “You two haven’t even dated,” he said bluntly. “You kissed, you fought, you ran away, you had sex for a week, and now you’re planning to buy a house and have kids. You and Maya don’t even live in the same city. You don’t have a title. No proposal. No real plan. It sounds more like two teenagers playing house than two adults building a future.”

His voice wasn’t judgmental — it was protective.
And that hurt more than criticism.

— “I love the idea of you being happy,” he went on. “But everything’s moving so fast. It’s a movie dream, sorella. And I’m afraid it’s not real. You know how it goes — in real life, the rope always snaps on the weaker side. And you don’t have Hollywood armor.”

The truth landed sharp.
He was voicing the fear I’d been trying to silence since the plane.

I took a breath.
— “I understand your fear,” I said softly. “I asked myself all of those questions on the flight. And if it weren’t Maya… I’d say it’s crazy too.”

— “Then tell me why it isn’t crazy.” He took a step closer, his tone gentler now. “She’s a star, Carina. And Mel wants to turn your life into a Vogue feature. You, the woman who hates cameras — do you really want paparazzi at your hospital door? Do you want to be the actress’s girlfriend? Do photoshoots? Interviews?”

I looked at the lilies — the proof of their effort — then back at him.
— “I won’t be the actress’s girlfriend. I’ll be her woman. And yes, Mel has a plan. But Maya gave me control. She said I call the shots.”

For the first time, I felt myself believing the words I said.

— “I know I’ll have to make compromises,” I continued. “I’m not naïve. But if Mel insists on photos, I’ll do it — under one condition: the photo will be in my kitchen, making tomato sauce, wearing my lab coat over a ball gown. I’ll set the terms. And if it gets too crazy, Maya will bend. Not me.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow.
— “And if she doesn’t bend?”

— “She will,” I said, certain. “She chose me for my stability, for truth. I’m her anchor. And if her ship sinks, it’ll sink in Queen Anne — not in Los Angeles. We’re not playing house, fratellino. We’re building a foundation. And if the price is an extra shift and a smile for a magazine, I’ll pay it. For the future she promised me.”

He studied me for a long moment, eyes softening, the corners of his mouth finally curling into a hesitant smile.

— “All right,” he said quietly. “I trust your diagnosis, Dottoressa. But if Mel ever tries to give you a Hollywood haircut, you call me. I’ll be your Italian bodyguard.”

I laughed, hugging him tightly.
— “Deal. Now help me find a mortgage for Queen Anne. I’ve got work to do.”

He chuckled, shaking his head.
And there, surrounded by flowers, coffee, and spreadsheets, I realized that happiness might just be a kind of organized chaos — the kind worth keeping.

Chapter Text

POV: Mel Blake

I was sitting in my conference room in Los Angeles, and this time, it wasn’t just me.
On the giant screen were three Marvel executives — the kind with the severity of people who controlled a billion-dollar empire. Maya sat beside me, dressed in civilian clothes but with the aura of a heroine about to face a dismissal.
I was sweating. My salary raise depended on this meeting — and so did Maya’s future.

The CEO started speaking, his voice polished and cold.
— “Miss Bishop, we are pleased with your return to set and your professionalism. However, your ‘personal leave’ has created uncontrollable buzz. Social media is in turmoil. The paparazzi are camping outside. And people are questioning the nature of your ‘intimate relationship’ with Dr. DeLuca.”

The marketing executive chimed in.
— “We’ve invested hundreds of millions of dollars in your image, Maya. Your character is a symbol of strength and integrity. We can’t allow gossip about your personal life to become a distraction or, worse, tarnish your image. It’s in your contract: you must maintain good visibility and exemplary conduct.”

I looked at Maya.
She was calm — which was a good sign. The chaos in Sardinia had given her an iron anchor.

— “They want to know if you’re going to go public about Dr. DeLuca,” I explained in a neutral tone, trying to mediate the tension. “The speculation is hurting our marketing narrative. We need an official statement, and it has to be strong and positive.”

Maya looked straight at the screen, ignoring the power and money staring back at her.
Her voice was steady, unwavering.

— “I understand the concern about my contract and my image. And yes, my conduct will be exemplary. My conduct is to love Dr. DeLuca,” she declared. “I’m not ‘coming out’ about Carina. She’s my life. I’m not going to hide her anymore. My relationship isn’t gossip — it’s my future. And if Marvel wants visibility, I’ll give visibility. But on my terms.”

The Marvel CEO narrowed his eyes.
— “And what are your terms, Miss Bishop?”

— “First, no lies. The ‘happy single’ narrative is dead. My relationship with Carina will be treated with respect and seriousness. If we appear in public, it will be as a stable couple, not as two lovers in hiding. Second, the focus is the love story, not the scandal. Dr. DeLuca isn’t an actress; her privacy is a priority. Any public appearance she makes will be with her full consent and managed with maximum discretion.”

I jumped in quickly, before Marvel could protest the lack of control.
— “I’m handling that. The narrative will be ‘The Love That Saved the Heroine.’ It’s a story of sacrifice and redemption. It’s positive, it’s strong, and it resonates with today’s audience that values authenticity.”

The finance executive cleared his throat.
— “Miss Blake, Marvel is willing to double your salary to manage this situation and ensure the transition is smooth and profitable. You’ll become Miss Bishop’s personal crisis and image manager.”

I nodded, adrenaline flooding me.
— “Accepted. And my first action is to ensure stability. For that, I have a suggestion for both you and Maya: I need to meet Dr. DeLuca in person.”

I turned to Maya.
— “Maya, have you talked to Carina about this? About the inevitability of the media, about the price of loving a celebrity? We need to know if she’s aware and comfortable with the level of exposure we’ll need to create. She’s anonymous now, but that won’t last.”

Maya nodded, her expression softening at the mention of Carina.
— “I talked to her, Mel. She knows what it means. She knows it’s the price, but she gave me one condition: she calls the shots in our personal life. Your ‘stylist’ is vetoed, the ‘Vogue wedding’ is optional, and our house in Queen Anne will be a bunker of privacy. She’ll make concessions, but the control is hers. I’m fine with that. In fact, I demand it. It’s what keeps her grounded.”

The Marvel CEO looked resigned.
— “Very well. We accept the conditions. But you must assure us that Dr. DeLuca will be an asset, not a liability. Miss Blake, fly to Seattle. Meet the doctor. Make sure she understands the game. And Miss Bishop, get back to set. Your hero status is on the line.”

I ended the call with Marvel and looked at Maya.
The battlefield had shifted.
It was no longer Sardinia — it was Seattle.

And my next opponent was an Italian heart surgeon with a fierce sense of privacy and a temperament that could rival my client’s.

— “I’m going to Seattle,” I declared. “And I’m going to make sure your Dottoressa understands that the price of loving a superhero is becoming the superhero of her own life. And she’ll have to be impeccable.”

⸻

POV: Maya Bishop

I walked out of the Marvel conference room with the adrenaline of a runaway car.
My salary had increased, Mel had doubled her bet, and Marvel had accepted Carina.
On one hand, I had won my freedom and my future.
On the other, I had just sold my Dottoressa’s privacy in exchange for a billion-dollar contract.

I rushed into my improvised home office and called Andy, barely able to breathe.
— “Andy! Andy! I freaked out! I freaked out, and Mel’s going to kill me! No, Carina’s going to kill me! Oh my God, Andy, Carina’s going to kill me!”

— “Calm down, May! What happened? Did Marvel hate the Queen Anne plan?” Andy asked, voice calm but with a trace of relief for not being in that room.

— “No! They loved it! They doubled Mel’s salary and gave me permission to date Carina — publicly! But I had to agree to let Mel go to Seattle! I just handed our relationship to the media!”

I started pacing in circles, clutching my hair.
— “I’m an idiot! I’m selfish! I swore I’d protect her privacy, and the first thing I do is invite Mel to invade her territory with cameras and designers! Institutionalize me, Andy! Psychiatric meds, now! I’ve lost my mind!”

— “Stop, May. Breathe. Repeat the part where you gave Carina full control.”

— “I did! I told Marvel she calls the shots! That she’s not using a stylist, that the wedding’s going to be at city hall! But what if she regrets it? What if she looks at Mel, at all the Hollywood glitter, and decides it’s too much? She’s a heart surgeon, Andy. She values quiet, peace, silence!”

I froze, eyes wide with genuine terror.
— “She’s going to come here and kill me, Andy! She’s going to use her scalpel! She’ll find me here, in this room, cut my chest open, and perform an autopsy just to prove I’m an incurable idiot!”

Andy laughed — loud, tired, and amused.
— “May, no one’s taking your heart out. Carina isn’t a killer. She’s a romantic desperate for stability. She won’t kill you; she’ll give you a very Italian scolding and make you buy a sofa she likes. She’s happy you’re fighting for her. Her fear is what keeps you honest.”

— “But Mel’s going there! You know Mel! She’s going to try to turn Andrew’s clinic into a photo studio! What’s Carina going to do when Mel tries to put her in an Italian ball gown?”

— “She’s going to say no. And Mel, for two million reasons, will obey. Remember, Mel’s biggest challenge now is controlling Carina. You’re safe. Carina runs your relationship. Mel runs your image. It’s a fair partnership.”

I dropped into my chair, trying to process the chaos.
— “I’m the dumbest superhero in the world. I should be the Master of Logistics. Instead, I’m ‘the woman who sold her girlfriend to Vogue.’”

