Sara Ikkari Rodriguez
The car door shut with a soft thud.
And instantly, the air inside Matio’s sleek black sedan felt tighter than the gown hugging my ribs. The driver glanced at us through the rearview mirror, then wisely turned away.
No music.
No engine humming yet.
Just… silence.
Matio slid into the seat beside me, his jaw locked, his shoulders rigid beneath his suit. He gave a short nod to the driver.
“Home,” he said.
That was it.
One word.
The car pulled away from the gala lights, and the darkness outside swallowed us whole.
The ride home from the gala felt heavier than the whole night combined.
Matio hadn’t spoken a single word since we left.
Not one.
I kept replaying the moment I saw that man in the crowd—
the same frame,
the same posture,
the same half-smile I’d s
