A/N: Totally different from the old version.

The following morning, I wake early, nerves thrumming with anticipation. I step out of my room, determined to let Stefano know I have to leave. To my surprise, a suitcase sits at the edge of the stairs, and curiosity prickles my skin. Who could it belong to?

"Are you going somewhere?" I ask as Stefano descends the stairs, his expression unreadable.

"Are you ready?" he counters, ignoring my question.

"For what? And you didn't answer me." Confusion furrows my brow.

"Samuel, get someone to take her bags downstairs," Stefano calls out, striding into the kitchen without a backward glance.

"Stefano!" I hurry after him, frustration simmering in my veins.

He sighs heavily, turning to face me, coffee cup in hand. "Do I have to explain everything to you?" He sets the cup down on the counter with a clatter, and I cross my arms, arching a brow in silent challenge.

"Fine. Do you remember what I said yesterday?"

I nod, heart, skipping a beat.

"Good. I'm doing as I said." He picks up his cup and moves to leave, but I'm hot on his heels.

"What do you mean you're keeping it?"

Stefano spins around abruptly, and I nearly collide with his chest. We're so close, sharing the same air, and electricity crackles between us.

"I'm taking you to Mexico."

"You're taking me to Mexico?" I echo, disbelief coloring my tone.

"Yes. How else am I going to ensure you're safe?"

"Oh." Realization dawns, and a slow smile tugs at my lips. I was so worried we would be apart, but I guess I shouldn't.

"Let's go." Stefano's words snap me back to the present, and I follow him out the door, excitement bubbling in my chest. With Stefano by my side, I have a feeling this trip to Mexico will be unforgettable.

***

Hours later, Stefano and I arrive at Abuela's house. The grand Mediterranean villa sits majestically on the hillside, its terracotta tile roof and arched windows exuding an unmistakable Spanish charm. A paved courtyard with an intricate circular brickwork pattern leads to the arched main entrance, above which a wrought-iron balcony overlooks the breathtaking ocean view. Lush palm trees and vibrant tropical foliage surround the villa, swaying gently in the warm coastal breeze. As the golden hues of sunset wash over the scene, I'm struck by the tranquil elegance and timeless beauty of Abuela's seaside estate.

We step inside the grand foyer, our footsteps echoing on the intricately patterned tile floor. The space is open and airy, with a high vaulted ceiling supported by exposed wooden beams. Sunlight streams in through the arched windows, illuminating the creamy stucco walls. In the center of the foyer, a wrought iron chandelier casts a warm glow over the curved staircase with its ornate railings. To one side, an antique wooden bench sits beneath an arched alcove, inviting guests to pause and admire the elegant space before proceeding further into the home. An atmosphere of timeless Mediterranean charm and sophistication envelops us as we take in the harmonious blend of architectural details and thoughtful decor.

I lead us to the backyard, where I know Mama and Abuela will be at this hour. The sprawling Mediterranean-style backyard is a true oasis, perfectly complementing the grand villa. A spacious terracotta-tiled patio extends from the arched French doors, providing an ideal space for alfresco dining and entertaining. At the center lies an exquisite mosaic-tiled fountain, its gentle trickle creating a soothing ambiance. Lush landscaping surrounds the patio, with vibrant bougainvillea cascading over wrought-iron trellises and towering palm trees swaying in the gentle breeze. A curved saltwater pool and spa beckon invitingly, surrounded by chaise lounges and shaded by a rustic pergola draped in fragrant jasmine vines. Beyond the pool, a well-tended kitchen garden overflows with herbs, citrus trees, and colorful flowers, while a bocce court nestled in one corner promises friendly competition. The entire backyard exudes a sense of timeless Mediterranean charm and tranquility, providing the perfect setting for Mama and Abuela to enjoy the warm coastal air and stunning ocean views.

"Hola, Abuela," I say, waving at Mom before rushing to Abuela's side.

"Mi Angulo!" Her eyes widen in joyful surprise. "What are you doing here, my dear?"

I drop my handbag and wrap my arms around her, inhaling her sweet, familiar scent. "I missed you," I murmur, holding her close.

"I missed you too, dear. I'm so happy to see you." Abuela pulls back, love shining in her eyes.

"Hola, Abuela," Stefano greets, stepping forward.

"Ah, she came with my other grandson!" Abuela beams, opening her arms for a hug, which Stefano readily accepts. Stefano's maternal grandmother and mine went to the same university in the US and became really close friends, so Stefano was like a grandson to her.

"How are you doing? Better, I hope?" Stefano asks, concern lacing his voice.

Abuela shoots Mom a look. "Don't look at me like that. She has a right to know about you," Mom defends.

"Don't listen to her. I'm fine," Abuela insists, waving off the concern.

"De verdad?" Really? I press, not quite believing her.

"Yes. I don't even know why your mother made you think you had to come all this way. I'm great." Her tone leaves no room for argument, and I remember that pushing Abuela to accept her illness will only make her unhappy. That's the last thing I want.

"Alright, if you say so. I'm still glad I'm here." I hug her once more, savoring the moment.

"Me too, mi Angel." Abuela pats my hair softly before turning to Stefano with a mischievous glint in her eye. "So, Stefano, when am I getting my great-grandbabies?"

Stefano chuckles, but his gaze shifts to me, making my eyes widen in surprise. Why is he looking at me?

"I don't know, unfortunately," he replies, keeping his gaze on me.

"Your mom asked me the other day to help with dates for you. So tell me, what's your ideal woman?" Mom chimes in, and I nearly choke on air. Even Stefano seems uncomfortable, but his answer stuns me.