— “You’re the woman who secured her ‘Forever’ — and a two-million-dollar sofa in Queen Anne,” Andy said with a chuckle. “Relax. I’m sending flowers to Mel’s office in your name — white lilies, to seal the partnership. Now go to set. Act. And call Carina. Be honest. Tell her your agent’s coming, but she’s the shield and the boss.”

I took a deep breath, feeling the panic fade. Andy was right.
I needed to call Carina.
The only thing that could save me from having my heart surgically removed in my living room was my honesty.

— “All right,” I said, calmer. “I’ll call her at lunch. I’ll be my own crisis agent. And Andy? If Mel sends a stylist to Seattle, tell Carina to lock him in the olive oil cabinet.”

— “Gladly, May. Now go be a hero.”

Chapter Text

P.O.V Maya

I was in my trailer, exhausted after a full day of pretending to save the world with controlled explosions and dramatic monologues. The Los Angeles sun was setting, and my only motivation was to call Carina before guilt and panic consumed me.

I sat back in my chair, grabbed my phone, and dialed her number, mentally counting down to the inevitable Italian explosion.

She answered on the third ring, her image filling my screen — standing in Andrew’s kitchen, chopping garlic, hair in a messy bun, wearing her infamous hospital sweatshirt. She was perfect.

— Ciao, amore! You called at the perfect time. I’m cutting garlic, she said, smiling.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. I had to start with charm.

— Dottoressa, how’s your mood today? More sinusoidal or more chaotic? I asked, using our little code.

— More sinusoidal. Long day in the OR, but I’m cooking, so I’m zen. And you, Captain? Saved the world today?

— I did. But I’m having withdrawal symptoms and need an urgent check-up. Have I told you that you’re beautiful and that I love you?

She smiled, and the tension eased a little.

— No, you haven’t yet, but I’ll take the dose. Go on, Maya.

— You’re absolutely beautiful. And I love you — more than my next Vogue cover, I declared, setting up the emotional battlefield.

Her smile faded slightly, head tilting, eyes narrowing.

— That’s a very specific declaration, Maya. What does Vogue have to do with our Facetime?

I knew it was time. I couldn’t delay any longer.

— Okay. Hold the garlic. I had a meeting with Marvel and Mel today. And things got… big, I began, speaking fast. I secured the deal that I’ll finish the movie and then move to Seattle. They agreed that we’ll be together publicly. They accepted that you’re my priority and that the “happiness factor” is done.

I paused, biting my lip.

— But… to sell the ‘sacrifice for love’ narrative and stabilize my contract, Mel doubled my salary to manage the transition. And her plan involves… her coming to Seattle. She wants to meet you. She wants to make sure our life is “flawless” for the media, even if we don’t want that.

I closed my eyes.

— I tried to protect you. I swear I told her you call the shots — that nothing happens without your permission, and that she’s banned from hiring you a stylist. But the truth is: Mel is coming to Seattle. She wants to meet you. And she wants to discuss the logistics of our life, Carina.

There was a long silence. The only sounds were my breathing and the boiling water in Seattle.

— The Agent of Love Logistics is coming, she finally said, her voice calm but edged with danger. I thought you said I call the shots.

— And you do! I’m your shield! I’m your captain! But Mel needs proof of life. She needs to see you won’t destroy her if she tries to plan our vacations. I need you on my team, amore. You’re the only one who can control her.

Carina nodded slowly, processing, then shifted to something that seemed to bother her even more.

— About the logistics, Maya. The Queen Anne. I know you have money. A lot of money. But I’m not giving up paying my share of the house. I’ll buy our home with my money, from my shifts, from my work. I won’t accept your money for our nest. I love you, but our home will be a partnership, not a Hollywood gift. I need my financial independence in this. Do you understand me?

I smiled, warmth and pride washing over me. Carina was my anchor and my partner.

— I understand you perfectly, Dottoressa. And I love you for it. I’ll send you the mortgage proposals tonight. The house will be ours. Now, about Mel: I need you to promise not to kill her, amore. Just intimidate her — for the love I have for you.

She smiled, the kind of smile that meant she was already plotting revenge.

— Deal, Maya. Now go to bed. And tell Mel to bring good olive oil. She’s going to need it.

⸻

POV: Carina

I hung up the video call, my body trembling slightly — not with desire, but with cold, rational panic. I looked at the garlic I’d been chopping; it slipped off the board. I tossed the knife and the garlic aside. I was in crisis.

I turned — and there was Andrew, lying on our tiny sofa, head on a pillow, smirking like he’d absorbed every word of my conversation.

— Ooh, the Agent of Love Logistics is coming, he sang, mocking Maya’s voice with a terrible Hollywood accent. And she’s going to talk about the logistics of your life.

I glared at him, patience evaporating.

— It’s not funny, Andrew! She’s coming! Mel! The woman who turns lives into reality shows! And she’s invading Seattle!

I started pacing the small living room, anxiety flooding me.

— But the worst part, Andrew — the worst part is the logistics, I said, stopping abruptly and clutching my head.

— Okay, Maya hasn’t even used the word “girlfriend,” I whispered, the realization hitting me like a punch. Think about it, fratellino! She’s called me “amore,” “Dottoressa,” “my life,” “my partner”… but she hasn’t asked me to be her girlfriend! And I’m already halfway into a publicity contract, a Marvel image strategy, and a house in Queen Anne that will take me a hundred years to pay off!

I gestured wildly.

— No one asked anyone anything! It’s like we’re in a competition to plan the future faster! We haven’t even had a normal date! Our “relationship” is based on emergency sex in Sardinia and Facetime therapy! We don’t have a title, but we have a mortgage!

Andrew sat up, his smirk gone. He understood the gravity of my panic.

— You’re right, Carina. It’s all moving too fast. It’s the Hollywood momentum, and you’re being dragged along. You said she’s your anchor, but she’s a jet engine. And it looks like you’re about to marry her and have kids, and she hasn’t even used the word “official.”

— And what if she regrets it? What if it was just the heat of Sardinia? What if Mel shows up here and says, “Sure, you’re the doctor friend, but the real girlfriend is the blonde actress Maya was dating in LA”?

The desperation was real. I didn’t care about titles, but the weight of public and financial commitment required a solid base.

Andrew stood and put his hands on my shoulders.

— Listen to me. Forget Marvel. Think about Maya. The woman who gave you control. The woman who said she’d risk her career for you. The woman who doubled her agent’s salary to protect you.

— But what if it’s all a plan, Andrew? What if it’s all for the image? She’s an actress! What if she’s acting for me?

— Carina, if she were acting, she’d have bought the house herself and handed you any title you wanted just to keep you quiet. The fact that she’s giving you financial control — knowing it’ll cost her a fortune — and letting you handle Mel means she’s serious. She wants a partner, not a prop.

— But what about the media? And the photoshoots? And Mel?

Andrew smiled — that dangerous smile I knew well.

— You’re a DeLuca, Carina. You survived med school, Mom, and me. You’ll survive Mel. When she arrives, you’ll sit down, wear your most wrinkled hospital sweatshirt, and tell her: “I’m not anyone’s girlfriend. I’m Dr. DeLuca. And you’re in my hospital now. Talk mortgages, not Vogue.”

I laughed, despite the panic. Andrew was right. I needed to reclaim my authority. I wasn’t a supporting character. I was the cardiac surgeon who’d healed the superhero. And I would call the shots.

— Alright, I said, taking a deep breath. I’ll call Mel. And I’ll schedule the meeting at the hospital. On my turf.

⸻

I stood in the kitchen, holding my phone like a scalpel. Andrew had gone to his room, but I could still feel his tense, amused energy through the wall. I had two enemies to face: panic and Maya’s agent. I decided to start with a friend.

I called Teddy Altman — the cardiologist who had treated Maya for a long time and, crucially, the only person in Seattle who fully understood the complexity of her case — medically and emotionally.

— Teddy, it’s me, Carina. Sorry for calling so late.

— Carina! No problem. I heard you’re back from your “sick cousin,” and that the “treatment” was extremely effective, Teddy teased, laughter in her voice. Andrew told me all the hilarious details of your last teleconsultation.

— Perfect. My brother’s a paparazzo at heart, I sighed. Teddy, I’m calling for two reasons. One: Maya gave me full control of her case — medical and personal. You’re out, I’m in. I just need formal confirmation and any details I might have missed.

— Confirmed. I released her. You’re her only doctor now, Carina. You know her heart better than anyone. I sent you a full summary. No secrets, no more anxiety. I trust you.

— Thank you, I said, feeling a wave of relief. That was stability. And two: Hollywood chaos is coming. Mel Blake is flying to Seattle to “manage the transition.” I’m about to marry the movie star, and I don’t even have the title of girlfriend. I’m about to enter a public image contract without a formal title. What do you think?

Teddy paused, her tone turning serious.

— I think that’s perfectly Maya. She doesn’t do anything halfway. If she’s given you control and her future, she’s serious. But Carina — don’t let Mel steamroll you. She’ll do whatever it takes for the contract. If you don’t like photos, say no. Protect your heart. You deserve this happiness.

— I’ll protect it. Thank you, Teddy.

With Teddy’s medical and emotional backing, I was ready. I closed my mortgage spreadsheets and dialed my next target.

⸻

Carina vs. Mel: The Battle of Seattle

I called Mel on her professional emergency line — no introductions. I didn’t need charm; I needed protocol.

— Mel Blake. This is Dr. Carina DeLuca.

Mel’s Hollywood voice came through, warm and polished.

— Dr. DeLuca! What a pleasure! I was just checking my flight times. I’m so excited to finally meet you and begin this wonderful new chapter in Maya’s life.

I cut the sweet talk immediately.

