Helen didn't get the reaction she wanted. A new idea flashed in her eyes. "If it weren't for Mateo, I don't even know how swollen my ankle would've gotten. Since we're all here, why don't we have dinner together? Consider it my way of saying thanks!"

Her tone was bright, cheerful—a sharp contrast to Yara's silence.

No one asked Yara if she wanted to stay. The decision was already made for her.

When dinner was finally served, she took her seat at the table and immediately noticed—every dish was spicy. Helen's favorite.

She wasn't surprised.

She had once told Benjamin and Milada, in passing, that her stomach couldn't handle spicy food. Their response? "Stop being so dramatic."

Later, when she was with Mateo, he had always been careful with her food. He even learned to cook dishes that wouldn't upset her stomach.

But tonight, though he sat right beside her, he never even glanced her way. His attention was fixed entirely on Helen. At the slightest movement, he rushed to pass her a napkin, to serve her food.

Yara suddenly remembered—

How, back when Mateo came to the Medici residence for her, his gaze would always drift toward Helen.

How, on Helen's birthday, he'd casually ask about her favorite things, as if it were just a passing thought.

How, whenever Helen fell ill, he'd suddenly have urgent business to attend to.

A bitter smile tugged at Yara's lips.

It had always been so obvious. How had she only seen it now?

But no matter how much Mateo loved Helen, he had no right to use Yara as a pawn. His deception—giving up his entire life just for Helen's sake—hurt far worse than Steven's outright rejection.

Dinner ended. She barely touched her food.

The drive back was silent.

She was thinking about changing her name and cutting ties for good. He, most likely, was still lost in the warmth of his time with Helen.

Finally, Yara broke the silence. "I'm not going home. I need to go somewhere else."

Mateo snapped out of his thoughts, turning to her. His voice was gentle. "Where do you need to go? I'll come with you."

"No need," she replied, shaking her head.

But he reached for her hand, firm. "I can't let you go alone."

She didn't argue. Just typed the address into the GPS and let him drive.

The road was quiet. Before long, they neared their destination.

Then—his phone rang.

The moment he answered, Milada's voice cut through. "Mateo, Helen's wound is infected. She has a fever. Can you take her to the hospital?"

"I'll be right there!"

He immediately moved to turn the car around but hesitated, glancing at Yara.

"Yara, I..."

He struggled for words, torn. But before he could finish, she beat him to it.

"Go ahead. I can walk the rest of the way."

Without waiting for a response, she pushed open the door and stepped out.

He watched for a second. Then, his concern for Helen won out. He restarted the car and sped off.

Yara stood there, staring at the fading taillights, swallowing the bitterness rising in her chest.

'Mateo... if you had just driven a little farther...

'You would've seen my destination was the courthouse.

'You would've realized I was erasing myself from this life.

'But you didn't—because you never cared.'

The process was swift. Once it was done, Yara took a cab back to the house.

Not long after, Mateo showed up, a box of cheese tarts in hand, his face full of apology.

"Yara, you'll be my wife soon. That means Helen will be family too, so of course I'll take extra care of her. Don't misunderstand—I've chased after you for so many years. You should know you're the only one in my heart."

Yara didn't know how he could lie so effortlessly.

That bakery was in South Belgrave, halfway across the city. Their cheese tarts were famous—so popular that people waited in line for hours just to get a box.

And Mateo had gone through all that trouble.

Not for her.

For Helen.

Yara was exhausted. She didn't have the energy to play along anymore.

Shaking her head, she turned down his attempt at reconciliation for the first time. "I'm not feeling well. I'm going to rest."

Without waiting for his reaction, she headed straight to her room.

Mateo hesitated. She was obviously upset, but he didn't think much of it. He figured she was still sulking about him leaving for Helen earlier.

So, to make it up to her, he cleared his schedule and took her out—candlelit dinner, luxury shopping, and finally, a movie.

They had just settled into their seats when a group of girls walked in.

Right at the center was Helen.

Mateo's expression didn't change, but Yara noticed how distracted he got.

His gaze kept drifting toward Helen.

By the time the movie was halfway through, Yara was sure he hadn't absorbed a single scene.

She suddenly called his name.

Mateo blinked, snapping out of his daze. "What is it, Yara?"

