Episode five-The Warning in Her Chest
1303 Words
Lucía
Lucía told herself it had meant nothing.
She told herself that all night, all morning, all through the Sunday bus ride to work, where the faint stench of old cigarettes clung to her sweater and the city sunlight glared off windows like an accusation.
It meant nothing.
So what if Valentina Moretti had backed her into a kitchen wall and looked at her like she was something rare? That kind of look meant everything to people like Valentina—and nothing at all the second they turned around.
Lucía had seen it before. She’d seen what happened when people like her got caught in the orbit of the powerful. One wrong move, one misplaced feeling, and you became a story someone else told when it was convenient.
She had no interest in being a story.
Still, she hadn’t slept.
And worse—she’d seen that black Maserati again.
Not close. Just… in the neighborhood.
She’d looked out the window of her apartment that morning, clutching her coffee mug with trembling fingers, and there it was—parked across the street, engine idling like a beast waiting to be called.
It didn’t stay long. Maybe ten minutes.
But long enough to twist something in her stomach.
Valentina Moretti had found out her name.
Lucía didn’t know how, and she didn’t want to know how.
She just wanted to forget.
But her body betrayed her. Every time she closed her eyes, she remembered the heat of Valentina’s gaze. The feel of her voice, low and smooth as velvet: “Tell me your name.”
Lucía had never wanted to say her name so badly.
And she had never hated herself more for it.
The restaurant where she worked on weekdays was tucked between a dry cleaner and a pawn shop, a family-owned place that barely scraped by but always smelled like home.
Lucía was grateful for it. It was quiet, warm. Predictable. The chef, Mrs. Elena always gave her a bowl of soup to take home at the end of the shift. No one there knew who Valentina Moretti was, and Lucía liked it that way.
But that afternoon, everything felt off.
She burned her hand, reaching for a pot.
Dropped a stack of cutlery.
Forgot to ring in a table order and got a scolding from the head waiter.
“You okay today?” Elena asked, brow furrowed as she handed Lucía a cold compress.
“I’m fine,” Lucía lied, biting the inside of her cheek.
Elena looked at her like she didn’t believe a word, but didn’t press. “Take five.”
Lucía nodded and ducked out the back.
She sat on the concrete steps behind the restaurant, head in her hands, the cold compress forgotten in her lap. The city hummed around her—sirens in the distance, the low thump of music from a passing car, someone shouting on the next street above.
And still, she felt that phantom presence.
As if Valentina had left something behind.
Her scent. Her shadow.
Her mark.
Lucía wrapped her arms around her knees and stared at a crack in the pavement.
She hated this. Hated how fast it had happened.
She wasn’t the kind of girl who got swept up in things. She kept her head down, worked her shifts, sent money to her mom back home in Puebla. She didn’t dream about rich girls in silk suits and killer heels who made her feel seen and hunted all at once.
And yet, her skin still remembered the heat of Valentina’s breath against it.
Her mouth still tingled from that almost-kiss.
She let out a shaky breath and dragged her fingers through her curls.
This was nothing. A one-time encounter.
It would pass.
But it didn’t pass.
That night, someone sent flowers to the restaurant.
A single black box, delivered by courier. No name on the outside.
Elena called her over with a bemused look. “These are for you.”
Lucía frowned. “That can’t be right.”
But the card said her name.
In perfect, expensive handwriting.
Lucía—
You left too soon.
—V.
Her breath caught.
The world seemed to tilt.
The flowers were white camellias. Fragrant. Impossibly fresh.
And chilling.
“Elena,” Lucía said, her voice low. “Can you throw these out for me?”
Elena blinked. “Are you sure? They’re beautiful—”
“I don’t want them.”
Lucía turned and walked away before her boss could ask more questions.
Her hands were shaking.
Valentina had crossed a line.
It wasn’t just curiosity now—it was pursuit.
And Lucía had no idea what to do about it.
By the time her shift ended, the box of flowers was gone, but the feeling remained.
She walked home fast, keys clutched tight between her fingers. Her apartment building loomed ahead, quiet and cracked at the edges, the same way everything in Westbrook looked after dark.
She paused at the steps.
There was a shape leaning against the railing.
Tall. Familiar.
Lucía’s heart slammed against her ribs.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, her voice sharp.
Valentina turned, eyes dark in the streetlight. “And yet, here I am.”
Lucía clenched her jaw. “Are you following me?”
Valentina stepped forward, hands raised in mock surrender. “I’m here to apologize.”
She looked impossibly put together—black slacks, an ivory button-down, a coat slung over her shoulders like a cape. She smelled like expensive leather and danger.
Lucía took a step back.
“I’m serious,” Valentina said softly. “About the flowers. The car. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Well, you did.” Lucía crossed her arms. “You can’t just show up in people’s neighborhoods like you own them.”
“I don’t.” Valentina’s voice dipped. “I’m trying not to want to.”
Lucía swallowed hard.
The tension between them crackled.
“I thought I made myself clear,” she said, but the words felt thin.
“You did.” Valentina tilted her head. “But I’m stubborn.”
“I’m not something you can chase for sport, Valentina. I’m not a challenge. I’m a person.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Valentina stepped closer.
Lucía didn’t move.
“I don’t want to scare you,” Valentina said again, softer now. “I just… I haven’t stopped thinking about you. Since that night. Since that moment.”
Lucía shook her head. “You barely know me.”
“I want to.”
Lucía exhaled slowly. “Why?”
Valentina didn’t answer right away.
When she did, her voice was almost a whisper.
“Because you make me feel something real. Something I can’t control.”
Lucía’s stomach flipped.
She hated how much she wanted to believe that.
She hated how true it felt, deep in her bones.
But she couldn’t afford to be naive.
“I can’t afford to be a mistake for you,” she said.
Valentina flinched. Just barely. But it was real.
“You wouldn’t be,” she said.
“You can’t know that.”
They stood in silence, the wind tugging at Lucía’s coat, the night pressing in around them.
“You should go,” she said finally.
Valentina nodded. “If I do… will you still think about me?”
Lucía didn’t answer.
She didn’t have to.
Valentina smiled—a slow, almost-sad thing—and turned away.
Lucía watched her go.
And only when the taillights disappeared did she let herself sink down onto the steps, knees weak, heart trembling.
She pressed her face into her hands and tried to breathe.
Whatever this was—it wasn’t over.
And she didn’t know whether that scared her more…
Or thrilled her to death.
- Writer