— Likewise, Ms. Blake. Maya informed me of your visit. I appreciate your work and your intent to protect her image. However, I want to make my conditions perfectly clear.

— Of course, Doctor. I’m here to listen. I’m the Agent of Love Logistics, she replied, with that syrupy tone that grated on my nerves.

— Perfect. Then let’s discuss logistics.

1. The Meeting Location:
— Our first meeting will not be at a café, and it will not be at my brother’s house. It will take place in my hospital conference room tomorrow at noon. It’s during my lunch hour. I want you to understand my environment and my priorities. This is my territory. No cameras. No assistants, except for those needed to take notes.

Mel hesitated.
— At the hospital? Unusual, Doctor, but acceptable.

2. The Financial Clause (The Price of Love):
— Maya told me about Queen Anne. And your intent for her to “gift” the house. You will stop that immediately. The house will be bought with a mortgage under both our names. I’ll pay my share with my work, Ms. Blake. I’m not an accessory. I’m not a Hollywood gift to Maya. If you push a “star supports doctor” narrative, I’ll cancel the mortgage. Our home is a partnership, not a movie set.

Mel sighed — the sound of reluctant respect.
— Understood. Equal 50/50 partnership. I admire your independence, Doctor. It improves the narrative.

3. The Title and Public Image:
— Now, the most important point. Maya and I are building a future. But for the media, you need a label. The truth is, we don’t have one. No one proposed anything. Our relationship isn’t casual. It’s serious, deep, and without a formal title. I’m not her “girlfriend.” I’m not a summer fling. I’m her life partner. I want you to use a term that reflects commitment — but doesn’t reduce me to a celebrity accessory.

My voice was calm, but sharp as a scalpel.

— I won’t do couple photoshoots. I won’t give interviews about my private life. And you won’t style me. My life isn’t a reality show. If an image is needed, it’ll be a photo of us in my environment — in Seattle — and I’ll be wearing my sweatshirt. That’s the price of loving your client, Ms. Blake: my privacy. You’ll sell me as her anchor. And anchors don’t take selfies.

There was a long silence. When Mel finally spoke, her tone carried something new — respect.

— Dr. DeLuca, understood. You’re not the girlfriend; you’re the Life Partner. And privacy is your currency. I can work with that. It’s more authentic. I’ll see you tomorrow at noon in your hospital. Bring strong coffee. I’ll bring my lawyers and a press confidentiality agreement. And, Doctor… by the way, I love Italy. I won’t fight the boss.

I ended the call. I was exhausted, but victorious. I didn’t have a title, but I had a plan, territory, and financial footing. Chaos was under my control. And Mel Blake was about to step into my world.

Chapter Text

POV: Maya

I was on set, rehearsing a choreographed fight scene, but my mind was thousands of miles away—in the conference room of a hospital in Seattle. My phone buzzed in my hand, Mel’s ringtone, and I knew the bomb had gone off.

I stepped away from the rehearsal, asking for five minutes. I answered, breathless.

— Mel? Are you alive? Did Carina try to operate on you?

— I’m alive, Maya. And richer, Mel’s voice came through, professional but tinged with amusement. Dr. DeLuca is formidable. She’s making me come to her hospital tomorrow at noon. She told me the house will be fifty-fifty, my stylist is banned for life, and she demanded that the press refer to her as ‘Life Partner,’ not ‘girlfriend.’

I smiled, a surge of pride rising in my chest. My Dottoressa was my hero.
— I told you. She’s the best. She’s in charge. What else?

There was a significant pause on Mel’s end.
— Maya, our conversation was… interesting. She’s worried about logistics, which I get. But to be brutally honest, you do realize it sounds like Carina’s waiting for a relationship proposal, right, May?

Those words hit me like a guided missile. All the blood drained from my face. The relationship proposal.

— What? What?! I stammered, panic rising in my throat.

— Yes. She emphasized several times that you two don’t have a formal title. She’s about to sign a multimillion-dollar mortgage and face the press for you, and you haven’t asked her to be your girlfriend. She’s traditional, May. She needs an official title to feel secure amid your chaos.

I started pacing inside my trailer, chaos quickly taking over. Oh my God, Andy! I thought—but it was Mel on the phone.

— Oh my God, Mel! You’re right! I’m an idiot! I didn’t even think about that! I planned the wedding, the kids, the house… but I never asked her to be my girlfriend! I’m terrible at relationships! Actually, I’ve never had anyone besides Jack! My God!

I collapsed on the couch, my head in my hands. I had jumped from trauma straight to Barolo wine, skipping the ‘Will you be my girl?’ phase entirely.

— I’m the worst girlfriend in the world! How could I plan our entire life and forget the basics? What if she changes her mind? What if she tells me it’s too late? She’s about to sign a mortgage and thinks I’m a kid playing house!

— She thinks you love her. But she needs confirmation, Maya. Carina isn’t a movie star; she’s a woman who needs certainty. And that ‘Life Partner’ title she demanded? It’s basically code for ‘Why haven’t you asked me to be your girlfriend yet?’

I stood up. The calm of Sardinia was gone, replaced by the urgency of a new mission.

— What do I do? What do I do? I can’t fly to Seattle right now—I have a fight scene against a green monster! Am I supposed to ask her out over FaceTime? That’s ridiculous!

— No. That’s Maya Bishop, Mel replied, her tone shifting from agent to relationship counselor. You’re going to do it your way. But you have to do something before I meet her tomorrow. She needs to know you’re serious—not just about mortgages, but about her.

I looked at my reflection. I’d saved the world on set, but I was about to lose my real world over a communication failure.

— I’m calling her now. I’m going to fix this. And Mel, if you screw this up, I swear your salary raise won’t cover the plastic surgery you’ll need. Got it?

— Got it, hero. Act fast. And buy flowers. Real ones. Not a garden I send on your behalf.

I hung up and immediately called Carina, my heart beating faster than it had in Sardinia. I wasn’t about to lose my life partner over a single word. I had a long-overdue question to ask—and it was going to be epic.

I hung up the phone with Mel, my heart racing in wild tachycardia. The green monster on set was nothing compared to Dr. Carina DeLuca—angry, waiting for a relationship proposal, and about to finalize a mortgage. The panic of realizing I had planned kids and a house without the title of girlfriend was the most severe crisis I had ever faced.

I couldn’t fly to Seattle. I couldn’t do it over FaceTime. I needed something immediate, real, and—of course—dramatic.

I ran to the corner of my trailer, grabbed my phone, and called Andy, completely ignoring the director’s calls.

— Andy! I need you! Maximum crisis! Relationship proposal! Now!

— What? You already asked?

— No! That’s the problem! I forgot! Mel realized Carina doesn’t have a title and I’m an idiot! I need an emergency plan, Andy. Something that can reach Seattle in an hour!

Andy, the queen of emergency logistics, took a deep breath.
— Alright. No time for flowers or diamonds. We’re going to use your power. You’re on set, right?

— Yes! I’m in my superhero costume!

— Perfect. I need you to find the biggest, most professional camera you can. And use the Chroma Key screen. I’ll call your video contact and we’ll send a message.

— A message? Like a video? Andy, that’s too—

— It’s the best we’ve got, May! And it’s epic. You’re an actress—use your craft. Now, call me back in five minutes with the right setup. Hurry!

I ran out of the trailer, stopped the director, and without any explanation demanded the main camera and access to the green screen. Ten minutes later, I was back inside, my superhero makeup slightly smudged but my purpose crystal clear.

I called Carina—not on FaceTime, but directly on her phone. She answered immediately.

— Maya, I’m just finishing sending the mortgage papers to the broker. What happened? Did Mel already tell you I’m a tyrant?

— No. I need you to listen to me. I love you. I love our chaos, our house in Queen Anne, and the fact that you’re going to be the mother of our children. But I’m an idiot. I’m new at this. And I made a logistical mistake that could cost me everything, I confessed, my voice trembling.

— What mistake, Maya?

— I planned the wedding but not the beginning. I skipped the basics. I skipped the most important part. And I know it’s been bothering you, amore.

I took a deep breath and, ignoring the confused looks from the camera crew, activated the Chroma Key. The background transformed into a high-resolution image of the Golden Gate Bridge—a symbol of connection and crossing we had once talked about in Sardinia.

— Carina, I’m not going to ask you out over the phone. I’m going to do it the only way I know how—with drama and honesty.

I stepped back so she could see the bridge behind me and my full superhero costume. Then, I knelt.

— Dr. Carina DeLuca, I said, looking straight into the lens, my voice filled with a raw emotion not even Marvel could script. I love you. You are my anchor, my future, and the only woman I want telling me what to do for the rest of my life. I know I’m chaotic, and I skip steps.

I paused, feeling tears sting my eyes.
— I don’t know what I was thinking. I was so obsessed with forever that I forgot the now. I know we don’t have a formal title, and that it’s been bothering you. But it’s not because I didn’t want it—it’s because I didn’t know how.

— I’m here, on set, dressed to save the world—but the only salvation I need is you. So I’m asking: Will you be my girlfriend? Will you accept the official title I should’ve given you a week ago, before the mortgage? Will you be my partner, my lover, my future wife—starting with a simple ‘yes’ to our story?

I stayed kneeling, waiting. On the screen, the silence from Seattle was deafening. I braced for a scolding, a laugh, maybe even a rejection.

Then I heard her voice—not the whisper of a lover, but the firm tone of a doctor.
— Maya Bishop, she said, and I could hear the emotion choking her words. You’re insane. But yes. Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend. Now get up, amore. And use your ‘emergency logistics’ to send me a picture of that bridge. Then go save the world.

