“Camila…”

A voice cut through the rain.

She looked up, her heart racing. Rain poured down her face, mixing with tears she could no longer tell apart—pain or anger.

Under the dim yellow streetlight, a figure rushed toward her.

“…Diego?”

Her voice trembled.

Her brother. The one she hadn’t seen in months—because Álvaro had always found ways to keep them apart.

Diego said nothing. He took off his jacket and gently placed it over her shoulders.

When he saw the mark on her cheek, his expression changed.

Not shock.

Controlled anger. Cold and quiet.

“Who did this to you?”

Camila didn’t answer.

She didn’t need to.

Diego lifted his gaze toward the house. Lights on. Curtains shifting. Shadows behind the glass.

He already knew.

He had always known.

Only Camila had refused to see it.

“Come on,” he said firmly. “You’re leaving with me.”

She hesitated.

Her eyes drifted to the door—that place she once called home, now nothing more than a prison.

“I have nothing,” she whispered.

Diego clenched his jaw.

“You have yourself.”

A pause.

“And that’s enough.”

He didn’t knock.

Didn’t shout.

Didn’t beg.

Camila simply turned away…

And walked into the rain beside him.

Inside the house, Álvaro watched.

Arms crossed.