"Dark brown hair with beautiful ocean-blue eyes," he begins, his gaze locked on mine. Heat rises to my cheeks under the intensity of his stare. "Pink lips." His eyes drop to my mouth, and he licks his own, sending a shiver down my spine. "Slightly pointed nose and an attitude that makes me roll my eyes at least five times daily."

"You just described Andrea," Mom laughs, and my face flames.

"Really? Is that so?" Stefano smirks, his eyes never leaving mine. I wonder what game he's playing.

"Yes."

"Hmm." His gaze remains fixed on me, that infuriating smile still in place. The weight of his attention makes my knees weak, and I excuse myself before I can embarrass myself further.

I rush to my room and slump against my door, heart pounding and mind racing with the same question from earlier: What the hell was that?

STEFANO

The following day, I leave my hotel room, my mind preoccupied with the unexpected business I need to attend to in Mexico. The trip wasn't planned, but it provides a good opportunity to check on my family's ventures here, ensuring everything is running smoothly. As I approach the front desk to check out, the receptionist stops me, informing me that a package arrived for me this morning. Confusion furrows my brow, as I'm not expecting anything, and few people were aware of my presence here. A flicker of hope ignites within me, wondering if perhaps it's a surprise from Andrea and what it could be.

I can vividly recall the way her cheeks turned pink last night as I spoke about my ideal woman in front of her mom and grandmother. The memory brings a smile to my face, and I couldn't wait to see her again once I finished up my business today.

Eagerly, I take the square box from the receptionist, my fingers trembling slightly as I tear open the packaging. But the moment I lay eyes on its contents, my blood turns to ice, a chilling dread seeping into my bones. Inside, a familiar scarf lies, its delicate fabric marred by the unmistakable stain of blood. The receptionist's voice fades into the background, a distant echo as I stare at the scarf, my mind reeling with horrifying possibilities. Memories of the last time I saw this scarf on her flood my mind, the events of that fateful day playing out in vivid, agonizing detail.

The box slips from my numb fingers, shattering on the ground as a surge of panic propels me into action. I take off running, my heart pounding in my ears as I race outside to my car, a sense of urgency consuming me.

"Drive," I command Samuel, my voice strained with barely contained emotion.

"To where, sir?" he asks, swiftly pulling the car out of the hotel, sensing the gravity of the situation.

"Andrea," I manage, my throat constricting with fear. Samuel, attuned to my distress, drives with a reckless determination, weaving through traffic as if our lives depended on it.

The journey to Andrea feels interminable, each second an eternity as my mind conjures increasingly terrifying scenarios. The image of the bloodstained scarf is seared into my brain, taunting me with the possibility that I may be too late. I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms, as I silently pray to any deity willing to listen, pleading to be wrong.

As we finally arrive at our destination, I don't waste a single heartbeat. I rush inside, my eyes wild with desperation as I seek out the first maid I encounter, demanding to know where Andrea is. The maid, startled by my intensity, points me in the right direction, and I hurry towards the kitchen, my heart threatening to burst from my chest.

The moment I lay eyes on her, a wave of relief crashes over me, so powerful that it nearly brings me to my knees. There she is, my Andrea, struggling adorably to reach something on the top counter. A small smile tugs at my lips as I watch her, momentarily entranced by her determination. She jumps up multiple times, her efforts in vain, and instead of immediately coming to her aid, I allow myself a brief moment to savor the sight of her, to bask in the knowledge that she is unharmed.

As she huffs in frustration and begins to turn around, I finally step forward, closing the distance between us and stopping her mid-movement.

"What the..." she starts, her words trailing off as she realizes it's me who has blocked her path. Her ocean eyes, framed by those long, enchanting lashes, meet mine, and I find myself drowning in their depths. My gaze drops to her full, pink lips, the urge to claim them with my own nearly overwhelming.

Andrea, as if sensing the shift in the atmosphere, takes the lead. She leans in, her eyes fluttering closed as she pouts her lips, inviting me to close the remaining distance and seal our connection with a kiss. I follow her lead, my own eyes drifting shut as I surrender to the magnetic pull between us. But just as our lips are about to meet, the image of the bloodstained scarf flashes through my mind.

I jerk back, putting distance between us, my heart constricting with a mixture of longing and fear. Andrea's eyes snap open, confusion and hurt swirling in their depths as she tries to comprehend my sudden withdrawal. I shake my head, unable to find the words to explain and continue to back away from her. I can't do this to her. She is even more precious than her. I couldn't. I need to get away. I need to get far away.

"Stefano," Andrea calls out, her voice laced with concern as she follows me out of the kitchen. I pretend not to hear her, my resolve crumbling with each step. I need to get away, to put as much distance between us as possible, for her own good.

I make my way outside, my strides purposeful as I head towards my car. Andrea reaches for the door just as I close it, her eyes pleading for an explanation.

"Lock it," I instruct Samuel, my voice strained. This is for her own protection, even if she doesn't realize it yet.

"What's wrong? Is everything alright?" Andrea's muffled voice reaches me through the window as she bangs on the glass, desperation etched into her features. I force myself to ignore her pleas, focusing instead on committing every detail of her face to memory. The arrival of the scarf served as a chilling reminder of the second and most important reason I could never pursue my attraction to Andrea. As much as it pains me, I know this is for the best.

"Drive, Samuel," I command, tearing my gaze away from the window and Andrea's increasingly frantic attempts to stop me. As the car pulls away, her screams and demands for an explanation echo in my ears, each one a dagger to my heart. I close my eyes, silently repeating to myself that this is for her own good, even as the ache in my chest grows with every passing second. The pain of walking away from her is nearly unbearable, but I know it's a sacrifice I must make no matter how much it hurts.