The path down to the beach was quieter than the terrace, shaded by olive trees and lined with little stone steps that forced you to walk slower than you wanted to. The kind of place made for conversations.

Or for avoiding them.

Luke walked beside me, hands in his pockets, gaze fixed ahead like if he just kept moving, this wouldn't happen.

I kicked a small pebble down the path. Watched it bounce.

"Hm," I hummed, because silence with him was never just silence. "This is nice. Peaceful. No one yelling."

"Give it a minute," he replied.

I snorted. "Optimistic."

Another few steps.

The sea came into view—blue, endless, calm in a way I definitely wasn't.

I stopped.

He did too.

And just like that, it was back.

That thing.

That pull.

"You always do this," I said, not looking at him.

"Do what?"

"Wait until we're alone to pretend like you want to talk."

He exhaled slowly. "I didn't pretend."

I turned then. "You always pretend."

"That's not fair."

"Neither is acting like nothing happened," I shot back. "Like we didn't just—" I stopped myself. Swallowed the rest.

"Didn't just what?" he asked quietly.

I laughed, but it came out wrong. "You know exactly what."

"Say it."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because," I snapped, "every time I say something real to you, you twist it or walk away or apologize like that fixes it."

"I'm not trying to fix it," he said. "I'm trying to understand it."

"Then try harder."

That landed.

He stepped closer. Not touching. Never touching. Just close enough to make breathing feel like a decision.

"I don't know what you want from me," he said.

"I don't either," I admitted, and that was the worst part.

Silence.

The kind that wasn't empty—it was full. Heavy. Pressing.

"I didn't mean what I said," he tried again, softer. "About her. About—"

"Stop," I cut in immediately.

"I'm serious—"

"I said stop."

My voice came out sharper than I meant it to, but I didn't take it back.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated now. "You won't let me explain."

"Because I don't need another explanation," I said. "I need you to stop saying things you don't mean."

"I do mean things," he snapped.

"Then which ones are real?" I shot back. "Because it changes depending on your mood."

"That's not true."

"Then prove it."

He stared at me.

Really stared.

And for a second—just a second—I thought he might say it.

Whatever it was.

His jaw tightened. His lips parted—

"Maddie!"

Of course.

I closed my eyes briefly.

When I opened them, Victoria was walking toward us like she'd been summoned by pure irritation.

Perfect timing.

Always.

She smiled—too sweet, too calculated. "Sorry to interrupt."

"You're not," I muttered.

She ignored me completely.

Of course she did.

"Luke," she said, stepping closer to him like I wasn't even there. "I need to talk to you. It's about something you left at my bedroom."

My eyebrow lifted so fast it almost hurt.

Oh, that was intentional.

Luke frowned. "I didn't—"

"It's important," she cut in smoothly, placing a hand lightly on his arm.

There it was.

The move.

I looked between them, then let out a quiet laugh.

"Wow," I said. "Subtle."

Victoria's smile didn't falter. "I don't know what you mean."

"Of course you don't."

I turned to Luke, shrugging like I couldn't care less.

"Go," I said. "Sounds urgent."

"Maddie—" he started.

I stepped back. "Relax. I'm not your keeper."

Victoria watched me carefully, like she was waiting for a reaction.

I gave her none.

At least, not the one she wanted.

I rolled my eyes, turned on my heel, and walked back up the path.

Fast.

Too fast.

By the time I reached the terrace, the noise hit me again—laughter, music, splashing water.

The pool area was full of people.

Maya was already there, sunglasses on, drink in hand, pretending she didn't care about anything.

Josh sat on the edge of the pool, feet in the water, talking to Henry.

Normal.

Everything looked normal.

I walked straight over and dropped into the chair next to Maya.

"Well," she said without looking at me. "That was quick."

"Got bored," I replied.

She turned her head slightly, studying me. "You look like you want to commit a crime."

"I might," I said.

She smiled faintly. "Good. I'll help."

Across the pool, Josh glanced at us, then away.

And somewhere behind me—back on that path—I knew Luke was still there.

Or maybe not.

Maybe he'd followed Victoria.

Maybe he hadn't.

I didn't turn to check.

I didn't want to know which one would hurt more.

The pool was chaos in the best, most deceptive way.

Sunlight bounced off the water, music played somewhere in the background, and people were laughing like nothing in the world was complicated.

Which was a lie.

"Alright!" someone shouted—one of the wedding planners, already holding a whistle like this was the Olympics. "Volleyball teams! Four people each!"

Groans, cheers, splashing.

Maya stood up immediately. Of course she did. "I need to hit something."

Josh stood too. "Same."

I glanced at her.

She didn't look at him.

Yeah. This was going to go well.

They split into teams quickly—too quickly, like no one wanted to think too hard about who ended up with who.

Maya, Henry, Ben and Paola on one side.
Josh, Sophia, Tessa, and Jane and on the other.

Paola and Jane were also friends of ours in highschool they hated each other but in prom a rumor started and no one really believed it, till they announced themselves big time at graduation. It was incredible to be honest, they looked like they were really in love guess they still are, it's been 3 years since they got married.

I stayed exactly where I was—on the extended chair, sunglasses on, pretending I was here for peace and not front-row seats to emotional destruction.

"First to ten!" someone called.

The game started.

Splash.

Serve.

Laughter.

For about thirty seconds, it actually looked normal.

Then—

Josh missed a pass.

Maya laughed. Sharp. "Wow. Great reflexes."

Josh wiped water from his face. "Relax, it's one point."

"Yeah," she said, already moving into position. "Just like last night was just one thing, right?"

There it was.

Henry winced. "Guys..."