I stood, relief making my whole body tremble.
— I love you, girlfriend, I whispered.

Crisis averted. The mortgage had a title—and now, I had a girlfriend to fight for at Marvel.

Chapter Text

POV: Carina

The click of the phone echoed through the empty kitchen like a gunshot.
For a moment, I stood still, the phone still warm against my ear, my heart pounding hard enough to fill the silence. The sound was irregular but steady — the new rhythm Maya Bishop had taught me to love.

— You’re insane… — I murmured, my voice trembling, the words escaping before I even realized. It was my version of I love you, my own personal lunatic.

And then came the yes — quiet, firm, inevitable.
Yes to the chaos.
Yes to the house mortgage before the girlfriend title.
Yes to the loud and unpredictable future that, for some inexplicable reason, I wanted with every fiber of my body.

Maya, right there on set, kneeling (I hoped not on broken glass), asking me to be her girlfriend and, in the same breath, hinting at marriage.
Of course she would do that. Never one step at a time. Always all-in, always that intensity that defied every medical and emotional logic.

I took a deep breath. The smell of cold coffee on the counter brought me back to Seattle — my reality.
And there, between shallow breaths and foolish smiles, the truth settled:
I had the title.
I was her girlfriend.
Her partner.
Her future wife.

A soft laugh escaped me, spilling out like steam. I pressed my hands against the cold stone countertop and let my forehead rest on them, laughing quietly at my own luck.
Dr. DeLuca, the woman who used to run from scandals and cameras, was now officially tied to the most chaotic and fascinating star in Hollywood. And I’d called her insane before accepting everything she was.

But this title wasn’t just a romantic label — it was a pact.
Proof that, despite the chaos, our foundation was solid.
She had listened.
And, in the most explosive way possible, she had given me the clarity I asked for.

I picked up my phone again, this time to type a short, direct message, with the touch of my disciplined humor.

Carina: Now that we have a title, it’s good that you know my first official order as your girlfriend is: no gossip about us in the press for at least one week.
And no more drama until Christmas.
Amore. I love you.

I sent it and placed the phone back on the counter.
The chaos could keep roaring outside.
I would face it — as I always did.

But now, I had a certainty, a title, and an anchor.
And she was only mine.
My girlfriend.

⸻

The digital clock in my office blinked 11:58.
Two minutes until what I mentally called the most delicate surgery of the week: my meeting with Mel Blake.

I hated this situation. Dio mio, all I wanted after that phone call was a glass of wine and a full hour of silence to process the fact that I’d been asked to be someone’s girlfriend and, in a way, proposed to.
But no — the Hollywood machine never sleeps.

Mel Blake, Maya’s “personal agent” — or better, Marvel’s general in charge of containing the Bishop hurricane — was coming to see me personally.
Translation: she was coming to “manage” me.
To turn me into the ideal partner for a star.

Assolutamente no.

I am Dr. DeLuca.
The only image I care to preserve is that of my medical license.

When the door opened at exactly 12:00, Mel appeared with the air of someone who’s never late: immaculate suit, leather folder that probably cost my monthly salary, and the sharp smile of someone who sells stability to chaos.

— Dr. DeLuca — she began, with that public relations tone rehearsed down to the last syllable.

— Carina, — I corrected before she could breathe. — And you must be Mel. We don’t have much time. Let’s get straight to the point, yes?

She hesitated for a second, as if searching for the instruction manual on how to deal with irritated Italians, and sat down.
I leaned forward, elbows firm on the desk.
Time for my own damage control surgery.

— I received your emails full of words like “image strategy” and “brand coherence.”
Well — here’s my strategy. And it’s not up for negotiation.

I raised one finger, my voice as precise as a scalpel.

1. The House.
— The mortgage on the Queen Anne house. I’m glad Maya has financial security, but I’m not a luxury toy. The payment will be split equally. Half for me, half for her. No exceptions. The house is our future, not a Hollywood gift.

2. The Perks.
— You can tell all the stylists, jewelers, and car brands that we’re fine. If I need a dress, I’ll buy it myself.
I want the Maya who does the dishes, not the one who poses in a diamond necklace for a Dior campaign.

3. The Media and Privacy.
I adjusted my glasses and let my voice gain weight.
— I’m a cardiovascular surgeon. My patients’ trust depends on my discretion. Therefore: no interviews about our personal life, no posed photos, no “honest” documentaries about the “DeLuca-Bishop romance.”
If a paparazzo takes a picture, bad luck. But there will be no cooperation.

4. Image Control.
— And finally, if I want to take a photo — for our Instagram or our fridge — it will be my decision.
You can control chaotic Maya, but my life is mine.
I’m her anchor, and if you pull too hard… the boat sinks for both of us.

The silence that followed was almost tangible.
I saw the initial shock in Mel’s eyes give way to something closer to respect.
She slowly closed the leather folder and took a deep breath.

— Understood, Carina. — Her voice, for the first time, sounded human. — Marvel wants the stability you bring. And we’re not going to risk that. I promise. No jewelry, no interviews, and photo control is yours.

I smiled. Bene.

I stood, adjusting my white coat.

— Perfect, Mel. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an emergency bypass surgery in thirty minutes.
Oh, and tell your client I’m waiting for a photo from the set — as promised.

She blinked, unsure if I was joking. I wasn’t.

I left the office, the sound of my footsteps echoing through the hallway.
Maya’s world might be a roller coaster.
But I was the emergency brake.
And no one — not even Marvel — would dictate Dr. DeLuca’s rules.

I am Maya Bishop’s girlfriend.
And my rules apply.
Period.

⸻

POV: Maya

The heat on set was unbearable.
Fake soot clung to my skin, and the sweat — unfortunately — was real.
I’d just saved the world from a nuclear explosion (Hollywood version), but the one who really needed cardiac assistance was me.

Carina DeLuca vs. Mel Blake.
The Dottoressa versus the Machine.
Surgical precision against corporate ambition.
A duel worthy of Avengers: Civil War — domestic edition.

I’d scheduled their meeting for noon, right at the hospital’s peak hour.
Carina had agreed, which was already a miracle in itself, but her tone on the previous call…
That calm tone. Sharp. Promising silent destruction.

I grabbed my phone, ignoring ten messages from Andy, and dialed Mel’s number.

— Mel! It’s Maya! — I whispered, trying to muffle the sound of a crane being lifted behind me. — Are you alive? Did Carina stab you with a scalpel? Andy said she saw you walk into the hospital and— God, she looked like she was going to war. I need to know: who survived? Should I send flowers or a wreath?

There was a heavy sigh on the other end.
Not defeat — exhaustion.

— Maya, calm down. No one got stabbed.
— So…? — I asked, tense.
— Your… girlfriend is a force of nature. Now I understand why Marvel wants her happy. She’s your anchor, and she knows it.

My girlfriend.
The word hit my chest hard, and the panic dissolved into pure joy.

— That’s good — I laughed nervously — but tell me, did you make it out alive? Did she accept the public appearance plan? The designer dresses?

Mel let out a dry laugh.
— She didn’t accept anything. In fact, she gave me her rules, and I wrote them down as if they were Marvel’s new Constitution.
— Dio mio. Tell me the worst first.

Mel cleared her throat.

First: The House.
— She refused to let it be a gift. She said, literally: “The house is our future, not a Hollywood present.” She wants everything 50/50.
I closed my eyes, smiling.
— Of course. That’s Carina. Stubborn, independent, and perfect. Tell her the paperwork will be fixed today. Zero discussion.

Second: The Glamour.
— She banned stylists, brands, and jewelers. If she needs a dress, she’ll buy it.
— I was going to give her an emerald necklace! — I protested, half-laughing. — But fine. She’s the only person on Earth who can’t be bought with emeralds. That’s why she’s priceless.

Third: The Media and Privacy.
— That was the firmest part. She banned interviews, posed photos, and relationship documentaries.
I took a deep breath, admiring.
— She’s absolutely right. Her life is the temple. Mine’s the circus. She deserves silence.

Fourth: Image Control.
— She said she’ll only take pictures when she wants to. You can control chaotic Maya, but her life is hers.
— Perfect — I smiled. — She just saved our sanity.

There was a pause, and then Mel added softly:
— She ended the meeting saying she had a bypass surgery in thirty minutes and left a message for you.

— Oh Dio. What did she say?

— “No gossip about us in the press for a week. And no more drama until Christmas.”

I was silent for a second — and then I burst out laughing, loud enough to make the production assistant jump.
— She loves me like she’s prescribing antibiotics. With dosage and everything!

— Maya, honestly — said Mel, sighing. — She’s the best marketing move you’ve ever made.
— She’s not marketing, Mel. — My smile faded, voice steady. — She’s everything. And if anyone tries to treat her like part of a plan, I’ll sue you and Mickey Mouse.

— Understood — Mel replied, laughing. — Now go. She wants a photo from the set.

I looked at my reflection in the metallic trailer door.
Face covered in soot, costume torn — but the smile?
Clean. Genuine.

I grabbed my phone, framed the devastated scene, and took the picture.

To: Carina ❤️
“As per official girlfriend order: set photo sent.
Zero drama until Christmas. Promise.”

As I hit send, a thought cut through me like light.
She was the anchor that kept me steady in the chaos.
And I… was the lucky one who got to call her mine.

Carina DeLuca.
My anchor.
My girlfriend.
My future wife — with the most beautiful, impossible rules in the world.