"I'm not feeling well. Let's go."

Her voice was calm, like she truly just wanted to leave.

Mateo hesitated, sneaking one last glance at Helen. But in the end, he got up and left with Yara.

Just as they stepped into the lobby—chaos erupted.

Panicked voices. A stampede toward the exits.

"Fire! The theater's on fire!"

Mateo froze. His face went pale.

Then, all at once, he turned, ready to charge back inside—only to see Helen's group rushing out.

He immediately blocked their path, panic bleeding into his voice. "Where's Helen?!"

The girls exchanged uneasy glances, their faces draining of color as realization sank in. One of them stammered,

"H-Helen... I don't think she made it out yet..."

Mateo's breath hitched. Fury ignited in his eyes, scorching away all reason. "I told you to take care of her!"

Without another word, he spun around and sprinted toward the burning theater.

He hadn't made it far before his driver intercepted him. "Mr. Lopez, the fire's too intense! The rescue team is on their way—"

"Get out of my way!" Mateo snarled, shoving past him.

Ignoring the screams, the warnings, the hands reaching to stop him—

He ran straight into the flames.

The rescue team barely arrived before Mateo stumbled out—bloody, wrecked, and cradling an unconscious Helen like she was the most precious thing in the world.

He laid her on the stretcher with unbearable gentleness, not even collapsing until he was sure she was okay.

That's when everyone saw the wounds on his back.

Yara's eyes burned, but not out of pity. No, it was something else—something that dragged her straight into the past.

Mateo had chased after her for ages. And yeah, she'd noticed. She wasn't blind. But back then, she'd been too wrapped up in waiting for Steven to ever let Mateo in.

Then came the collapse. The hospital. The diagnosis—kidney failure.

She'd called her parents, sobbing, begging them to get tested.

They hadn't even hesitated.

No.

They were taking Helen on a trip.

Kidney failure wasn't fatal.

And even if it was—well, they told her to call after she was dead. Then they hung up.

She'd been drowning in hopelessness when Mateo had quietly stepped in. Got tested. Didn't even tell her. Just went under the knife.

She hadn't found out he was the donor until after the surgery.

She'd sat by his bed, crying like her heart had been ripped out. And when he finally woke up, he'd just pulled her close, thumb brushing away her tears.

"Don't cry," he'd whispered. "I wanted to do this."

She'd only cried harder.

That was the moment she thought—maybe it was time to stop waiting for something that would never happen.

Maybe she should finally see the one person who had always been there.

But by the time she'd fallen, it was already too late.

Because it had never been real.

And now, watching him, she knew the truth.

Mateo had always been willing to risk everything for love.

Just not for her.

It had always been Helen.

***

Mateo's injuries were bad. Weeks in the hospital bed.

Once upon a time, Yara would've lost it over even a scratch on him. Now? She didn't even think about visiting.

Not when Kevin showed up saying Mateo wanted to see her.

She just ignored it and went on with her life.

Then, late one night, she woke up feeling... off. Heavy.

And that's when she realized—someone was holding her.

Mateo.

Still in a hospital gown, head bandaged, body barely stitched back together. Yet here he was, clinging to her like he had any right to. Silent. Desperate.

She struggled against him, shoving him off. "How did you get back here?"

"I missed you," he murmured, head still buried against her neck. Then softer, like he was the one hurting—"Did you not get Kevin's messages? You never visited. Not once.

"Is it because I saved Helen?

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left you. But she's your sister, Yara. It was an emergency—I had to save her. But I swear... I've only ever loved you.

"I was just looking out for Helen like a brother. That's all. There's nothing else.

"Please, Yara... don't be mad at me anymore."

He sounded so sincere, so convincing that if Yara didn't know the truth...

She might've believed him.

But she knew better.

Mateo wasn't here because he cared—he was scared. Scared she'd see through him. Scared it would ruin the wedding. Scared that if she walked, Helen wouldn't get what she wanted.

Honestly? He didn't need to keep up this act.

Didn't need to worry.

None of this would matter soon.

Very soon, these people would be nothing to her.

She'd be gone. A fresh start.

A life filled with love—even if it was fabricated.

Better than the hollow kind she'd known before.

Because if none of it was ever real... then why should it matter what was?