Ben muttered, "Oh no."

Next serve.

Maya hit the ball hard—too hard—sending it straight toward Josh.

He barely caught it.

"Careful," he said. "It's a game, not revenge."

"Everything is revenge," she shot back.

A few people around the pool chuckled nervously, thinking it was still a joke.

It wasn't.

Josh set the ball to Sophia, who hit it cleanly over the net.

Point.

"See?" Josh said. "Teamwork."

Maya scoffed. "Yeah. You're great at teamwork. As long as it doesn't require you to actually stay."

The word hung there.

Stay.

Josh's expression shifted.

"Don't start," he warned.

"Oh, I started a long time ago," Maya snapped.

Henry raised his hands. "Time-out? Maybe—"

"No," they both said at the same time.

Another serve. This time Josh hit it back harder.

"Maybe you should stop projecting your issues onto a volleyball," he said.

Maya laughed, but it wasn't funny. "Maybe you should stop running away every time something gets real."

Splash.

Silence.

Even the music felt quieter.

I pushed my sunglasses down slightly, watching now, fully invested despite myself.

Josh stepped closer to the net. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I know exactly what I'm talking about," she said. "You always leave. That's your thing. You leave and call it survival."

There it was again.

Coward.

Without saying the word.

Josh's jaw tightened. "I did what I had to do."

"No," she said, voice sharper now. "You did what was easiest."

Henry looked like he wanted to physically disappear.

Sophia gently touched Josh's arm. "Hey—"

He shook it off.

"Careful," he said to Maya. "You don't want to have this conversation here."

"Why?" she challenged. "Because people might hear the truth?"

The ball floated uselessly between them, forgotten.

Around the pool, people were starting to notice.

I sat up slightly.

This wasn't playful anymore.

This was real.

Josh let out a short, humorless laugh. "You really think you're the victim here?"

Maya stepped closer too. Water dripping, shoulders tense, eyes blazing. "I know I'm not the coward."

That did it.

Josh went still.

Completely still.

And that was worse than yelling.

Because when Josh got quiet—

It meant something had hit.

Hard.

I stood up without thinking.

Not to intervene.

Just... ready. Because whatever was about to happen next— This wasn't about volleyball anymore.

The silence after that word—coward—felt heavier than any scream.

Josh didn't explode.

He didn't defend himself.

He just... stood there.

And somehow, that made it worse.

Maya laughed, but it cracked in the middle. "See? That's what you do. You shut down. You disappear. Even when I'm right in front of you."

"I'm not disappearing," he said quietly.

"You already did," she replied.

That landed.

Hard.

For a second, I thought—this is it. This is where it all comes out. The truth. The thing no one knows.

But Maya shook her head like she was stopping herself.

"No," she said, stepping back. "I'm not doing this here. Not with an audience."

Josh's voice followed her. "Then when, Maya? Because you've been doing this for months—"

She froze.

Turned.

Months.

That word made something shift in the air.

"You don't get to say that," she said, voice shaking now. "You don't get to act like I'm the one dragging this out when you're the one who—"

She stopped.

Cut herself off.

Her eyes flicked around—people watching, the pool suddenly too quiet, too full.

And just like that—

She broke.

"Forget it," she muttered, turning away. "You're not worth it."

And then she walked off.

Fast.

Not dramatic. Not loud.

Just... gone.

Josh didn't follow.

Of course he didn't.

He stayed right there, standing in the water like if he moved, something worse might happen.

I stared at him for a second and watched Luke now near the pool probably trying to catch up on the drama.

While Josh stood there quiet, whatever happened between them was clearly more than any of us knows and it shows it just ridiculous how he just stood there as if it wasn't important to him at all.

My jaw tightened.

"You're a jerk," I said, loud enough for Josh to hear.

His eyes flicked to mine.

He didn't argue.

Didn't defend himself.

That almost made me angrier.

I turned and went after her.

Inside the villa, the noise dropped instantly. Cool air, quiet halls, distant clinking from the kitchen.

"Maya?" I called.

No answer.

I followed instinct—up the stairs, down the hallway—and found her in the bathroom.

Door half-open.

She was leaning over the sink, gripping the edges like she needed it to stay standing.

Her shoulders were shaking.

Oh.

Not anger. Not just anger. Crying.

I stepped in slowly. "Hey."

She didn't turn. "I'm fine."

"You're crying into a marble sink," I said gently. "You're not fine."

She let out a shaky laugh. "It's expensive marble, though. At least I have taste."

I walked closer, resting my hip against the counter beside her. "He's an idiot."

She shook her head. "No. That's the problem."

I frowned. "What does that mean?"

She finally turned to me, eyes red, mascara slightly smudged but still stubbornly intact.

"It means he's not an idiot," she said. "He knows exactly what he's doing."

That... didn't make it better.

I softened. "Do you want to tell me what this is actually about?"

She looked at me for a long second.

Really looked.

Like she was deciding something.

Then she shook her head.

"Not today."

I nodded.

Fair.

Some things take time.

I reached out, gently squeezing her hand. "Okay. But just so you know—if you want to yell at him again later, I'll hold your drink."

She huffed a small laugh. "You'd throw the drink."

"Also true."

She wiped her face with a tissue, taking a breath, trying to piece herself back together.

"Do I look terrible?" she asked.

I tilted my head. "You look like someone who just emotionally destroyed a man in a pool."

She smirked faintly. "Good."

Silence settled between us.

Quieter now. Softer.

But not resolved.

Not even close.

And as we stood there, I couldn't help thinking—

Whatever was broken between them...

It wasn't new.

It had been there for a long time.

Long enough to hurt this much.