Chapter Text

POV: Carina

7:30 PM – Cardiac Surgeons’ Break Room

The day had been an emotional roller coaster, and all I wanted now was the silence of home. But I couldn’t go home yet. I needed therapy — and my therapy came in the form of red wine and two equally unhinged friends: Teddy Altman, Chief of Cardio, and Amelia Shepherd, brilliant and chaotic Chief of Neuro.

I had just finished a complex quintuple bypass — the kind of surgery that kept your hands steady and your pulse racing for hours. But the adrenaline of the OR was nothing compared to the anxiety of being officially asked out by the maddest woman in Hollywood, Maya Bishop, and then sitting through a meeting that felt less like a business arrangement and more like a deal with the Mafia — or worse, Marvel Studios.

Teddy and Amelia were already lounging in the break room when I walked in, the air thick with the smell of stale coffee and exhaustion. Teddy was flipping through a medical journal, and Amelia was doodling brain maps on a notepad.

— “Dottoressa!” Amelia looked up, grin wide, curls wild. “You missed pizza night. But Teddy said you had quite the afternoon.”

I sighed and reached for the bottle of Primitivo I kept hidden for emergencies — and this absolutely qualified. Pouring three glasses (generous for Amelia and me, moderate for Teddy), I collapsed into an armchair.

— “‘Interesting’ is what you call a high-risk surgery,” I said, raising my glass. “What I had today was a PR catastrophe waiting to happen, followed by an emotional ambush, and now I’m one sugar crash away from a breakdown.”

Teddy arched a brow, ever the pragmatic one. “You look tense even for someone who just saved a heart. Come on, spill. The proposal? Did she finally give you the title?”

I nodded, unable to stop the stupid smile tugging at my lips. “Yes. She gave me the title. Over the phone. Kneeling on set, dressed to ‘save the world,’ asking if I’d be her girlfriend before I became her wife.”

Amelia squealed, clapping her hands. “I knew it! I knew she’d make it dramatic and completely chaotic! Congratulations, Carina! You’re officially Maya Bishop’s girlfriend! That’s better than a Harper Avery!”

Teddy’s smile was softer, genuine. “I told you — the spark was there from day one. She was terrified, and you were… you. I’m not sure if I should take credit or apologize for calling you in that day to help with ‘the Maya Bishop situation.’ But honestly, I think you owe me. You got lucky, DeLuca.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “I don’t know whether to thank you or sue you, Teddy. You threw me straight into the storm. And now look at me — the soon-to-be Hollywood Girlfriend of the Year. Today, I met her agent. The Marvel Image Strategist.”

— “Oh, shit,” Amelia muttered. “The Hollywood machine. So what happened? Did she try to put you in designer scrubs?”

I handed them my phone, showing them the email I’d sent to Maya after the meeting — my “relationship contract.”
Fifty-fifty mortgage. No luxury gifts. Zero personal interviews. My full control over photos.

Teddy let out a low whistle. “You sent this? And they agreed?”

“They did,” I said, with a quiet satisfaction. “Her agent — Mel — realized I’m her anchor. They need her stable. If they try to pull me into their circus, everything sinks. End of story.”

Amelia leaned back, impressed. “You’re a genius. Forcing Maya Bishop to live like a normal person. I love this for you. But tell me the real tea, Dottoressa. Sardinia. That vacation you two took. Did that tension finally… explode?”

My cheeks burned despite being a fully grown cardiac surgeon. “Amelia!”

— “Oh, come on, Carina! You’re dating the hottest woman in Hollywood! You kept it professional for months. We’re living vicariously through you — give us something!”

Even Teddy, usually composed, nodded. “Was it good? Was it what you expected?”

I took a long sip of wine, trying to find the right words.

— “It was… a tsunami. One that wiped out all my order and logic. But it was a tsunami I welcomed.”

— “Details, DeLuca!” Amelia demanded, grinning like a teenager.

— “She’s… intense. I expected glamour, but she’s fire and chaos. Controlling her is impossible — but when I stopped trying and just felt— Dio.”
I sighed, remembering the warm sand, the sea air, her hands on me.
“It was like the world stopped, and the only sound left was our hearts beating in sync.”

Teddy laughed softly. “So the same heart that gave you so much professional trouble gave you your biggest personal reward?”

I looked at her, smiling. “Exactly. She’s messy, impulsive, impossible… but she’s also the most passionate person I’ve ever met. And in Sardinia, everything that was Maya hit me like a wave I never wanted to escape. She made me feel seen. Loved. Completely.”

Amelia clasped her hands dramatically. “Carina DeLuca, you’re making everyone in Seattle fall in love again just listening to you. Now go home, Hollywood Girlfriend. And buy a new dress — you’ve earned it.”

I raised my glass one last time. “To surviving chaos. And maybe… to embracing it.”
A smirk curved on my lips. “Because apparently, I’m Maya Bishop’s girlfriend now. And the storm? I’m ready for it.”

⸻

POV: Maya

11:45 PM – Los Angeles. The Truce of Chaos.

I sat on the tiny trailer balcony, the chaos of set finally quiet. The air still smelled like burnt metal and fake fog, but to me, it smelled like victory. I had literally saved the world — on take forty-two. More importantly, I had officially won over my stubborn, beautiful doctor.

My phone glowed in the dark. The picture Carina had asked for — a dramatic shot of the giant bridge arch — sat in my camera roll. I’d resisted the urge to call her since my meeting with Mel. I knew she needed time to decompress after that corporate circus.
But now the truce was over. I needed to hear her voice — my daily sanity check.

I hit FaceTime.
Carina answered like she always did — like she was about to perform open-heart surgery: focused, slightly annoyed, but glowing.

She appeared on screen in her Seattle apartment, hair damp, wrapped in a towel, wearing an oversized hospital sweatshirt. Wine glass in hand. My favorite version of her.

— “Hello, my girlfriend. Or should I say, my Captain?” I grinned, loving how the words felt.

She rolled her eyes fondly. “You’re sweaty and dirty. And sì, your first order as my girlfriend is: no drama. And no, you’re not my captain. I’m your emergency brake.”

— “I know, I know. I behaved today. No fights, no gossip, just heroism. Now tell me — how was Mel? I know she’s a shark in Prada. Did she try to bribe you with designer scrubs?”

Carina’s smile was small but triumphant. “Mel Blake is… professional. Ambitious. She came with Marvel-level strategy decks.” She made air quotes. “I shut her down in twelve minutes and thirty-three seconds. I set my rules, and she accepted.”

— “Oh, I heard. Mel called me — said you were implacable and terrifyingly logical. Which, in her world, means she respects and fears you.”

“Good,” she said, smug. “Because I won’t live as an accessory to ‘Maya Bishop, Movie Star.’ I’m Dr. DeLuca. Half the mortgage. No designer gifts. Absolute privacy. I signed a truce with Hollywood, and I won.”

I leaned back, heart full. “That’s why I love you. You’re the only one who refuses to be impressed by me.” I softened my tone. “But don’t make me feel bad for wanting to spoil you. I like giving you beautiful things.”

— “I know. But the most beautiful thing you gave me today was the title,” she said softly. “Now, show me that bridge photo.”

We spent ten minutes analyzing lighting angles like two nerds, drifting from a chaotic proposal to architectural critique.
That was us. Our strange kind of normal.

When her eyelids started to droop, I knew it was time to let her rest.

— “I love you, Dottoressa,” I whispered. “I miss you. I wish you were here. I’m cold and covered in fake dirt.”

She laughed. “Get a blanket, Maya. And don’t sleep in the trailer. I know you. Go to the hotel. Sleep. You have more civilians to save tomorrow.”

I smiled but didn’t hang up yet. There was one more thing I’d practiced saying all day.

— “Before I go… I learned a new Italian word today. It’s important.”

Her eyes lit up, curious. “What word, scema? You finally learned ‘wash the dishes’?”

— “No. Well, maybe later. This one’s first.” I took a breath. “Fidanzata.”

Carina froze, eyes wide, lips parting slightly. The word hung in the air — not just girlfriend, but the one you plan a life with. The promise before the ring.

— “Do you know what that means, Maya?” she whispered.

“Yeah,” I said, heart pounding. “It means a girlfriend heading into the future. A pre-fiancée. It means I’m serious, DeLuca. I know I skip steps. I know I asked you to marry me and date me in the same sentence. But I’m on one knee, even if it’s virtual, and I mean it.”

Her eyes glistened, and I felt my chest tighten. The strong, composed Dr. DeLuca — emotional, undone.

— “Yes. I know what it means, amore,” she said softly. “And you’re not the only one who’s serious. I love you, fidanzata.”

“I love you too, Carina. Now sleep. And don’t think about Mel or mortgages. Just think about me — your fidanzata.”

I stayed on the line a few seconds longer, watching her smile through the falling towel, then hung up.
For once, I didn’t feel like an actress or a hero. Just a woman who’d found something real.

The world of Maya Bishop might be built on lights and lies — but with Carina, it was made of truth, love, and very serious Italian vocabulary.

I stood, grabbing my keys. My fidanzata had ordered me not to sleep in the trailer — and I always followed her orders.

Always

Chapter Text

⸻

POV: Andy Herrera – The DeLuca-Bishop Show and Marvel

10:00 AM, The Next Day. Marvel Studios Headquarters, L.A.

The glass walls of the conference room reflected the cold Los Angeles light like a sci-fi set. The silver Marvel logo gleamed on the wall, and the air smelled of expensive coffee, anxiety, and corporate perfume.

