Maya’s POV

“I saw the way you looked at her. And then I fucked her, Maya. You are no better than me.”

The words landed inside me like fire. My hands shook, the mug of tea rattling against my fingers. My heart thumped hard, an ache I could not ignore.

“You… what?” I whispered, my voice trembling.

Alvarez leaned against the doorframe, that dangerous smirk lighting his face. His eyes caught mine, and I felt heat rush to my skin.

Desire, anger, and something raw lingered there, making my stomach tighten. Even now, after everything, I wanted him. I hated myself for it.

“You think I would lie to you?” His voice was low, rough, and almost intoxicating. “No, Maya. I wanted you to hear it from me.”

My chest tightened. My hands curled into fists. “Why… why would you do that?”

He stepped closer, close enough that I could smell him. The air between us crackled. “Because every time you pulled away, every time you looked at me like I had failed you, I felt worthless. You made me feel like I was not enough. Like I did not matter.”

Tears pricked my eyes, but another heat stirred deep in me that made me want to reach for him instead of pushing him away. “So… you went to her?”

“Because at least she wanted me,” he said, jaw tight. “At least she did not make me feel disposable.”

I laughed, bitter and broken. “So that is it? Pride?”

His smirk wavered. His voice cracked ever so slightly. “You gave up on me first, Maya. You stopped fighting. You think I did not notice?”

I set the mug down, trembling. “I fought for us every day. I put up with your moods, your anger, your drinking. I defended you when Leah and Zara begged me to leave. I believed in you when nobody else did.”

He stared at me, chest rising and falling, and for a second I saw him as he once was—the boy who kissed my freckles, the boy who promised me forever. My body remembered him, aching with longing and confusion.

“And it still was not enough, was it?” His voice cracked, rough and desperate, and I felt a part of me weaken.

The silence was suffocating. He was not just trying to hurt me. He was drowning, dragging me with him.

“I could have fixed us,” I whispered, tears sliding down my face. Even as I said it, I remembered how my body still wanted him, the way my chest tightened just being near him.

He turned to the door. “No one can fix us.”

The slam rattled the room, but I did not move. I wanted to, but my body felt frozen.

I sank onto the bed, clutching a pillow. His scent lingered in the blanket we shared, a reminder of everything I still wanted.

My phone buzzed. Messages from Leah and Zara lit the screen.

Leah: Leave him, Maya. He is poison.

Zara: Pick up. Please pick up. I know something is wrong.

I ignored them. I could not face anyone yet.

I cried until dawn, my body wracked with ache, grief, and the faint, frustrating pull of desire I could not name.

At the café, I moved like a ghost. The smell of espresso, the hiss of steamed milk, and the chatter of customers all felt distant. My boss glanced at me, concerned, but said nothing.

Zara appeared before her shift at the boutique across the street. She leaned against the counter, dark curls pulled back, eyes scanning my swollen face.

“You look like hell,” she said flatly.

“Thanks,” I muttered, sliding a cappuccino to a customer.

Her voice softened. “He did something, didn't he?”

I swallowed, staring at the swirling foam. My hands shook.

“Maya,” she pressed. “Tell me.”

If I spoke, it would be real.

“I… we fought. That is all,” I said, forcing a brittle smile.

She gave me a look that pierced through me. “You know what Leah is going to say.”

I groaned. “Do not start.”

“Then I will say it for her. Leave him. Before he ruins you.”

The words stung because deep down, I knew they were true.

Dinner was worse. Leah picked at her food, her eyes sharp, my mom’s worry heavy in the quiet. Dad tried to fill the silence with laughter, but it did not work.

After the plates were cleared, Leah cornered me in the kitchen. “He cheated, didn't he?”

I clutched the spoon, tears threatening again.

“Maya, you cannot go back to him. Not after this. You will lose yourself if you do.”

I wanted to argue, to defend him, to say love was messy. But I could not.

That night, alone in my room, his voice echoed in my head. I fucked her. And you’re no better than me.

Every replay made my chest ache more.

I curled into myself, clutching the blanket, whispering into the dark, “I could have fixed us.”

And as the tears soaked my pillow, I realised something I was not ready to face.

Maybe Alvarez never wanted to be fixed at all.