I couldn’t get the image of Maya—covered in cinematic soot, laughing like a lovesick idiot—off my phone screen.
Her “emergency” call the night before, right after the meeting with Carina, had left me relieved, yes, but also exhausted. Managing Maya Bishop was like herding a circus cat; managing Maya in love was an entirely new category of insanity.

I, Andy Herrera—agent and best friend—sat in Marvel’s mirrored conference room facing Mel Blake.
And worse, facing the dreaded Image Crisis Management Committee — a pack of executives in suits who saw Maya more as a billion-dollar product than as a woman with a literally fragile heart who had just been chaotically asked to be someone’s girlfriend.

Mel, surprisingly, was relaxed.
Polished blonde hair, flawless blazer, the calm of someone who’d survived worse storms. She’d survived Dottoressa DeLuca.

“Let’s get to the point, Blake,” said the Senior Executive, a man wearing a watch worth more than my car.
“What the hell happened in that meeting in Seattle? We received reports that Dr. DeLuca essentially dictated the terms of how our star’s girlfriend would be managed. She rejected the image package. She refused free publicity and perks.”

Mel straightened in her chair, elegantly crossing her legs. There was a new, dangerous gleam in her eye.

“Gentlemen, with all due respect, Dr. DeLuca didn’t dictate terms. She laid the foundation for Maya Bishop’s stability — which is far more valuable than any free publicity we could’ve generated.”

I smiled internally. Go, Mel. Sell Carina’s chaos.

“Explain yourself, Blake,” the executive demanded.

“Dr. DeLuca is Maya’s anchor,” Mel said, her voice steady.
“Maya’s heart, as we all know, is an emotional time bomb. What Dr. DeLuca did was shield their relationship from Hollywood toxicity. She’s a renowned cardiovascular surgeon. Her world runs on facts, not gossip. She banned personal interviews, posed photos, and most importantly, any involvement in brand advertising.”

The executive grimaced, leaning forward.

“That’s a marketing nightmare. We had a six-figure jewelry sponsorship planned for the premiere.”

Mel was surgical, each word slicing clean through the tension:

“And what’s more valuable? Six figures, or a stable relationship that keeps our lead star sane and out of destructive headlines? She demanded total privacy — and that’s the best image strategy I’ve ever seen.”

The tension thickened. The hum of the air conditioner was the only living sound.

I decided to step in, playing my trump card:

“Look, she’s a doctor. She has patients. If she’s seen as a shallow movie-star girlfriend, her credibility goes down the drain — and Dr. DeLuca walks. And if she walks, Maya falls apart. She needs that stability to stay in the movie, to stay sane. Carina is the most effective damage control we’ve ever had.”

Mel nodded, her tone now scalpel-sharp.

“Exactly. The Dottoressa drew a hard line: her life is hers. She doesn’t accept gifts. She pays half the mortgage on the new house. She doesn’t want Hollywood money — she wants partnership. She wants Maya to be real.
And that, gentlemen, sells.
Authenticity can’t be bought — and Dr. DeLuca is forcing Maya to have it.”

“So what do we sell?” the executive barked, tapping the table. “The public wants the love story! They want the fairy tale!”

Mel arched an eyebrow, smiling like someone preparing checkmate.

“We sell the mystery. We sell exclusivity. We confirm the title — ‘girlfriend’ — and let the media lose their minds over every crumb.
We’ll keep Dr. DeLuca strictly out of the press unless she decides otherwise. That makes her rare. That makes her valuable. And it protects our main product.”

Silence thickened, everyone processing the power shift.

“So, to summarize,” the executive scoffed, “we’re agreeing to be dictated by a heart surgeon demanding a normal relationship with our star — and that’s our strategy?”

Mel didn’t even blink.

“No, sir. We’re making her a co-agent of stability. She’s a player. Not paid, but protecting our primary asset.
Maya’s in love. Maya’s happy.
And if the Dottoressa’s happy, Maya won’t break.”

Mel leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone:

“And honestly, gentlemen… after talking to her, Dr. DeLuca is far scarier and more controlling than any of us. We’re better off having her on our side.”

I leaned back in my chair, feeling that delicious shiver of unexpected victory.
Carina DeLuca wasn’t just Maya’s girlfriend; she was the X-factor the Marvel machine couldn’t buy or control.

Go, Dottoressa.
You’re in charge — and that’s the best thing Maya’s ever had.

I just hope she manages to keep things in order until Christmas, as Carina ordered.
The chaos was only beginning.
But for once, it was contained.
By an Italian surgeon.
How ironic.

⸻

POV: Mel Blake – The Positive Image Game

10:45 AM, Marvel Studios Headquarters, L.A.

The silence in the conference room thickened after my statement. The Crisis Management Committee — PR executives, Marketing heads, and the Senior Executive — stared at me with a mix of skepticism and reluctant hope.

They had swallowed the pill that “shielding” was essential for Maya, but now came the real challenge: engagement.

Robert, the Image Executive — the most feared of them all — adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat.

“All right, Blake. Agreed. Dr. DeLuca’s stability is an asset we can’t lose. Your analysis is solid — Maya’s mental health is our most expensive product.
However… you know what happened months ago.”

Jack’s leak. The cheating scandal. The breakup drama.
That mess had created a media overdose — but it had created media.
People were saying her name. Engagement was high, even if toxic.

He leaned forward, eyes sharp as a blade.

“Now we’re cleaning up the mess. The press buzz is: ‘Where’s the media Maya? Where’s the chaos?’
The movie needs attention. We can’t give personal interviews, we can’t sell gossip… but we need headlines.
We need positive engagement, Ms. Blake.
What do you suggest?”

I nodded. I’d expected this. This was the most delicate balance of my career: honoring Carina while feeding the Machine.

“Gentlemen, we won’t feed the beast with gossip. We’ll feed it with passion,” I began, projecting my slides.

⸻

1. The Privacy Paradox: The Rare Dottoressa.

“Dr. DeLuca is demanding privacy. Perfect. Let’s turn that into an advantage.
Her absence from the media becomes the story.”

“No red-carpet photos,” I continued, “but we’ll release small, rare doses of authenticity — strictly controlled by Carina.”

I looked at Andy.

“Andy, you and Maya will post more ‘behind-the-scenes’ moments from set.
And occasionally, Carina will post something subtle on her own Instagram. Maybe a photo of a cake baked in Seattle, captioned: ‘For my fidanzata. Not late for dinner.’”

The press will go insane trying to decode it.
Control stays with her.
Subtlety becomes engagement.
The rarity of Carina’s content makes it viral — a rare internet phenomenon, not a celebrity girlfriend.

⸻

2. Image Redirection: From Star to Icon of Stability.

“Maya’s problem was chaos.
The solution is Carina — the Dottoressa, the symbol of order and medical excellence.”

“We won’t sell the romance,” I declared, “we’ll sell the social impact.”

“Since Carina doesn’t want personal interviews, we’ll use her expertise to guide Maya’s social actions.
Maya can make donations, support cardiac research foundations.”

The headline won’t be ‘Maya Bishop kisses her girlfriend’ — it’ll be ‘Maya Bishop: a philanthropic rebirth under the positive influence of her doctor partner.’

The Marketing Executive began to smile.

“Charity. Positive engagement, zero personal leaks. I like it.”

⸻

3. The Keyword Game: Fidanzata.

“The dating proposal was chaotic, but it had a stroke of genius,” I went on. “Maya used the Italian word fidanzata.
That word means more than ‘girlfriend’; it implies ‘fiancée,’ ‘future wife.’
It’s a scoop the press hasn’t realized yet.”

“Andy, make sure that in some entertainment podcast — not about her personal life, maybe about accents or behind-the-scenes stories — she lets that word slip.

‘My fidanzata said I need to…’

That’ll blow up Twitter.”

⸻

The room went quiet. I leaned forward, hands on the table, confidence radiating.

“Gentlemen, Jack’s mistake was making Maya look careless.
The Dottoressa’s strategy forces us to do the opposite.
We’ll use the romance as a silent force.”

“The movie is about her saving the world; her life will be about her being saved by the smartest, most stable woman we’ve ever met.”

“The love story becomes a redemption arc.
That generates the positive headline that doesn’t upset the Dottoressa and brings in mass appeal.”

Robert nodded slowly, turning calculation into conviction.

“Excellent, Blake. We’ve turned the ‘obstacle’ into a ‘strategy.’
From today on, Dr. DeLuca is the Silent Co-Director of Image.”

“Make sure anything involving donations or philanthropy is reviewed by Dr. DeLuca.
Her credibility is our shield.
Proceed.”

I stood, blazer sliding smoothly over my shoulders, feeling like I’d just won a war without firing a single shot.

“Understood. We’ll turn privacy into mystery, and stability into engagement.”

I picked up my folder and turned to Andy.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to check whether Mrs. Bishop has already broken one of her fidanzata’s rules.”

Andy laughed, giving me a light punch on the arm.

“You’re a genius, Mel. You saved us. Now remind me never to piss off Carina DeLuca — her list of rules is scarier than my Marvel contract.”

I smiled, walking beside her through the glass corridors of headquarters.

“Learn this, Andy.
The Dottoressa is the real power.”

And now, she’s my boss.
Unofficially…
But completely binding.

⸻

Chapter Text

POV: Dr. Carina DeLuca – The Privacy Prescription

1:15 PM, Seattle Hospital

The fluorescent lights hummed above me as I finished signing the post-op notes.
A successful triple bypass. A heartbeat stable, rhythmic, predictable. Unlike mine.

My phone vibrated on the counter.
One glance — “Mel Blake.”
Of course. The Marvel woman. The one who could sell oxygen if she branded it well enough.

I sighed, removing my gloves before answering.

“Dottoressa DeLuca,” Mel’s voice came through, smooth and dangerously polite.
“I wanted to inform you personally that your… suggestions have been fully implemented.”

“Suggestions?” I smiled faintly. “You mean rules.”

“Exactly,” she admitted, amused. “We’ve reframed them as an image strategy. Privacy is now the brand. Congratulations — you’re officially the co-director of Maya’s public life.”

I leaned against the counter, one eyebrow raised.
“I didn’t apply for that position.”

“No,” Mel said, “but you already run it. And for the record, you terrify the Crisis Committee.”

That made me laugh softly.
“Good. Fear is healthy. It protects the heart.”

She hesitated. “For both of you, I hope it keeps working. Because the next step is tricky.”

“Which is?”

“The first red-carpet appearance. You don’t have to attend — but you will be mentioned. They’ll use the word fidanzata. Subtly.”

My pulse skipped once, then settled.
Fidanzata.
Maya had said it like a promise, with the unshakable conviction of someone who meant forever.

“I don’t care what they say,” I murmured. “As long as Maya is healthy. Emotionally, and physically.”

“She is,” Mel said quickly. “Healthier, calmer, more focused. She’s been training again. And…”
Mel paused, as if debating whether to tell me.
“She keeps checking her phone between scenes. I think she misses you.”

I smiled, eyes softening.
“I miss her too. But she needs to stay grounded there. And I’ll keep her heart steady from here.”

When the call ended, I stared for a long moment at the city skyline through the window.
The world was already spinning faster than I liked — the movie, the fame, the headlines I refused to read.
But my rules stood like cardiac valves: precise, firm, and unbreakable.

My pager buzzed. Another patient.
Another heart to protect.
And far away, one heart that belonged to me.

⸻

POV: Maya Bishop – Controlled Chaos

8:30 PM, Los Angeles. Marvel Studios Training Complex.

Sweat dripped down my neck as I pushed through another rep of fight choreography.
Marvel’s stunt coordinator barked, “Again! Make it look like you’re angry, Bishop!”

If only he knew. Anger wasn’t the problem.
Missing Carina was.

After the meeting, Andy had debriefed me. “The Dottoressa owns you, Bishop,” she’d said with a grin.
“She’s basically your manager now.”

I’d laughed then. I wasn’t laughing now.

Because every rule she’d made — no press, no fake stories, no performative love — meant I couldn’t even post a picture of her hand holding mine.
And still, I respected it.
Because when Carina made rules, it wasn’t control. It was care disguised as discipline.

I threw another punch at the padded dummy.
Control. Discipline. Care.
Yeah, that sounded like her.

When training ended, I sat in the corner of the gym, scrolling my phone.
One new notification: @carinadeluca – “For my fidanzata. Not late for dinner tonight.”
A picture of a homemade pasta dish.
The caption was understated. Intimate. Dangerous.

The internet was already losing its mind in the comments.

“FIDANZATA?!?”
“Does that mean girlfriend or fiancée?!”
“I KNEW IT!!!”
“Carina DeLuca soft-launching Maya Bishop supremacy!!”

I groaned, covering my face. “Oh, Dio…”

Andy, who’d been lurking nearby, peeked over my shoulder.
“Oh, look at that. Your girlfriend just broke the internet — with carbs.”

“Kill me now.”

“Can’t. Marvel needs you alive.” She smirked. “Also, she’s brilliant. The caption’s romantic and PR-proof. You’re dating a genius.”

I smiled despite myself. “Yeah. I know.”

The phone buzzed again — a text from Carina.

Carina: Saw you liked the photo.
Carina: Don’t stay up too late. Hydrate. No adrenaline rush before bed.
Carina: And don’t forget — no interviews.
Carina: Ti amo, testarda. 💋

I typed back, grinning.

Maya: You realize you sound like a cardiology-themed warden, right?
Carina: You realize you need one.
Maya: Fair. Also… the pasta photo? Subtle. The internet’s dying.
Carina: Let them. You’re mine. That’s all they need to know.
Maya: Yes, Dottoressa. ❤️

My thumb hovered on the send button.
And for the first time in months, the chaos around me didn’t feel like a storm.
It felt like structure.
Like love, but organized by a professional.

⸻

POV: Andy Herrera

Next Morning. 7:00 AM. L.A.

I was halfway through my coffee when I opened my email.
Subject line: MEDIA ALERT – “THE FIDANZATA EFFECT.”

The attached article headline read:

“Marvel’s Newest Star and Her Italian Surgeon Fiancée: The Love Story Hollywood Can’t Touch.”

I spit coffee across my desk.

“Oh no. No, no, no—”

Mel called before I could even breathe.
“Andy,” she said, voice dry as sandpaper, “remind your favorite superhero to stay offline. We have twelve interview requests, three late-night shows begging for comment, and Vogue Italy already calling Carina a ‘modern-day Liz Taylor.’”

I groaned. “She posted one plate of pasta!”

“Yes,” Mel said. “And broke three PR embargoes simultaneously. But don’t worry — we’re spinning it as exclusivity.”

I exhaled slowly, rubbing my temples.
This was going to be a long week.
But as I opened my phone again, seeing Maya’s smiling reply under Carina’s post — a simple heart emoji — I couldn’t help but grin.

They were chaos.
But they were contained chaos.
And for once, maybe that was exactly what the Marvel machine needed.

⸻

Chapter Text

⸻

POV: Dr. Carina DeLuca

The hospital had its own sound - a symphony made of almost invisible sounds.

The rhythmic beep of the monitors, the creak of the shoes against the waxed floor, the buzz of the cold lights. Everything pulsated at a precise cadence, as if the building itself breathed through hundreds of lungs. I was used to this song; it always brought me a sense of control. But, that morning, there was a dissonant note, a vibration that did not come from the machines, but from the world beyond the windows. It was the sound of digital chaos - the sound of my life crossing borders that I never authorized.

When I entered the doctors' room, Teddy was bent over the tablet, her eyebrows raised in a mixture of tiredness and fascination. The reflection of the screen illuminated her face with bluish tones. For a moment, it seemed that the whole world fit inside that glass rectangle - and, somehow, my name too.

- If you tell me it's another interview request, I swear I give up civilization - I murmured, resting my elbows on the table.

She raised her eyes, offering the device with a gesture that mixed irony and empathy.

- It's not a request. It's a tsunami.

The headline printed on the screen had too big letters, almost screaming:

"The Fidanzata Effect: how a pasta dish redefined love in Hollywood."

For a second, I thought it was a satire. But as I read the lines, the absurd took shape: my post - that simple photo of any dinner - was now a global romantic manifesto. Fans analyzed the positioning of the light, the hidden meaning of the glass of wine, the tone of the caption. Fidanzata was among the most talked about subjects in the world. Italy and the United States disputed who would best understand what I meant.

I sighed. - Dio mio... - I rested my forehead on my hands, trying to process the irony of having studied medicine for half my life to become known for a plate of spaghetti.

Teddy gave a low laugh, the kind of laugh that carries understanding and surrender at the same time. - Congratulations, Carina. You just proved that love is more viral than any mutation.

I looked at her, kind of amazed. - I only posted it because... - the sentence died halfway. Because I missed her. Because I needed something that reminded me to breathe. Because, for a moment, I wanted the world to know that she existed - and that love, ours, did not need translation.

The rain hit the window glass with rhythmic delicacy. Outside, Seattle dissolved in gray and fog, as if the climate understood that what is real almost always happens in neutral tones. The sound of the city mixed with the internal pulsation of the hospital. And in the middle of it, I thought about how a life can fit between a post and a scalpel.

I slid my finger through the tablet screen, navigating the sea of comments. In each language, a version of the same amazement: "She said fidanzata in public." "She confirmed the romance." "She humanized the superheroine."

But among so many interpretations, one sentence caught me:

"She didn't say I love you. She said fidanzata. And the world understood."

I closed the tablet slowly. There was nothing to be corrected. In a way, it was true - each syllable of that word carried more than a statement; it was promise, structure, routine, belonging. And yet, the world had turned her into a spectacle.

Teddy watched in silence, leaning against the table. - Everything will be fine - he finally said, in a calm tone. - The internet forgets quickly.

- I don't want you to forget - I muttered, without looking up. - I just want you to shut up.

She laughed, and the sound broke the heavy air in the room. - This would be a first time in history.

- Is Maya okay? - I asked, lower than I intended.

Teddy nodded. - Mel said she spent the day in a meeting. The committee is redrawing her image.

I rolled my eyes, tired of the idea of image as a diagnosis. - Strategia d'immagine... - I murmured. - As if love needed press office.

Teddy shrugged, laughing at the corner of his mouth. - You knew you were falling in love with a Marvel actress.

- I fell in love with the woman who runs after children and forgets where she left the coffee, not the star - I replied, firmly. - Fame came as a side effect.

Silence settled again, thick, familiar. Outside, the drops turned into thin curtains of water, and the whole city seemed to breathe through the rain.

Later, when I returned home, I found the apartment dipped in dim light. The street lights filtered through the curtains, drawing golden rectangles on the floor. I sat on the couch, where the smell of wine and the previous night still hovered - a warm shadow of memory. I turned on the television without sound. In all stations, the same image: me, the dinner, the caption. Each one with a different analysis, a more extravagant title than the other. "The doctor and the superheroine." "The love that challenges Hollywood." "Clinical heart, poetic soul."

I took my cell phone, took a deep breath and typed:

Carina: "Are you surviving the chaos?"

The wait was long enough for me to doubt that the message had crossed the digital ocean. Then, finally, the read warning appeared.

Maya: "I tried. But you've become a global trend. I need a translator and intensive care."

Smile - that kind of smile that is born between laughter and resignation.

Carina: "I can only offer a stethoscope and patience."

Maya: "It works. As long as you continue to be my doctor."

I closed my eyes. The rain beat rhythmically, and for the first time in days I felt my heart slow down. Maybe the world didn't understand anything, but she did. And that was enough.

⸻

POV: Maya Bishop

Marvel studios smelled of metal and light.

Artificial lights that flashed on the ceiling, reflecting on the stunt helmets and the chrome bars of the cameras. Everything was controlled, timed, rehearsed - except real life, which insisted on escaping through the breaks.

That day, the training was exhausting. Repeated blows, rehearsed falls, burning muscles. But the real weight was outside the gym, vibrating in every notification that appeared on my cell phone.

The headlines came like punches:

"Marvel's love is real."

"The Italian doctor who conquered the American heroine."

"The Fidanzata Effect and the new face of female vulnerability."

Each sentence was a reminder that what was ours now belonged to the world.

Andy appeared at the door, holding a cup of coffee and a tired smile.

- Have you seen this? - he asked, shaking his cell phone. - CNN Italia. They created a timeline of your relationship.

I looked at her, incredulous. - A timeline?

- With dates, photos and even theories about what the dough means - he said, laughing. - They are calling you a "symbol of stable love in times of chaos."

I sighed, sitting on the rubber floor. - Great. I always wanted to be an inspirational meme.

Andy sat next to me, throwing his cell phone over his backpack. - Marvel should pay you in sedatives.

- Marvel is trying to pay me in silence - I replied. - Mel wants me to disappear from the networks for 48 hours.

- This is like asking a star to erase its own brightness.

- I just want to breathe - I confessed.

She looked at me with that mixture of friendship and irony that only Andy knew how to dose. - I understand. But you also know that she didn't mean any harm, right?

I closed my eyes. Of course I knew.

Carina never did anything out of vanity - her gesture always came from a clean, almost naive place.

She posted it because she missed it.

Because, somehow, he wanted to tell me that we were still in the same rhythm.

I took my cell phone, opened her message.

"Are you surviving the chaos?"

And I answered, because only she could make me laugh even when the whole world was collapsing.

When the conversation ended, the silence that remained was not empty - it was full of presence, of a kind of calm that only she knew how to give me at a distance.

Later, Mel appeared in the meeting room. Impeccable, with his posture of someone who never loses control.

- Bishop, we need to talk about the Fidanzata Effect.

She threw a pile of papers on the table - prints, emails, invitations.

- The world wants a statement. But you won't say anything.

- Nothing?

- Absolutely nothing - he replied. - Sometimes silence is more powerful than speech.

I looked at her, tired. - Silence is not my superpower, Mel.

- Then learn - he said, turning his back. - For her.

When she left, the office suddenly became too big.

The city outside vibrated in light and noise, but inside me there was only one insistent thought: to come back.

I opened the laptop, searched for flights to Seattle. The schedules aligned on the screen as heartbeats.

The hands hovered over the keyboard, undecided.

For a moment, I wondered what she would be doing. Maybe preparing another dinner, maybe laughing with Teddy in the hospital corridor, maybe just breathing - and this thought was enough for the air to return to my lungs.

I closed the notebook slowly. Not yet.

But the impulse was already there, silent, growing like an inevitable arrhythmia.

⸻

POV: Dr. Carina DeLuca

The hospital had a new color that morning — a blue-gray that seeped through the windows and tinged everything with Seattle’s damp calm. It was the kind of light that didn’t come from above, but from within the fog, spreading slowly until it touched surfaces with cotton-like fingers. The fluorescent lamps seemed colder, the voices quieter, the movement more contained. Everything vibrated, but at a slower rhythm, as if the entire building had reduced its own heartbeat to match mine.

On the desk, the tablet blinked notifications I refused to open. The Fidanzata Effect continued multiplying on screens, growing like a fever. Headlines in three languages, podcasts, editorials, fanarts, comments.
“The Italian doctor and her superhero.”
“The physician who redefined the anatomy of love.”
Even Time Magazine had published something — a column titled ‘When the Clinical Heart Loves in Public.’

I closed the device. A touch was enough to turn off the world. But it wasn’t that simple.

I knew what they were saying, I knew what they were imagining. And despite the exhaustion, there was a part of me that understood it all. The photo had been an innocent gesture, a breath, an intimate reminder — but love, when it’s real, always leaks. Even when you try to keep it inside the walls of a clinic, it finds cracks.

I looked at the clock. It was almost 1 PM. I had just finished surgery — a delicate case, a middle-aged patient with a compromised valve. Her heart now beat at a normal, predictable, obedient rhythm. Mine, however, had insisted on playing out of sync ever since Maya had appeared in my life.

I sat on the steel bench by the corridor window. The city stretched on the other side of the glass, with its low buildings, the pale shine of rain, the almost invisible lines of the streets. A bus passed slowly, its noise muffled by the double glass. For a moment, the landscape seemed like a watercolor painting — everything slightly dissolved, indistinct, suspended.

The pager’s buzz broke the silence. It wasn’t an emergency. It was Teddy.
The display showed a short message:

“I need to talk to you. East wing. Urgent.”

I frowned. Teddy rarely used the word urgent without reason.
I stood up, adjusted my lab coat, and walked through the corridors, passing nurses, residents, familiar faces. Everyone seemed more attentive, as if expecting something — and, curiously, avoided my gaze. The murmur of conversations quieted as I passed. Maybe it was my imagination, maybe not. The hospital had also learned to breathe under headlines.

When I reached the east wing, Teddy was standing near the end of the corridor, holding a clipboard like a shield.
— Is everything okay? — I asked, keeping my tone neutral.

She forced a smile. — Everything. Better than you think.

The answer intrigued me.
— What is it?

She took a deep breath, her gaze oscillating between the floor and something behind me.
— Just… keep your heart calm, okay?

Before I could respond, I heard a soft sound — the discreet click of automatic doors opening.
I turned.

The world stopped.

There she was.
Maya.

In a gray hoodie, simple cap, hair tied up carelessly. No makeup, no styling, no disguises. Just her.
The image was so absurd that my body took a moment to believe it.

The corridor, once full of noise, plunged into an almost reverent silence. The few nearby — nurses, residents, a paramedic — averted their eyes with the delicacy of those recognizing a moment that didn’t belong to them.

Maya smiled — a small, shy smile, as if also trying not to break the enchantment.
— Ciao, Dottoressa, — she said softly, the Italian accent carefully pronounced. — I needed a second opinion… on my heart.

The air left my lungs in a silent laugh.
— Maya… Dio mio… — I walked toward her, the sound of my steps echoing in the empty corridor. — What are you doing here?

— I begged for a day off — she replied, opening her arms in a gesture of confession. — Mel thinks I went on a spiritual retreat. Andy covered me. And… — she breathed deeply, eyes shining with exhaustion and relief — I just needed to see you.

Behind us, Teddy was already retreating discreetly, muttering something like “I saw nothing, I know nothing.”

For a few seconds, we just looked at each other. Time seemed suspended, caught between the distant sound of monitors and synchronized breathing.
Her presence was almost physical — dense, warm, alive. It was as if the air around us had changed density, as if the entire hospital leaned slightly toward the side she was on.

— You should have warned me — I finally said, though my voice trembled.

— And miss your surprised face? Never. — Her smile widened, lazy, almost childish. — Besides, I needed to see if you still exist outside the news.

I couldn’t help laughing. The sound came mixed with relief.
— Come with me. Before anyone realizes the superhero has invaded the hospital.

Guiding her through secondary corridors, I passed a service door and climbed a narrow stair to the top floor — the technical terrace where the doctors’ indoor garden was. Almost no one went there. The air was fresh, the floor covered by a mosaic of moss and cold-resistant flowers.

When we stepped out, Maya paused for a moment, taking a deep breath.
— I had forgotten how the air here smells different.

— The rain smells like home — I replied.

She turned, eyes fixed on me. — And you smell like calm.

The phrase dismantled me in a way only she could.

We sat on the wooden bench, side by side, watching the drops fall on the translucent glass of the dome above.
— So… — I began, trying to regain composure — you fled Los Angeles in the middle of a global hashtag crisis just to see me?

— I needed to remember what is real — she said, resting her elbows on her knees. — Since the mass post, the world talks about us as if we were a series. I needed to see you to remember that we are flesh and breath.

I looked at her hands — the blue veins beneath the skin, the long fingers, the nervous thumb movement. The same body the world saw as fiction, but before me, it was simply human.

— I have something to show you — I murmured. — After the shift.

— What?

— The house.

She looked at me, confused.

— Queen Anne. — I smiled faintly. — It’s ready for a visit.

For a moment, her gaze softened. The idea seemed to pass through her with the same force it had passed through me weeks ago, when we signed the first papers.

— La nostra casa? — she asked, almost childlike.

I nodded. — La nostra casa.

We stayed there for a few more minutes, until the hospital radio sounded an emergency call and the spell broke.
I stood slowly. — I need to go downstairs. But don’t leave. Wait for me.

— I always wait — she replied.

As I entered the elevator, I looked back one last time. Maya was still there, sitting under the fine rain, the hoodie darkened by moisture, face turned toward the horizon.

And it was at that moment I realized: the chaos of the world couldn’t reach her there.
Nor me.
Not in that patch of gray sky where love breathed in peace.